The hickeys have faded enough for makeup to effectively hide them. She's left her wavy sun streaked hair down to touch her shoulders. Her silver earrings dangle against her skin as she has chosen to be strapless and sleeveless again tonight.
The dress is black with a baby blue satin ribbon accentuating a natural waist line and an A-line skirt. It falls just above her knees with matching baby blue peep toe pumps. She has left her neck bare but wears bracelets to match the earrings. Olivia grabs her silver clutch and heads out to the waiting car service.
Cragen managed to set her up as the true proprietor of the posh Manhattan club, Envious. The real owner was encouraged to take a vacation in lieu of drug trafficking charges. The place is upscale without worrying about being so trendy that it will become a passing fad. The atmosphere says rich, exciting and bold. The DJ is elevated above the dance floor in grandiose fashion, in a booth pulsating lights with the beat of each song.
The various tables are like mini V.I.P sections separated by sheer curtains. Rich, deep patterns of burgundy, gold and vanilla make up the walls while the furniture is accented in brown shades of caramel, deep chocolate and coffee.
Olivia has gotten a text from De La Costa telling her he'd be there tonight at 11 o'clock to discuss business. That was just enough time for Cragen to arrange for Rollins and Amaro to be patrons for the night.
As she sits cross legged in one of Envious' V.I.P suites Fin, dressed in all black with sunglasses to match, plays her personal security. Unfortunately for her, he's in a chatty mood.
"So did you get attacked by your dust buster or what," he says lowering his shades while they have a moment alone.
"Or what," she tells him. "And it's my second least favorite topic of discussion right now."
"Okay," he acquiesces. "Then how you feelin' about Elliot being involved in all this?"
"Wow," she says with a raised eyebrow and tilted head. "You managed to get right to my number one least favorite topic."
"Look Liv, you know I don't stick my nose where it doesn't belong," he begins. "But if your head's not in the game with Stabler in the mix, you need to tell me."
She stares at him in disbelief for a second before continuing. "I know how to do my job Fin," she starts. "I got it handled whether he's in this or not," she deadpans.
"What happened between you two last night," he asks abruptly. "You guys could barely stand to look at each other, which usually means morning after regrets."
Olivia doesn't have the time to excuse, deflect or deny what her friend is accusing her of. De La Costa and his brute Max are being shown into the room by a waitress. Both she and Fin stand as he's being ushered in. Olivia offers her hand to the drug dealer which he takes and presses his lips against. Fin stands stoically by her side like a statue, playing his role as bodyguard.
"Rachel," he says sitting next to her in the caramel faux suede booth. "You look absolutely gorgeous as always."
"Thank you Christian," she responds, smiling and signaling a waitress. "Would you care for anything to drink?"
"Will it be laced with any retribution," he asks in all seriousness.
"Of course not Mr. De La Costa, that would be childish," she says assuring him. "And not very good for business," she concludes as the young brunette stands there patiently waiting for an order.
"Then I'll have a bourbon on the rocks," he tells the waitress. "Nothing for Max, he doesn't drink on the clock."
The woman leaves immediately to place their drink orders leaving the group alone.
"I take it that my background check went well," she says informing him she knew of his intentions.
"Well you don't become successful in any endeavor without first doing your homework Ms. Martin," he tells her with a predatory grin on his face.
"I understand," she says, accepting her club soda from the returning waitress with a nod. She leaves after depositing De La Costa's drink in front of him.
"You already have firsthand knowledge of the quality," he says sardonically. "Now I just need to know what quantity you have in mind."
They each play the game. Olivia gives him a quantity then low balls him on price. She leans over and whispers to Fin feigning a discussion, before resuming her conversation. De La Costa talks of having to take all the risks, price of overhead, blah blah blah until they agree to meet somewhere in the middle.
"My clientele have come to expect nothing less than quality Christian," she advises him. "So I hope there won't be any cutting corners to get it to me in the timeframe I need."
"Worry not," he tells her. "I'll get my lead chemist on the phone now. I'm sure it won't be a problem."
"Excellent," she says standing. "Until then feel free to keep drinking and try out the dance floor if you choose and maybe the all hors d'oeuvres menu. I recommend the stuffed mushrooms," she says before excusing herself under the pretense of tending to club business.
