thanks to everyone for the great comments! I am so glad you guys like it- but sorry to everyone who wants to see thngs turn out alright...it's SVU, people. as in SEX CRIMES.
not a spoiler or anything...cough-cough...
One moment he was hurtling off a cliff, screaming the name of the kid he roomed with in college. Next minute his eyes were open, and he was panting on the floor.
His back was numb, his neck was crooked, and he didn't think he could straighten his legs.
"Damn…couch…" he mumbled, taking to his feet like a cripple without his cane. The coffee table acted as prime support, never a good sign.
Elliot groaned as he stretched, listening to his spinal cord crack disc by disc. Yeah, this was pretty much what his chiropractor was talking about when he said where not to sleep. A hotel loveseat. Made out of sticks…
He could no longer straighten his back, so he stood, bent over like some sort of invalid, rubbing his shoulders and moaning unpleasantly.
"Morning!" Came a voice to his right, loud enough to make him jump with terror and send him onto his back once more, hitting the coffee table as he fell.
He looked up, hoping to see his partner about to help him up, but there was only steam from the open bathroom door. She stuck her head out, giggling like a teenager.
"I said good morning, grandpa!" She grinned that evil grin of hers. "Is your hearing aid not working?"
"Damn…loveseat…" He muttered, kicking the thing as he passed, only to stub his toe. Grabbing it with a shock of pain, he lost his balance and fell to the floor once more. This time she did come out, khaki pants on, towel in her hair, and blouse unbuttoned. He blinked at that black bra. Uh…
"Jesus El, are you alright?" Strong hands grabbed him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. "I told you to take the bed-"
"I'm fine, okay?" he growled, "The couch was fine, absolutely great. I have no problem with the couch. In fact, I like the couch. I would not mind sleeping on the couch again. If you ask me about that couch, I will tell you- it's a great couch."
"Okay, Olivia does not want to hear about your relationship with the couch." She realized with flushed cheeks that her breasts were now level with his eyes, and turned to button her shirt up. "That sort of thing is private."
"Then button your shirt before you come out." he said, groaning with agony.
"I was talking about the couch, El." She rolled her eyes and gave him a sarcastic shrug of her shoulders, hurrying back into the bathroom in huffed retreat. "I always knew you were grumpy in the mornings, but not like this."
"Says she who slept through her paperwork yesterday."
"If you want to criticize me for sleeping in, then don't wake me up next time."
"I'll remember that." He shot back, grabbing his suitcase and pulling through it for some Daniel Tracy clothing. God, she could be a bitch sometimes.
Then again, he was not exactly the nicest dickhead to walk the planet either.
"Are you sure your back is okay?"
"Yeah, it's great." He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to leave the bathroom.
"Aren't you going to a doctor for it?"
"No, I'm not." He lied again, though when she emerged from the bathroom he could tell she knew he was bluffing, as usual.
"Right. That chiropractor just makes appointments with you to chat over a cup of tea, then?"
"Exactly." He pulled out his razor. She reached into the room suddenly, her arm going over his shoulder and yanking the razor from his fingers. "What are you doing?" He asked, turning to where she stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip.
"Don't shave." she said, shrugging lightly.
"And why would I not shave?" He started, glaring at her. "I shave everyday. It's something I do. When I don't do it, it throws me all off. Like you and your coffee."
"Daniel Tracy would look sexy with some stubble." she said quickly, shrugging again and closing the door in his face before he could reply.
She'd left the razor on the sink. He picked it up, stared at the place where she'd just stood, then put it back in his bag.
When he'd finished and pulled on a casual oxford and some slacks, he found her on the same couch he'd practically broken his back on, smiling expectantly at him.
"Well, you certainly clean up nicely." She grinned at him, standing and taking his arm as they headed out the door. "Daniel Tracy doesn't look bad on you."
"I wish Daniel Tracy didn't dress like someone from Queer Eye, though."
