the steady stream of comments has definitely slowed on that last chapter, so I'm trying to figure out if it was just a really bad chapter, or if everyone has gone away on computer hiatus for a while. because hardly anyone seems to be updating their stories either. if it's been a tough week, I hear you: I had just about the crappiest day of my life on Friday. but watching SVU Saturday night made it better, especially since I got to watch 'Risk', one of my favorite episodes ever. ELLIOT IN GLASSES! KIDNAPS and an OE undercover (though miniscule) event as husband and wife. I just love when they talk undercover at the bar…and Elliot looks like sex in glasses.
so I don't have much to say really. I should be finishing an essay on "Of Mice and Men", but instead I am sitting here listening to my sister talk in secret Harry Potter code to her best friend over the phone. yeah, my family is just one big wack job. it is only slightly obvious where I get my insanity from. but when you think about, everyone claims to be insane, and in their own way, everybody is.
I've been named an SVU god. wow. that's an honor. I should get like a…crown. or a scepter. or something to celebrate with. like cake.
mmm, cake.
I loved writing this chapter. it rolled out easier than predicting bad jokes on SNL. (which really is not funny anymore. really. last night's was absolutely moronic.)
and OMG, so MAJOR SVU NEWS. have any of you seen the photo spoilers from the episode "Fault"? where Olivia is bleeding (major) all over the floor, clutching her neck? (though she really doesn't look that distressed about it…) well, not only does this episode find Olivia in a controversial state, but this is the BIG ONE. THE…BIG…ONE. THE "BONDING DURING STAKEOUT" EPISODE. those are not my words. those are the OFFICIAL NBC EPISODE SUMMARY words. so WAHAHAHA (crazy maniacal laughter) we OE fans may finally get out fill. who knows? maybe the Olivia's wounds are from violent sex… (eh-hehehe) it's not until April 4th, but STILL. BONDING. THAT COULD MEAN…UH…SOMETHING.
so on that note, sit back, relax, and enjoy as I rip your hearts from their chests and let them bleed all over Fin's shoe.
And I have to say it: god, I wish I could rename Dickie. I mean, I feel utterly ridiculous writing about bleeding hearts and ripped souls and using the name 'Dickie.' Dickie. It sounds like a nickname some purple talking dinosaur would acquire in high school. Or some clown on a kid's show might be known as.
But not my angsty Dickie…I just want to name him Garner. Or Blake. Blake is HOT.
Damn you egotistical Dick Wolf.
…
She knew when he walked out that door what he was going to say. She knew what he had to say. There was a misunderstanding: he hadn't picked up the kids, she'd had to wait here with them. And it must have been so hard, sitting in this house that wasn't yours, was yours. Hadn't Kathy always talked about moving? Olivia didn't know; she generally stayed away from the woman. Kathy was always outwardly friendly, but there was a wall there. Something unspoken, the darker undercurrent…
And now she has a reason to hate me.
To complicate this matter further, Olivia had been here. She'd come home with him. And Kathy had seen it. God, the thoughts that must be running through her head right now…
The voices were beginning to raise. Olivia saw Lizzie and Dickie, their eyes glazed as they stared at the television screen, not listening to the characters onscreen. Her eye flickered onto their faces, strained and blank.
"Let's go get something to drink." She ushered them into the kitchen, away from the steadily increased volume of the words outside. They stood awkwardly beside the fridge, staring out the window over the sink, all three pairs of eyes glazed as they looked out upon the woodpile, the long abandoned sandbox. "Are you guys thirsty?" She strained to look into their eyes, so cold and lonely. Why do they have to be affected by this? Why is it that life has to be so unfair to them? To these children? Why couldn't it have been someone else?
Lizzie shrugged, reaching into the refrigerator for a coke. Dickie followed suit, still not fully aware of anything but the voices of his parents. When the car door had slammed and the van had flashed across the front window, headlights blurred against the black of the night, they seemed to collapse before her, sprawling against the counter, tensions run bare and broken in their stolid veins.
