thank you, my frumpalicious dears! 60-something comments? holy frick. I hit the wall. Xx good ouch.
concerning the clash lyrics and to all who contributed their help: it is "oh mi corazon", and after six years of Spanish I am proud to say that it means "oh my heart." I don't exactly pay premiere attention in that class (thus the drawings of various mischief around my Spanish notebook) but Enrique Iglesias has taught me a thing or too about romance. thank you, Mr. Hotness, you can be my hero again, baby.
everyone who has expressed a problem with fin's giggling: of course he wouldn't, sillies! but wouldn't it be funny if he DID? munch and fin are my merry and pippin, so expect random fun from the precinct. cragen, the ever-pissed one, is attempting to hold the fort, but as we all know, it will get out of his hands pretty soon.
RESEARCH PAPER OVER! Tolstoy can now return to the fiery depths of hell in which he resides, because guess what? I don't give a crap about his views of morality anymore! (not like I did before anyway…)
I am out again today with a virus (not strep throat after all- viral throat thing that has no treatment-whoopeedoo, another fun day) so I will be writing some more. and watching treasure planet, randomly.
for everyone wondering but not sure if they should ask: yes, I am making this up as I go along. (just like Indiana Jones, ha!) in other words, I write a chapter, I post it, I really don't know what's going to happen next. I have a pretty general idea about how this is going to end, considering I intend to end it (after like 20 chapters, of course…jesus, like I would put you people through short story misery after all your luff) but no, I have no idea who is going to do what with who the next chapter.
I can promise you this: there will be a kiss, there will be…hem-hem, more, there will be some serious danger, and Munch and Fin will eventually resolve their bet. there is going to be a twist at the end, one you absolutely (I swear) did not see coming.
now, aren't you so excited? (random note: good god, my little author's notes are becoming longer than the chapters) happy chapter-devouring!
HOW COULD IT BE CLOSED?
What about the Olympic swimmers who had to train every morning? What about the people who were trying to lose weight? How could they keep a pool closed until eleven every freaking morning?
Did the lifeguard have narcolepsy?
She rested her head on the clear door, staring at the chlorine-smelling waters beyond. Just a few laps…that's all. Not an hour. Not even a half hour. Just ten minutes to soak my head and let this whole thing sort of…float on by.
She needed a new plan.
Oh hell…
Ohio sounded nice right now. Lauren Tracy sounded nice right now. Lauren-Tracy-who-had-every-right-to-hold-her-husband's-hand sounded perfectly delicious right now, but the fact was that she was not Lauren Tracy.
She was Olivia Benson. She was not in love.
She was just being very…awkward… today.
She collapsed on the couch in the lobby, staring out the window at the slow drizzle. There goes that beautiful snow everyone talked about. The groundhog was obviously not sober this year.
"-butmom! Why can't we go outside?"
"Because it is freezing and you'll catch a cold and I said so."
She looked up at the little boy struggling against his mother's grip, short legs flailing in his snowsuit. His mother's face, strained, determined, bent over to kiss him on the forehead, and he immediately pacified in her arms.
"You can't catch the common cold from the cold, mom. But the dinosaurs died because the snow all froze them into popsicles." Another boy said, running up behind them. "If you go outside in the snow, your boogers freeze. Christopher Welshman said so."
"I wanna see my boogers freeze!" The littlest one shouted, pulling out of his mother's arms again and making a mad dash to the doors. His mother caught him by the hand before he could push through though, and handed him to the man now coming through the doors.
"Daddy's going to take you and Xavier out for ice cream, Harry. Does that sound alright?"
The little boy's eyes lit up, and he scampered out the door after his father, Xavier trailing not far behind, explaining another one of Christopher Welshman's brilliant theories.
His mother retreated to the couches in the lobby, collapsing into a chair and letting out a long sigh.
"Children," She said, laughing and turning to Olivia. "Emotional roller coasters, right?"
"Close enough." Olivia said, smiling politely. Oh god, let's not talk about kids. We'll talk about kids, and we'll talk about Lauren Tracy's son, which will remind me of Daniel Tracy, which will remind of Elliot, which will remind of the hand-
"You have any?"
"My son is nine." Olivia bit her lip, managing a smile. NOT…CONCEIVED…WITH…DANIEL/ELLIOT…
"Then you know exactly what I'm talking about: from tantrums to giggles in less than a second."
"Taylor isn't so bad. Sometimes he gets a bit cranky, but most of the time he's just a well-behaved kid." Well, this isn't so bad. Just mention something parental and this show is on the road.
"Wait until you have more."
"I don't know about that…" Olivia bit her lip. Seeing as we can't get beyond holding hands without complete awkwardness, any possible children fathered by him are extremely unlikely.
"Oh, you'd be surprised. Mike and I thought we'd only have one, but sooner or later, things just happen…" Got that right, honey. The woman smiled, and Olivia returned the grin. "Are you here with your family?"
"Honeymoon, actually. I just got married again." She chanced a glance around the room, seeing if anyone had noticed. But no curious expressions met her eyes, so she looked back at the woman, still smiling.
"Wow, that's great! Congratulations! So, this guy's the one, right?"
Olivia stared at her hands, stared at the palm he had touched, the fingers he had grasped, if only for a minute. There had been so many…but none of them had been…
You want to come up to my apartment?
Sure, Frank.
