T Minus 4 Days, cont'd
Although he was hardly ready to face anyone, Elliot eventually pulled himself to his feet and dragged himself back to the bullpen. Fin managed a nod in his direction, but Lake and Munch didn't bother to look up. Recalling the accusatory words from the letter about him not being able to hurt her anymore, he wasn't surprised. Fin knew better, knew that Elliot would sooner die than purposely harm his partner. Lake didn't know him that well. And Munch, well, Munch had already made his feelings clear many times over the years, leading Elliot to suspect the man had long-held hatred of the bullies from high school locker rooms and he assumed Elliot would have been one. Plus, he'd told Elliot what he thought of any possible pain Elliot might inflict on Olivia. As much as it pissed him off that anyone seemed to be taking a crazy kidnapper's word for it, he knew he'd be the first one to threaten any of the other men had the comment been made against them.
It was almost four when a short, muscular guy with a buzz cut peered around the corner. Elliot was staring at the hallway, irrationally expecting Olivia to pop up, claiming that she'd been stuck in the worst traffic jam of all time. Seeing the man's eyes lock on his, Elliot stood up and approached him.
"Can I help you?"
An arm's length away from Elliot, the man still only came mid-way up his chest. He slowly looked up, his eyes widening the slightest bit when he realized Elliot could snap him in two without breaking a sweat. "Detective Elliot Stabler, right?"
It had to be something instinctive, something that spoke to the alpha male's hindbrain, but Elliot never failed to enjoy intimidating people, even when it wasn't necessary. Olivia had mentioned it a few billion times over the years and Elliot always pretended otherwise. But he knew it was true, had known it all along, had realized it was true the day they'd met. Because that had been the first time they'd argued. He'd been trying his best to bully a suspect into confessing, a suspect that Olivia had already agreed was guilty, and he'd been strutting around the man in the little interrogation room, trying to make the man, who'd already admitted he was claustrophobic, a little crazy. The jerk was sweating, wringing his hands and nervously glancing toward the door every few seconds as though it might vanish completely if he didn't look at it often enough. Elliot had gone in for the kill, leaning down to whisper about how dark the cells in prison were, what with how they were ten stories below ground. The guy had whimpered; Elliot had started to laugh.
And then Olivia had stepped in, opening the door and inclining her head toward it. "Detective Stabler, a word please?"
He didn't know a damn thing about her, other than that she was brand-spanking-new and female and pretty and therefore not likely to make it more than two days. His eyes narrowed at her, angry at the interruption even while realizing happily that he'd be able to dress her down and intimidate the crap out of her the moment they stepped outside.
He pulled the door closed behind him, putting his hands on his hips and stepping into her personal space. "That guy was about to break. What the hell were you thinking?" At the sound of his furious voice, he expected to watch her shrink back into the wall, duck her chin, apologize.
Instead, she stepped forward, jutting her chin up to meet his glare defiantly. "He'd confess to murdering Jimmy Hoffa at this point. You're scaring the shit out of him."
Until that moment, he'd never encountered a person who didn't recoil from his charge. Rather than inspiring pride as it eventually would, back then it had only served to drive him crazy. People didn't challenge an angry Stabler; his father had taught him that. People might run in fear or piss their pants, but they didn't challenge. No one purposely tried to piss him off who didn't have a death wish. Incensed at her audacity, he leaned in more and wound up even further off balance when he realized how good she smelled and that she didn't flinch. Not even a little bit.
Yeah, he'd known her three hours and she'd already established dominance.
But he saw no reason to let her know it. "Look, Detective, this is your first day here. Maybe you should stand back and learn how things are done before you start doling out advice."
She folded her arms across her chest, leaving her oversized blazer to hang loosely around her slight shoulders. "It may be my first day with this unit, but it's not my first day as a detective and it's certainly not my first day as a cop. Maybe you should stand back and learn that you can't beat a confession out of everyone."
His eyes were burning, both with hatred for the young, beautiful woman who'd walked into their nightmare of a department and thought she could teach them a thing or two and with an unsettling and fiercely intense desire to kiss the smirk right off her face. He was silent as he stared her down, trying to make her think he wasn't about to budge while he was actually trying to get himself under control. He was almost thirty-five. He was married and had four kids. He was a cop and a marine. He'd seen plenty of women, before and after he was married, that he'd wanted to have sex with. He'd seen plenty of women who pissed him off beyond words.