Elliot did not come in the house. The garage door slammed, and they saw his dark form retreating to the wood pile, axe swinging dangerously beside him. She saw his hunched form, heard the stomping of his boots, and she longed for those bright blue eyes again. Put on a coat for me, at least.
"I hate him." Dickie said quietly, his eyes dark beneath his shaggy hair. "He isn't doing anything about this."
"Hey," Olivia turned on him, spoon raised dangerously and dripping tea. "Your father is doing everything he can to solve this." She looked over at Lizzie, slumped against the wall, head bowed over her soda. "For the both of you, and your sisters."
Dickie sniffed, slamming his coke on the counter. "I still hate him." He stalked off in the direction of his bedroom, Lizzie looking longingly after his retreating form.
"He doesn't mean it." She said, looking up at Olivia, her blue eyes large and watery. "Dickie isn't doing very well…he's kind of blaming himself for the whole divorce thing."
Olivia shook her head. "Why? Neither one of you are to blame for any of this. This is no one's fault."
"It has to be someone's fault." Lizzie shrugged, staring back down at her hands. "Why not ours? Mom and dad didn't start fighting until we got into middle school. Then they fought all the time."
"It had nothing to do with you two, I'm sure."
"It sure seemed like it."
"Well, it didn't." Olivia took Lizzie's shoulders in her hands, looking her straight in the eye. "Don't blame yourself for anything adults do, not while you're still young. You have so much ahead of you, and you don't need to let the adults screw it up for you. Chin up, kid. It's going to get better, I promise."
Lizzie's eyes closed for a moment, as though she were fighting back tears. Then she pulled Olivia's middle into a tight embrace, breathing fiercely against her.
"Please talk to dad. He'll listen to you."
"He's got a lot on his mind right now, kid. I don't know how much I can do."
Lizzie shook her head, looking up into Olivia's eyes. Those eyes were so much like Elliot's, so luminous and hopeful… "He always listens to you, Olivia. Always."
Olivia closed her eyes, resting her head on Lizzie's.
Not this time, kid. Not when I'm the reason he's having these problems.
Not today.
"He has to get Dickie back. He has to keep us together." Lizzie nodded, pulling away from Olivia's middle. "He can do this. I know he can, he just has to hear it from you."
"Alright," Olivia nodded, moving towards the back door. "I'll see what I can do."
"I knew you would." Lizzie's eyes glowed brilliantly for a moment, and then she went down the hall where her brother had disappeared, no longer sulking and hunched over, but light and free.
Olivia pushed the door open, the cold air hitting her face like the back of a hand. She sniffed, turning on the back lights, and stepped out into the snow.
She could hear the thwack of the axe splitting the wood, and found Elliot behind the woodpile, slamming the blade down into the stump before him, cursing when it hit the snow instead. He wore no coat or hat or gloves, and she winced when she saw how red his ears were, already frostbitten.
"Hey," She said quietly, moving slowly toward shim. He did not look up, but grunted, his breath puffing out before him like a wreath around his head. "What are you doing?"
"Wood for the fire." He said quickly, trying at the stump again. She stared from the stump to the large pile of already chopped wood before reaching out a hand, catching his arm before he swung.
"You've already got plenty of wood, El."
"Not enough." He grunted again, shrugging her hand away.
"Well, if you're servicing a steam-liner furnace maybe, but your home will be heated just fine, I think." She pulled at his arm again, easing the axe from his freezing hands. "You have no jacket on, and it's freezing out here. It's got to be below zero, El."
"Don't care." He replied, blowing on his hands. "I can't feel it. I can't feel anything right now."
"What happened?" She whispered, taking his hand and warming it between her gloved fingers.
Elliot did not respond immediately. His eyes were blank and wide as he stared at the lights inside the house, blinking at the shadow of his son, passing before his window.
"She's taking the kids."
"What?"
"She's taking them, Liv. She's not going to let me see them again."
