Song: Wish That You Were Here by Florence + the Machine.
Chapter 19- Olivia
One Month Later
The plane had been turbulent for the last half hour. She was still wearing the outfit she'd picked to be 'Persephone James.' Dana had met her at lockup, the feds jumped her 'bail,' and she was given a one-way ticket to some town outside of Portland, Oregon. Her case agent was supposed to pick her up at the airport. She hoped that whoever it was planned on bringing her a change of clothes and a toothbrush. She felt exhausted and disgusting. She didn't have time to pack anything. Dana promised her that she'd be supplied with everything she would need once she got to Oregon, and the feds would better go over her cover before she infiltrated Andy Dell's group. She sipped on her Pepsi and tried to comprehend how she'd landed herself in an eco-terrorist undercover operative. It had all happened so fast. Haley was going to blow up that building with her and Dana inside, and next thing she knew she was being arrested. Then she'd agreed to give up the job she'd just gotten back to and boarded a plane to be far away from all the things her and Elliot had been letting mount for the last month and a half. Any day it was bound to implode, their little side stepping and avoiding growing thin, and she'd ran before it could all blow up again.
"What are you doing here?"
"I work here."
She'd left a lot unfinished back in New York. She rested her head against the plane's window and chewed on the insides of her cheeks. She wondered how many hours would pass until he knew, until Cragen called him into his office and told him that she was gone for an undetermined amount of time. Would he be surprised? Or had he come to expect her pattern by now? He wouldn't really have the right to be mad because she'd stick to the story that she didn't have a choice in the matter- she'd infiltrated successfully. She had to help if she could.
But she wasn't helping him; she'd once again left him in the lurches. She had no idea what to expect once she landed in Oregon, but part of her hoped that the undercover operation would demand a good chunk of time from her. Maybe being gone would give him time to figure out why he couldn't sign his papers. Did she want him to sign his papers? She wanted him to not have the weight of his guilt on his chest when he touched her, and she wanted him to touch her, but she didn't want him to walk away from who he was, to be with her. She couldn't take that.
Elliot and available did not correlate in her brain. For as long as she'd known him, he'd proven to her that some fathers and husbands took their roles seriously. She didn't know if she could handle seeing him stripped of the identity that she too had become attached to. Who was he without the house in Queens and the gold band? He was hers.
The thought terrified her. She had nothing to offer him. He'd sat across from her at some restaurant he couldn't afford, and he asked her about her bath salts and roses. She felt sixteen again as she smiled at him from across the table, and that was when she knew that she needed to shove the job between them again. She had nothing to give him, and he had nothing to give her, but she knew they would both take, reach out and burn their hands. He'd tried, when he kissed her by her doorway, and she saved him because she knew he was lost. He'd been insistent on the papers being signed for months, and she wasn't going to let him give in because she'd been weak and told him that she needed him. What had she been thinking?
She wasn't sure how telling him that translated into him doing what he'd done, but she knew he'd regret her if she reciprocated. What was she supposed to do? Start calling him 'honey' and touch him nicely? What did he expect from her?
Elliot Stabler was such a gentleman, all good intentions and morality. That Elliot Stabler scared her to death and would send her running every time. She wanted her partner-her angry rage filled, god-fearing to the point of destruction, partner.
She didn't want whatever it was he pretended to be for Kathy. She wanted him to leave bruises where his fingers would grip her thighs. She wanted his mouth hot against hers, not unsure and begging her to make the call.
Invite me in?
Maybe Elliot Stabler wasn't as god-fearing as she gave him credit for. For all the times he'd pulled back, she could tell he would have gone through that night if she'd let him. So who was stopping them? Him or her? She groaned as she stretched out her legs in the confines of her 22B seat and realized the only one running was her.
She'd stopped him to protect him, to protect his view of himself. She didn't want to be the reason he sent his fists flying across lockers. She did it because as much as it hurt to ignore her needs, she didn't want him to lose himself. He needed her to be his partner, not his mistress. He'd told her that in so many words outside the hospital.
"I couldn't take it."
As the recycled air from the plane pushed from the vent and hit her arms, she realized she wasn't sure if she had a single clue as to what Elliot Stabler actually wanted from her.
"They sent a New Yorker all the way to the west coast?" her case agent said as he pulled the black fed car out of the arrivals terminal. The sign that read 'Persephone James' rested against her feet.
"Like I'm sure Dana told you, nothing about this was planned," she laughed as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. She knew she wasn't looking her best, and it almost bothered her because her case agent was easy on the eyes. Dean Porter. His name had a nice ring to it.
"You ever been to the west coast before?" he asked as he glanced at her with a smirk fitted on his face. She hadn't known this man for more than ten minutes, and he was already smug about something. She wasn't sure if she liked him or found him irritating.
"California for a spring break trip when I was in college," she shrugged, and she left out the times she'd been to Berkley with her mother. Serena did some guest lectures, and when Olivia was twelve or so she'd gone with her mother. She remembered helping her mother throw up in her Alcatraz island gift shop bag on the BART. Serena insisted that the motion just got the best of her.