But he'd never before seen a woman he wanted to throw against the closest wall and fuck. He'd never wanted a woman so badly before. It scared him that she'd gotten under his skin so effortlessly.
When she refused to blink, he had to back down. He had to do something before he lost control completely and tried to fuck her right there with a rapist on the other side of the door.
Shaking his head, he tried to laugh. He wanted to make her think she was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen so she would stop trying. She needed to leave the department before she drove him out of his mind even more. "You want to hold his hand, fine. Go ahead. See how far you get." He stepped to the side, giving her access to the door. "But you might want to make sure he keeps his hands on the table. A sweet little thing like you is exactly his type."
Her hand had already moved to the door knob, but she froze at his words. Slowly turning around to face him, she moved in. She stepped up to him, crowding in until he had to lean back against the wall to stay out of physical contact with her. Then she leaned in a little more, her mouth turning up to nearly graze his ear as she whispered. "You think I'm the sweet little thing assholes like you dream about, huh?"
Trying to pretend her proximity wasn't going to break him, he chuckled. They already hated each other, he wasn't sure how a little honesty would make it worse. "Yeah, I do."
The next thing he felt was the business end of her gun, pressed against his cock. "You don't want to fuck with me, Stabler. I'll hurt you." She winked at him and then turned and stepped into the interrogation room, leaving a dumbfounded senior detective with his mouth hanging open and the first of many painfully intense hard-ons straining against his pants. Of course, three minutes later, she emerged with a signed confession, a smug grin and every last ounce of respect Elliot could muster up.
."Detective Stabler?"
Elliot blinked, the voice dragging him from his reverie, a moment where Olivia had been alive and well and very much in his space. Slowly, he nodded, liking the past so much more than the present. "Yeah, I'm Stabler."
"I know. I'm Joe Mackey. You wanted my pictures." He jerked his thumb toward the elevators behind him. "There's a bunch of boxes. You got somebody to help carry them?"
He stared at the little prick, wanting to beat the shit out of him. This was the asshole who'd followed him, followed Liv, tried to help take his son away, might have seen someone kidnapped and done nothing to stop it. The words slowly clicked in his head. "We only need the pictures of Detective Benson. She's about-"
Mackey grinned, laughing as he cut off Elliot's words. "Yeah, she's the hot bitch you're banging, I know."
And then his hand was around Mackey's throat, shoving him back, pulling his arm back to land his fist in the son of a bitch's face. But someone had a hold of his arm, stopping his jerk forward, pulling him away from the fucker who'd insulted Olivia.
"Elliot, don't, it ain't going to help." Fin stepped between them, shoving Mackey toward the elevators. "Go get the damn pictures, dumb ass, or I won't see anything, got it?"
Mackey backed up, rubbing at his throat as he went. "Somebody better reimburse me for all these copies."
Elliot lunged for him again, nearly getting by Fin who was fully expecting the surge. "You made copies?"
"Elliot, don't. Let the dipshit jerk off with his pictures. What does it matter if we can find Liv?"
His eyes turned to Fin, the closest thing he could call a friend outside of Olivia. "Son of a bitch should have been tailing me, not Olivia. He had no right to take pictures of her."
Fin shrugged. "He had no right to watch either of you, but like I said, if it helps us find Liv, what difference does it make?"
Elliot shrugged. "I still want to kill him."
Fin grinned. "Let's wait until we see what he's got."
Reappearing behind what at first glance looked like two file boxes hovering over a pair of legs, Mackey stopped beside Fin. "Where to?"
Fin motioned toward Elliot's bare desk. "Leave them there. Thanks for your cooperation."
Mackey laughed. "There's more. Someone going to help?"
Fin and Elliot shared a glance. Finally Fin shrugged, following Mackey to his van with Elliot a step behind. When Elliot saw the van, or more specifically, the contents of the van, he was even sorrier that he hadn't gotten to strangle Mackey. He had a gray conversion van, the back of which was completely filled with boxes.
Fin let out a whistle. "All of these are of Olivia?" His nervous glance at Elliot conveyed his first impression – that they had a stalker on their hands.
Mackey shook his head. "It's her, Stabler, them together, Stabler with his kids, everything visible from the street for the last month."