Fin follows her out letting her know he'll be updating Amaro and Rollins of the details. It's Sunday night and the deal is set for Thursday. Olivia explained her time table to the drug dealer telling him the stuffed suits from Wall Street and Madison Avenue liked to wait until the work week was done to de-stress.
The party favors she would be providing courtesy of Christian De La Costa will fuel their fun for the entire weekend so it'll be most lucrative for her to buy then. All she has to do is avoid Elliot like the plague until the deal is done and she'll be fine. Olivia can do without the conversation he wants to have about last night.
In order to keep up appearances, she makes her way to the owner's office on the second floor. She doesn't have to worry about much noise because it's at the opposite end of the DJ booth. Mostly she just wants to get away from the up tight, privileged, snobs that frequent the place.
The office is open and uncluttered. There's a tropical fish tank built into the wall behind the desk. Comfortable guest chairs sit in front of it and a butter soft Italian leather couch lines one wall, book ended by cocktail tables. Plush carpeting, a soothing toffee wall color and various art pieces decorate the walls.
As she sits down in the swanky leather chair at the black lacquer desk to make the call to Cragen, she hears to two soft raps against the door. Olivia assumes it's Fin telling her he's filled the two other detectives in.
"Come in," she says leaning back to cross her legs in the comfortable chair.
To her chagrin in walks the very person she's intent on trying to avoid. He's tie-less with dark gray slacks, matching sport coat and a stark white dress shirt fit to frame his broad chest.
"Elliot," she nearly yells. "What the hell are you doing here," she asks getting up to make sure no one saw him come in.
"Couple of reasons," he says relaxing himself in one of the guest chairs opposite the desk. "To reiterate how dangerous that man downstairs is and because I wanna talk to you."
"First of all," she says returning to her chair. "I don't need you to rescue me or keep me safe. You haven't been around for over a year and I'm still alive thanks to my new partner," she adds with a touch of venom. "And second, now is not the time or place to have that conversation."
"Well I think it's the perfect time Rachel," he says with equal sourness. "Because after this case is over and you become Olivia again, you'll do everything in your power to avoid this."
"Well I'm glad this office is swept for bugs every day or else your ass would've just blown my cover. I'm busy Mr. O'Leary," she says picking up the phone. "So if you'll excuse me I need to check in with dad."
While the old Elliot would've stormed out, the new one sits stubbornly with his arms crossed over his chest taking up the room with his presence. While giving her boss the details of the exchange, she gives him the evil eye hoping that he'll leave. He just stares right back undeterred and stubborn as ever. After she's updated her boss, he still hasn't moved a muscle.
"If you're not going to leave then I am," she says getting up to open the door. She gets it ajar about an inch before she sees his hand slam it shut above her. Olivia can feel his breath on her neck and his other hand is suddenly on her waist.
"Liv," he pleads stopping her motion. "Don't go," he adds in the same tone he used to get her to stay last night.
One of her hands stills on the doorknob while the other is planted against the wall. She freezes with the touch of his hand on her body. Olivia takes a deep breath and lets it go before slowly turning. She finds herself between the closed door and a step away from the hard planes of Elliot's chest.
"I don't want you getting hurt," he tells her never breaking eye contact.
"I've already been hurt," she offers directing her sarcasm at him. "But I'm a big girl El, I can handle it and I can handle De La Costa."
"He's cruel, sadistic and ruthless," he advises her. "If he gets the slightest inkling that he's being set up, he won't hesitate to kill you himself."
"I'm a cop El, I can get killed any day of the week," she tells him laying a hand on his chest intending on pushing past him. He catches it holding it against his chest. She can feel his heart beating beneath her palm. He puts his other hand behind her neck caressing the soft skin with his thumb.
"I won't let that happen," he says erasing the distance that was keeping them from touching. She tries to take a step back but is met only by an unrelenting door.
It isn't lost on her that one minute they were stubbornly yelling at each other like they used to and now they have their hands on one another again. There is no blaming De La Costa or his new Ecstasy formula for the heat beginning in the pit of her stomach. So she reminds herself that she needs to hate him.
"Last I checked you didn't have a say," she says pushing him away from her. "Even when you were my partner. It comes with the job."
He can't disagree with her and the frustration of it all leads him to scrub his hand over his face in a subconscious habit. Olivia returns to the safety of the comfortable chair, putting a desk between herself and temptation.
"Fin's coming with me and they'll be plenty of back up in place," she informs him. "There's no need to worry."