She'd known what would happen. She'd wanted it. It had been a long week, a lonely week; what else was she supposed to fall back on? And then she'd met him at the bar. She'd talked with him every night.
He had been so kind, so gentle. Frank, he said. Frank, who worked downtown. Frank, who owned a business. Frank who was single, who thought she looked pretty tonight. He hadn't prodded her with questions. He'd hardly blinked an eye when she'd told him where she worked. It was like he understood what she needed, why she needed it.
Just one night. Just one night to feel safe.
Yes, they'd slept together. Yes, she'd been completely (well, almost completely) sober at the time. They'd had a few more drinks on his couch, and then they'd headed to the bedroom. Something hadn't felt right, but she'd ignored it.
For a few hours, she was able to put the past behind her. Being attacked on her way home. How Elliot called her every night, how he'd hurried to her apartment. The way he'd looked at her, how safe she felt. All that week, she'd known he was with her. Ever since the night he'd shown up at her door, helping her home with her black eye and her bruised body. Laid her on the couch and stayed by her all night. And yet…
He'd gone home to Kathy. A family. A wife.
She was the other woman, the business partner, the desk partner. He could tuck her in and bandage her wounds, but he couldn't hold her like he did his wife. First off, he was married. Secondly, there was a law against it.
Illegal. Love. That was everything she felt, and everything was wrong.
That night in Frank's arms, she'd let go of emotion. Almost forgotten what she'd felt when Elliot had held her hand that night. Almost released that last vision of him when he found her bleeding on her doorstep, tears in his eyes. Tears for her.
Elliot.
In that last moment of passion, as Frank finally tightened in her grip and her body began to break to ecstasy, nails digging into his back, legs curling around him, she had said her partner's name.
What? And Frank had let go. He'd pulled away. He'd dropped his hands from her shoulders, removed his lips from her neck.
He'd gone to other room and left her there- naked, cold, alone in a stranger's bed, beneath a stranger's sheets.
His name still on her tongue, tasting like fresh water on her lips.
She left without seeing him again. She pulled on her clothes, found her jacket by the bed, and walked out the apartment door.
"So is he the one?" The woman's voice brought her back to the present. She stared up into warm blue eyes, a calm smile.
"Yeah…" She brushed back the moisture in her eyes. "Yeah, he's the one."
…
A bar. What was he doing at a bar?
How many drinks have I had?
His head felt like someone had been beating on it with used car parts.
The glass in his hand felt all too familiar. Never good.
Probably more than I should have.
He stared at his watch. An hour ago he was at the laundromat. He would just say…well…he ran out of detergent.
Yeah.
Right.
"You want another refill?" The bartender gave him a yellowing grin. Elliot shook his head.
"I think I fell asleep."
"Well, you did close your eyes a little while back, but I just thought you were staring at the television. Some game, huh?"
"Steelers kicked your Seahawks' ass, Mack!" A man down the bar said, laughing.
"That was three days ago, Bill!" The bartender growled, snapping his drying towel at the man's head. "Sure you don't want something else to drink?" The man asked, turning to Elliot again.
"That depends on how strong your liquor is."
"I see," The man raised a steel grey eyebrow, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "You drinkin' off something big?"
"You might say that." Elliot had not thought about "the hand incident" for an hour now. Recalling it was like a kick in the pants.
"Lose money?"
"Hope not."
"Get in a fight?"
"Not really."
"Woman problems?"
"Now that sounds about right."
"Ah…" The old man leaned back, taking Elliot in with observant brown eyes. "Had a fight with her?"
"Hardly."
"So it went the opposite way?"
"Yes," He took a long swig of his glass, finishing off the beer. "Yes, it certainly did."
"And she's not your woman exactly, am I right?"
"That's correct."
"So you're in love with someone who doesn't belong to you?"
"I wouldn't say I'm 'in love,' but…"
"So you're unaffectionate bedfellows?" The man raised his eyebrow again, giving Elliot a disbelieving frown.
"We never slept together, okay?" Elliot said, slamming down the glass. "I just held her hand, and lay next to her, but I never had sex with her!"
"Alright, alright, young fellow, no harm was intended." The old man bit his lip, still frowning. "So what are you going to do about this problem?"
"I have no idea. I think that's why I'm sitting here drinking my cognitive brain cells away."
"I'll tell you what," The old man handed him a cup of coffee. "We're going to sober you up, and then we're going to solve your woman troubles."
"That sounds very inviting."
But the bar was so nice and soft and he wanted to…go…to…sleep…
"Don't doze off on me, lad!" Finger snapped in his face. "You have to face your problems, not drink them away."
"Thank you, Mr. Bartender."
Pretty…pink…bird…
Oh hell…I'm…very…drunk…
Birdy…
"Do you love her?"
Olivia…
She has those brown eyes. And she's so warm…
"I asked you a question, lad!"
She let me lay with her last night…and she held my hand…
And that one time…she kissed me…
She kissed…me…
"I think he's asleep, Mack."
"Shut up, Bill!"
Kathy told the counselor…told Ms. Henderson…told her I was…
She thought I was having an affair…
Who?
Why was I having an affair?
I wasn't…but I…
I loved her…even when…
"Damn it boy, do you love the girl?"
"Yes."
His head hit the hard wood paneling of the bar. Son of a bitch.
author's secondary notice: please forgive elliot's drunken rambling. he can be a bit wiggedy-wack when he is stoned.
and to whoever is making the "woman troubles" jokes, ha ha. we are all amused.