Elliot would have shot him right there, except there were far too many potential witnesses. "You've been stalking both of us for a month?"
"I'm not a stalker. I'm a PI with a license. I work for the law offices of Gordon, Davis, and Charlton and I didn't break any laws." Mackey's speech was delivered in a flat tone, as though he'd repeated it so many times that even he was bored with it.
Fin rolled his eyes. "Ok, so which boxes have the pictures of Olivia?"
"The babe's name is Olivia?"
Fin prevented another public attempt on Mackey's life. "Which boxes or do you want him to kill you?"
Mackey motioned vaguely at the van. "They spend a lot of time together, so she's in a lot."
"You were supposed to sort them out and just bring the ones of Olivia." Elliot couldn't even fathom the amount of time it would take for someone to sort through all the pictures, time that would be wasted while Olivia was suffering. A desire to shove Mackey's face through one of the van's windows rose up.
Mackey laughed. "Are you out of your mind? That would take days! Look, I brought the pictures. Now who's going to pay for these?"
Fin flagged down several officers and brought them over so they could clean out the van in one trip. Then he glared at Mackey. "Deduct it from your taxes."
Mackey stared blankly, assuming Fin was serious. "How do I do that?" Elliot and Fin glanced at each other, shaking their heads as they walked away.
Back upstairs, the boxes that had started out on Elliot's desk spilled over onto Olivia's desk and collected on the floor. Cragen came out of his office, dismayed at the magnitude of work for his staff. "He took all these of Olivia?" The same question that had crossed Fin's and Elliot's minds regarding how much attention the PI had paid to her.
Elliot shook his head. "Mackey's a busy guy, Cap. Didn't have time to sort anything."
Fin nodded. "He's expecting someone to pay for his hard work too."
Cragen's eyes darkened. "Are you kidding me?" He sighed heavily and then cleared his throat to address the whole room. "Anybody who's not having a medical emergency at this particular moment, grab a box and start looking."
T Minus 3 Days
Elliot had been raised by hard-working Irish parents with a stereotypically large number of children. Abuse aside, with the four boys and two girls the elder Stablers had to support, both his father and mother had worked. His mother had mostly worked cleaning houses, occasionally taking on nanny responsibilities as well, anything the under-educated woman could do to help make ends meet. His father had been a Marine and then a police officer who often moonlighted under the table as a security guard when he could. The fact that the man was rarely home was probably the only reason his kids had all survived. But they had taught their kids how to make due with what they had, watering down soup to make enough to feed them, buying bread and meat that went on the discount rack after the expiration date had passed. Even when his father had been injured on duty, questionable as that duty had appeared to the disability review board that took his pension and refused to grant disability benefits, and was suddenly no longer able to bring home a check from the city, he did what he could and drank himself into a stupor on no-name beer rather than splurging for something stronger. They'd managed, somehow, to survive and raise the kids without two cents to rub together.
So during those rare times Elliot happened to catch television and he caught sight of a celebrity who grew violent over having their picture taken, Elliot had never once felt a bit of mercy. They were rich. They barely had to work. They knew their kids would have enough money to do whatever the hell they wanted. All they had to do was put up with people taking their picture, which was a fairly obvious side effect of being rich and famous, which just so happened to be the job that they'd willingly chosen and pursued successfully.
He was beginning to feel sorry for them, however, after having friends, his boss, and half a dozen people he barely knew by sight perusing photographs of his life. The pictures with Olivia were bad enough, but he rationalized it by accepting that they were always working and the other officers had seen him with Olivia countless times. The pictures of him with his kids were different though. Seeing images of his babies, no matter their ages, being scrutinized, being passed around, being left out for anyone to see, bothered him. He felt violated. He felt they were being violated and he couldn't swear he wouldn't shoot the next person he saw with a camera.
But even those pictures with his kids, insulting and invasive as they were, could be explained. The pictures had been taken ostensibly for Kathy's benefit, to ensure the kids were being properly cared for. The pictures of Olivia, though, they were different. Because she wasn't with him. Because she wasn't getting divorced. Because she wasn't being sued for custody. No one had any right to follow her and take pictures of her meeting friends, going on dates, grocery shopping, running, living her life. It was her private life and it was meant to be just that – private. He hated that Mackey had invaded it. He hated that he had to invade it himself, even if it was to find her. He hated that others would randomly pick out a good shot of her, which seemed to be every one since Olivia was apparently one of the most photogenic people he'd ever seen, and make some comment about how hot she was or how sexy her dress was or hot much they wanted to fuck her.