"Good," he says. "Since you're so confident about handling De La Costa, let's have that talk you're so intent on avoiding," he says with his hands on both hips staring her down like she's a perp.
"What's there to talk about Elliot," she asks staring right back at him. "He drugged us, we had sex, end of story," she finishes, trying her damndest to appear unaffected by what she just said.
He narrows his eyes at her, both surprised and unhappy with the cold and callous way she described what happened. Elliot shakes his head in disbelief trying to hold onto how he usually deals with frustration…unwavering anger. He places both hands on her desk, leaning into her face.
"We both know that it wasn't just sex Olivia," he begins, trying to move her. "We have some shit going on and you're right there with me."
"What do you want from me," she asks, shaken from trying to appear unemotional.
"There have been plenty of times where I felt closer to you than my own wife," he says, stressing the last word. "But none of those compared to last night Olivia," he confesses. "Not watching your neck get sliced in that bus station, not when that nut had me thinking he was electrocuting you, not when the last drug dealer we dealt with had a gun to your head, and not even when I saw you break because we lost Sonja."
Olivia closes her eyes at the years of memories and emotions that flood her. Every last one of those times and many in between she just wanted him to hold her. But she knew they wouldn't have stopped there. He was married, they worked together and they just weren't those people.
Even now that they're no longer partners and he's apparently divorced, she's too used to hiding her feelings. So ingrained is it in her to keep her hands off Elliot, that she still feels guilty about their encounter.
Olivia takes a breath returning Elliot's penetrating gaze. They've always spoken everything they couldn't say to each other with just a look. Now that they have the benefit of words without repercussions she's nearly speechless. And, as affected as she is by what he's told her, she doesn't want to believe him.
"We were partners for over a decade El," she begins in her low tone. "We relied on one another to keep each other safe," she continues, coming around the desk to stand in front of him. "Seeing what we saw every day, it was natural for us to build a bond."
"You know it was more than that," he says taking a step closer.
Olivia stands her ground. "Of course it was, you were my best friend," she says, purposely using the past tense.
"Were," he rasps, deflated.
"It was the job El," she says trying to hold onto to the threat of tears. "That's the reason we were friends," she goes on with a cracked voice. "If it wasn't just the job I would've seen you before last night."
This time he's the one who closes his eyes. But it isn't to reminisce, it's because he realizes just how much it must've hurt to be cast aside so casually. They saw each other nearly every day for 13 years and the best he could do to say goodbye was a small replica of his badge and a very short note.
"I'm an idiot," he confesses, rubbing his forehead. "I'm a stubborn, cocky, pigheaded asshole," he continues getting a small smile out of her. "But I swear I thought making a clean break from you was better than figuring out that everything you just said may be true."
"May be?"
"We had more than the job in common Liv," he tells her. "We both love the Yankees, Chinese food, comedies and the beach," he shares, trying to keep his hands to himself. "We can both be stubborn and reckless and…passionate."
They've pushed each other to talk about personal things on several occasions. The separation with Kathy. Her brother. His mother. Her denied attempt at adopting. But they've only talked about them twice. Once before she left the unit. And again after she came back.
Olivia doesn't know if she can do it again. It always leaves her so raw, emotionally. Her heart rate has already increased at his mere presence and her mind is trying to block out the rest of her senses. Olivia doesn't want to remember his touch, his taste, the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, the sight of his face hovering over her body, the smell of his scent all over her or the sound of his voice whispering in her ear. She needs to have her head in this case right now and he used to know that conversations like these were best left for after an arrest.
"Elliot," she tries again. "I need to wait until this thing with De La Costa is done," she says, nearly pleading. "Then I promise to talk about…this," she finishes, letting out a tiring breath.
He steps into her space placing a hand on her upper arm, stroking it with the pad of his thumb.
"What if I can't wait that long," he responds, smoothing his hand up her arm, onto her shoulder and finally coming to rest it on her neck.
They stand there for long moments staring into one another's eyes. Olivia's gaze slips to Elliot's mouth just for a moment, but he notices. Of course he does.
Her heart is racing watching him lean in to kiss her. Before he can make contact with her lips there's a knock on the door.
"Who is it," she says pulling herself away from Elliot.
"Ms. Martin," the voice begins. "It's Christian De La Costa," he says, panicking Elliot and Olivia.