"Oh, stop it. You look great! The slacks are not as form-fitting as you think, Mr. Only Wears Baggy Sweats. And Ralph Lauren is certainly your look…"
"I hope Ralph can stand my crappy laundromat."
"It's not like Mr. Tracy is going to want his clothes back."
"Somehow I feel like if I spill ketchup on the shirt that Cragen's going to fire me."
"Then don't have ketchup for breakfast."
"Breakfast…" He inhaled deeply, and detected something warm and cinnamon-smelling in the dining hall. "I hope it's French toast."
"Why?"
"Because I really want French toast right now."
They stopped outside the rustic looking dining hall, where a number of guests already sat around the multiple tables. Elliot sighed angrily at the sign by the door, which explained they were serving waffles today.
"Don't be such a baby." Olivia instructed, pulling on his arm when he tried to go back upstairs. "I think you can handle waffles."
"I'll just eat some of the complimentary biscotti that came with our extra pillows." he said, still tugging her towards the stairs. "I'm not hungry, really."
"You're going to eat the waffles, and you're going to enjoy them." She hissed in his ear, giving his arm one final pull and dragging him into the dining room. Elliot reluctantly gave in, not wanting to be further treated like a perp.
They sat down beside the windows, looking out over a frozen lake and the snow drifts that had settled beside it. Beyond were snow-covered mountains, and the sun rising unseen behind a wall of grey clouds.
"This place is gorgeous, isn't it?" Olivia said, staring out the window, her eyes gleaming. Elliot watched her carefully: the way she folded her napkin in her lap, the way she pushed her hair behind her ears and smiled out at the landscape. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something very different about her now. When they were in the city, there was always something dark in her eyes, a weight she would not share with anyone. But now that they were here, her eyes were light and playful, and her face was always glowing. Now that they were away, together, it was as though she had come alive.
Granted they were on a case, and so the determined look remained on her face sometimes, but still…he stared at her wrist, curving gently as it rested beside her silverware. She was like a work of art.
"Elliot? Hel-LO?" She waved her hand in front of his face, and he blinked, glancing guiltily up at her. "You alright there? You were staring at my hand."
"Sorry," He mumbled, blushing. Thankfully, a woman arrived with plates to break the awkwardness.
"Good morning, folks!" She smiled warmly at them, handing them their plates. "Help yourselves to the buffet- we're serving fruit salad and waffles this morning!"
"We heard." Elliot said, rolling his eyes. When he glanced over at Olivia, she was giving him a sarcastic smile.
The food was actually not as bad as he'd thought; the waffles were delicious as was the fruit and coffee, so he had no reason to complain after their meal.
"Well, it wasn't French toast." He said to her as they left, arm in arm again. He was starting to get used to that gesture.
"If you want French toast so bad, I'll have to make you some one of these days."
"You can do that?" He blinked at her, only to receive a laugh in response.
"Yes, I can cook." Olivia rolled her eyes, still laughing. "I may not be able to fix a nine-course dinner, but I think I can make French toast."
He laughed too. "I just thought women like you couldn't cook."
She raised an eyebrow. "Women like what?"
"I don't know…professional women? A lot of women can't do household stuff. Kathy couldn't clean, but she could cook really well."
"Not like me." She said quickly, but there was something like anger in her voice. Why did she always get so tense when he mentioned Kathy? Yes, they weren't on the best of terms either, but he hadn't fully divorced her yet. She was still practically his wife.
"No, not at all." His eyes drifted to the pictures hanging in the hallway, scenes of the wilderness. In one painting, a hunter struggled with an angry bear. Elliot knew the feeling.
"Did you see our schedule?" She asked, and he was glad she had changed the subject.
"No."
"Well, we have indoor tennis at eleven-thirty, yoga at one, massages at five, and we're going to a dance at seven tonight."
"The massages sound nice."
"I know," She smirked at him. "I keep forgetting we're working when we do this stuff."
"Well, we have the afternoon to do our jobs." He grinned back. "Tennis is in five minutes, and I'm not really dressed for that kind of a thing."