"So you passed for a hippie?" he asked as he got on the freeway. He was dropping her off at the hotel she was staying in until they briefed her on her entire cover.
"What are you suggesting?"
"You look more New York than tree-hugging vegan"
"Ha! Well, I did my best."
"Don't worry we'll get it covered for the infiltration. Let your hair be natural. We'll find you some underground music scene t-shirts and some natural deodorant. You'll fit right in, in no time," he snickered as he flashed her a row of straight white teeth. He was attractive.
"What makes you think this isn't my natural hair?"
"Women like you always do something to their hair."
"Women like me," she challenged with a raised eyebrow.
"City women, business women, you know," he said with a cock to his head. He was arrogant, the kind of arrogance she always ended up in bed with.
"Well you just have me all figured out, don't you," she laughed. It felt good to flirt with someone after a month and a half of strict professionalism. She'd been in this limbo with Elliot for so long that she'd forgotten that other men still found her intriguing.
"So what's your actual job?"
"Detective at Special Victims."
"Sex crimes?"
"You got it," she said with a swallow. If there was any way to kill flirtation, it was discussion of her job.
"So what made you want to bust a group of eco-terrorists?"
"Dana is a friend, and I want to help wherever I can."
"Kinda crazy to leave your life on no notice like that."
"I guess," she said as she rubbed her hands together. She wasn't sure what he was getting at.
"You got anybody who's going to miss you?" he said, and his question piqued her defenses.
"What are you asking?"
"I'd never let my girlfriend or wife do an undercover stunt that could have her gone for months." Months, she could be gone for months. She wasn't sure if the information eased her nerves or ignited them.
"You married, Porter?"
"Hypothetically speaking," he clarified with regard to his previous statement. He said it with the click of his tongue and a flash of something in his almond eyes.
"You?" he added.
"Huh? No, not married."
"But someone is going to miss you?" he pushed, like it was pertinent information.
"No," she sighed.
4 Weeks Later
"You always sleep with colleagues?" Dean Porter asked as he ran his fingers through her hair. She was lying in the hotel room bed, and the afternoon sun was coming in. She'd come to report on what she'd learned from living with the group and somehow ended up with her back to the mattress. The hotel room where he was staying while working the case was one of the spots they met. He'd basically been living in the room for the past month. She learned he was originally from Baltimore. What could she say? Oregon was lonely, and the hippies didn't do it for her.
She was no stranger to casual sex, but as Dean moved above her, she couldn't help but feel guilty. She hadn't slept with anyone since Trevor, so she rationalized that she deserved it.
"Just case agents," she said as she sat up and began collecting her clothes off the floor. She couldn't be gone from the commune much longer; the group would start asking questions.
"You missing the city yet?" he asked, as he watched her get dressed.
"I miss Special Victims" she said, as her eyes fell to the box of condoms on the nightstand. She wondered if they'd continue to make their way through the box every time she came to give him an update on the group.
"You work with a partner?" Dean asked as he sat crossed legged with a sheet over his body. His hair was messed up, and he had a giddy grin on his face. She liked that she could still put a grin like that on a man's face.
"I do," she said through pursed lips, as she ruffled a hand through her wavy hair. She placed her phone in her back pocket and indicated that she should go.
"Does it change each case? I'm always working with new people, depending on where I'm being consulted."
"No, same partner," she said as she tried to keep it vague, but clearly he noticed the change in her demeanor.
"They know you're here?" She wasn't sure what his question was getting at, in Oregon or in his bed? Neither, she realized, and it broke her heart. Elliot had no idea where she was, and she couldn't even call him. She knew if she broke protocol and told him where she was that he'd be on the next plane to Oregon, she couldn't have that.
"He doesn't; I couldn't call anyone before, and your guys disconnected my number, made me take an oath not to call anyone."
"How long you worked with this guy?"
"Long time."
"You sleep with him?" Porter asked as his eyes filled with curiosity. He seemed to have a lot of ideas about what kind of woman she was.
"He's married," she said, and Porter laughed.
"How long is a long time?" he asked as he ignored her previous answer.
"Eight years," she said, and Dean's eyes panned wide.
"And you've never slept with him?"
"Never," she said, and Dean's face was overcome with a look she couldn't pinpoint.
"What?" she poked because she wanted to know what he was thinking.
"Just...the man must be gay because I couldn't even last a month," he said as he shook his head and then grinned at her. He was criticizing her for the case at every turn, but he always came around and gave her some kind of compliment, which worked because she ended up naked in his bed. She hadn't considered that he'd been trying to prevent that from happening in the name of professionalism. The chemistry had been there since she first saw him at the airport. It was easy, nothing there but flirtation and convenience.
"He's definitely not gay," she said as she shook her head.
"Are you gay?" he laughed, and she rolled her eyes.
"Really Dean?" she said with an arch to her eyebrow.
"Alright, alright, get out of here, Persephone" he said as he waved a hand at her.
"See you next week," she said, and before the door shut, he called out and said,
"The wavy hair really works for you, city girl!"