"El, I don't…" Her breath caught in her throat, frozen as the ice hanging from the house. All at once her body felt instantly cold, and she struggled to catch her breath.
"She says I'm unstable now. Dangerous. She thinks I've gone insane or something. And she doesn't want the kids near me. She'll never let me see them again."
"She can't do that, Elliot. You agreed to joint custody."
"She'll take it back. She can do that, now that she thinks I'm not suitable for them anymore." He let out a sigh, clouding his features with a puff of air. "She'll do it, too. I'm their father, Liv. And I'm not good enough for them anymore."
"You know that's not true, El." She brought his frozen hand to her face, holding it against her cheek. "Nothing about you has changed. You're their father, and you have every right to see them."
"But she can stop me."
"No," She pulled his hand to her front, holding it at her chest, above her breasts. She stared at him fiercely, eyes glowing in the shadows behind the woodpile. "No one can tell you what to do, Elliot Stabler. You are better than that. You are so much better than that, and you know it. You know it."
"Liv…" He shivered in the freezing air.
She pulled him to her, and they stood holding each other, shivering together in the frozen night.
"There's so much…" He whispered into her hair. "And I feel like I'm drowning…always drowning…"
"I won't let you drown. Not you. Not them. You've got to remember your kids, El. They need you."
"They need us." He said, staring into her eyes.
"I know," She whispered as he touched a finger to her lips. "I know…" And she kissed that frozen hand, warming his body with her soul.
…
His knuckles rapped against the door, and he was vaguely aware of her presence on the stairs below, aware of those chocolate eyes turned onto his form. "Dickie…" He knocked again, waiting for a response. When none came, he pushed the door open, staring into the darkened room in which his son now sat.
He was sitting against his wall, arms lying lazily over his knees. Dickie, his youngest child, his only son, suddenly so distant in this black interior. Eyes glowed softly yet dangerously from beneath the shaggy fringe of his hair, falling across his forehead and eyebrows. Elliot's mind was suddenly filled with the image of a bright eyed infant, staring wordlessly at his father only minutes after his birth. There had been an immediate connection between them; perhaps because he was the only son, kindred spirit in the sea of estrogen in which Elliot constantly lived. Or perhaps it was the way they both wore themselves on their sleeves when they least wanted to, how they retreated so inwardly that they lost a part of themselves when they were finally coaxed out of their shells.
My son. My life.
Yet we might as well be strangers, sitting here and staring into eyes that harbor only pain.
I have done this to you. In my own time and my own way, I have ripped open this perfect soul, bleeding my heart over one that still beats with innocence, letting my sins account for your misdeeds.
Dickie had never been a drifter, a rebel. But here he sat, kneeling silently in the shadow of his bed, lost to this world his father so desperately clung to.
"Dickie, it's me."
"I know who it is." That voice, trying so hard to be sullen, yet still glimmering with the hint of honest hurt.
"We have to talk, Dickie."
"I know." His voice broke in the darkness. We can't go on like this, kid. I can't stand around and watch your heart break- your mind aching until it's numb with your father's pain.
"I'm trying to change things, Dickie. Your mother and I…we're not with it right now, you know that. And for whatever I've done- pushing you aside…leaving you behind in all of this…I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "You're like me, Dickie," And I know now that you hate to be told that, to be compared to this weak and failed man. "You push yourself so hard for someone else's sake, until you've worn yourself out. Well, you can't do that now. You can't take the blame for something your mom and I are still figuring out. We have to do this on our own, and you have to keep going on with your life as normally as possible. I know how hard it is, and I know it's not something you may want to do, but I need you to do that, kid. You have to keep going right now, and let this work itself out."
"Okay," Dickie replied as though he didn't care, nor had listened at all, but Elliot saw the eyes glowing brilliantly, flaring in the darkness of the corner.
"And remember Dickie, I have never forgotten you in this. Everything I'm doing, I'm doing it for you and your sisters. That's all I care about right now- not this legal crap, not how your mother is going to work this out. Just you."