"It'll be more fun this way. Just take off your shoes and wear your socks. It's an indoor court, and we should be one of the only ones there."
She was right. They were the only ones at the tennis court when they entered, leaving their shoes beside the mats against the wall.
"I called them ahead of time, so they got our rackets and balls for us." She nodded to the rackets leaning against the net. Elliot awkwardly stepped onto the court. Olivia was in the corner, removing her blouse and pants. He did a double-take, dropping the tennis balls. She turned, revealing blue shorts and a tank top she had worn underneath her clothes.
"Hey!" He yelled, throwing her racket at her. "No fair! I can't change and now I look like an idiot!"
"On the contrary, you look very suave." She bounced a tennis ball, bending over and swinging her racket back. Her swing was way more powerful than he'd expected, and the ball that hit the wall behind him bounced off and right into the back of his head.
"Whoops…" She covered a grin with her hand, hiding a laugh. He growled, picking up the ball and attempting a back hand swing. The ball barely made the net. Not only did he have his lack of tennis skills to account for it, but he'd been a bit busy staring at her in her tight tank top and shorts. Her shoulders and arms were shaped like they'd been sculpted, but when she swung…holy shit.
"I'm going to kick your ass at this." She gave him a wicked grin and swung again. This time he was able to hit the ball over the net, and they volleyed back and forth until her arm finally got the best of him.
"Told you," she said when they finished, he pulling on his shoes and she pulling on her pants.
"I never doubted it for a second." He panted, leaving his rack hanging on the wall. "Please tell we have 'Napping 101' next."
"Yoga, actually." Olivia buttoned her blouse, and part of him was very sad to see her shoulders go.
"That doesn't sound very strenuous."
"Well, we do have clothes for this. We can go back to the room to change."
When one o 'clock finally came along, they reported downstairs to one of the hotel's southern wings, where a full yoga and dance studio had been installed. Elliot felt like an idiot in his baggy pants, and he'd pulled a sweatshirt over the tank top she'd handed him, much to Olivia's protesting.
"What are the mats for?" He whispered once they'd settled on the floor. There were about nine others, as well as the instructor, a young blonde who looked as though she weighed the same as his twelve year old. "I can't hurt my back doing this, can I?" That was the last thing he needed to do today.
"Ask your chiropractor the next time you have tea." Olivia hissed back, folding her legs under her as the class began.
But after going up and down as many dogs as he could, Elliot was discovering he was the least flexible in the class and the least enthusiastic. While the instructor sat with her back to them, her legs on either side of her, Elliot remained somewhere between a dog and a turtle, his back unable to move. Besides, he was too busy staring at Olivia, who'd had no trouble assuming the positions shown to them. Her long, gauzy shirt matched her eyes perfectly, and in her tight-fitting pants, she pulled her leg behind her back and grabbed it over her shoulder, perfectly balanced on her knee. He had to hold his jaw in place to keep it from dropping.
"How are you doing this?" He asked once they were back in a lotus position, his back still creaking like an untreated door.
"I've been doing yoga for a while." She shrugged, her eyes still ahead of her. Thank god they were at the back of the group; everyone else was just as experienced as Olivia, and he didn't need to look like an idiot in front of them too. "Take your sweatshirt off."
"Why?"
"It'll be easier."
He couldn't tell if she was lying or not. He pulled it over his head, feeling bare with nothing but a white tank top beneath. At least with his muscular arms he didn't look like as out-of-shape as he felt. Now it was Olivia's turn to not do her work, and he caught her staring at him as they pulled into more positions.
He was more than happy when the clock struck two, and he could roll up his yoga mat and never approach the subject again.
"Don't you feel great?" Olivia asked, smiling at him as she started up the stairs.
"My chiropractor and I will have a lot to talk about the next time we meet." He groaned as his back creaked beneath his hand, and he straightened it out again with a wince.
"You're such a baby." she said, her voice quieter and more affectionate this time. She took his arm in hers again, but this time as Olivia Benson, not Mrs. Daniel Tracy.