There was a long pause. It was almost painful, this pregnant silence between them, weighing down on his already weary shoulders as he stared at his son, suddenly so small and thin.
"Thanks," Dickie stood up, leaning against the wall.
Elliot nodded, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Okay," He nodded again, smiling to himself. "Dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes. Come down when you're ready, alright?"
Dickie said nothing, but he nodded enough for Elliot to see.
He made his way to the door, his body awash with relief. Before he'd closed the door behind him, he heard Dickie's voice.
"See you later, dad." It was a reluctant response, but a response all the same.
"See you, kid." He smiled as he shut the door, remembering a little boy who had always waved goodbye as he'd stepped onto the bus, grinning widely from the window, so happy for the days when his father left for work later and could see his son off to school.
He went down the stairs, finding her in the kitchen, bent over the sink, preparing a salad.
"How'd it go?" She said without turning, hearing his footsteps.
"Fine." He smiled, going to the fridge for a drink. "It went really fine."
"Good," She turned to him, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes wide and friendly. "Do you want mushrooms in the salad?"
"Sure." He couldn't keep from smiling. To see her here, in this kitchen, his kitchen, as though she'd been preparing food there for as long he'd lived in the house. It was just so…natural. She reached past him into the refrigerator, and he grinned foolishly at her as she searched through its contents. God, it was just so right…
"Do you have any chives?"
"I don't think so."
"Why are you smiling at me like that?" She raised an eyebrow, throwing him a playful grin as she returned to the salad mixer.
"I'm not smiling at you like anything." He hid his grin with the carton of milk, taking a quick chug.
"That's disgusting." She pulled the carton from his grasp. "Do you know how unsanitary that is for the other people who have to use this milk?"
"It's my milk." He said defensively, taking it back.
"And what if I want a glass? I'm not drinking something you've rubbed your dirty mouth all over." She pulled it back.
"It's not like I spit in it." He took it back, lifting it to his mouth for another drink.
"I don't think so, mister." She snatched it back, shoving it in the refrigerator and closing the door before he could protest. "If you're going to do that, buy a separate carton for everyone else."
"What are you, the milk Nazi?"
"No, I have hygiene, and now my suspicions are confirmed that you do not." She gave him another playful smile, setting his eyes on fire.
"And I suppose you haven't been tasting the salad either?" He pointed to the half-eaten broccoli sitting beside the bowl.
"It's not like I put it back!" She reached for the broccoli as though to throw it at him, but he grabbed her sleeve and pushed her down, giggling. He laughed when she made a half-hearted attempt to chuck a tomato at his face, but now that she was on the floor, he kneeling above her, it did not work to her effect.
"Milk nazi!"
"Salad sniffer!"
She picked up the head of cabbage and flung it at his mouth. He caught it and put it on the counter just as he aimed a carrot at her. It hit her in the face, knocking her back to the ground, where she lay laughing hysterically. He pulled out the salad dressing, holding it dangerously above her.
"So Olivia, do we want ranch or Italian?"
"You wouldn't."
"I would."
She let out a scream of feigned horror as he held the bottle above her head, his hand moving to the cap.
Strangely enough, I think I saw this is a vegan sex video.
"Whoa."
They both turned to find Dickie standing in the doorway, his eyes wide as saucers as he stared at the two of them, Olivia on the ground, covered in mixed vegetables, and Elliot kneeling over her sprawled body, poised over her head.
Elliot cleared his throat, standing up. Olivia followed suit, brushing off her clothing and coughing uncomfortably.
"Uh…well…" He blubbered before her, helplessly holding two carrots.
"Um…do you like mushrooms in your salad, Dickie?" Olivia asked quickly, staring pathetically at him, pushing a piece of lettuce from her hair.
"Whatever." Dickie rolled his eyes and left the room, muttering something about 'completely weird adults' before heading into the dining room.
…