More than once Elliot had sprang from his desk, hell bent on beating the shit out of someone. Fin or Cragen or Munch managed to intercede every time, stealing the stack of pictures away, reminding them they were talking about a fellow officer who deserved respect and would probably kick them in the balls when she found out what they'd said, and she would find out, they were each assured, because Elliot would tell her.
Which only served to change the focus. Rather than hooting and hollering over pictures of Olivia, they started commenting on images of Elliot and Olivia together. Whether it was how close they were sitting or how they were sharing a bottle of water or how they were looking at one another, the comments had only grown more and more inappropriate. After Elliot had made more than one threat on their lives, Cragen tried to send him to the crib for some sleep. Elliot pulled Fin aside instead, convincing him to help him sort the pictures prior to giving them out, allowing the more removed officers access to the ones of Elliot or Elliot and the kids, while only the group that truly knew Olivia got to look at ones of her. Mackey's filing system left a lot to be desired, but at least they had some sort of handle on it.
A few hours after midnight, too many for Elliot's eyes to properly focus on his watch, Lake disappeared. Elliot hadn't paid much attention as he rarely noticed when Lake was around unless he was talking anyway. But a tired stretch of his neck in the direction of Lake's desk revealed that it was devoid of pictures. When anyone else took a break, the stack they were working on was simply abandoned in place, waiting for their return. Lake had taken his with him. And Cragen was missing too.
"Hey, Fin, where's your partner?" Elliot barely glanced up as he continued to flip through pictures of Olivia and Phil having a romantic dinner at a little café. He was glad for the mental distraction because the idea that she'd trusted the asshole who wound up hitting her bugged him.
Fin shrugged before he realized Elliot wasn't looking. "Probably went to take a piss."
Then Elliot looked up, nodding at the clear desk. "And he needed to take pictures of Olivia with him for that?" He didn't even have to make a comment regarding what would happen if Lake had taken the pictures with him to do something else; everyone in the room knew various pieces of Lake's body would never be found.
Fin stood up. "He didn't say he was leaving. I'll go see if I can find him."
"Nah, I'll do it. I need a break myself." Elliot stood up, allowing himself a minute to stretch his legs out after having been sitting for so long.
He headed up to the crib first, forcing himself to ignore his personal reasons for trying to avoid the area. A quick sweep of the room proved it was empty. Checking on the bathroom, the weight room, and the roof, Elliot found the same thing. Some officers littered the rooms he checked, but Lake and Cragen weren't among them. He headed back to the squad room, trying to think. It was possible Lake had gone home. Elliot couldn't even blame him if he had; hell, someone in the unit needed to be conscious enough in the morning to do some work. But Cragen was a different story. Although Elliot was well aware that both he and Olivia tested the older man's patience far too often for their own good, it was clear that Cragen liked them. Simply the number of times they'd been reamed out for offenses that would have ended anyone else's career spoke to that. Cragen liked them, but he had a soft spot for Olivia, and more often than not, a sorry look in her big brown eyes got her out of the reaming that Elliot had to endure.
Knowing that Cragen wasn't going anywhere until his detective was found, Elliot headed back toward the interrogation rooms. He didn't know what he was looking for, but it was the only place he hadn't checked.
And that was where he found them, conferring in one of the rooms with the door closed. They were standing at adjacent sides of the table. Lake held a bunch of photos in his hand, a few more were set on the table, two were in Cragen's hands. Cragen looked upset, almost sick; Lake was gesturing at the picture in Cragen's left hand and then motioning at one in his own hand.
Pissed beyond words, Elliot thought about storming in, demanding to know what was going on that they weren't telling him. But something stopped him, making him reach for the speaker control rather than the doorknob.
"- and here you can see it again. There's something wrong. I don't like what I see."
Cragen shook his head, thrusting the pictures back at Lake. "No, you don't know them. They fight. It's nothing." Elliot's eyes darkened at the words, but he waited, determining that he needed to know if Lake was just a bastard or if both of them were.
Lake quickly sifted through the stack in his hands, dropping several shots onto the table. "Here, what about this? You can see she's afraid of him."
Cragen only glanced at the picture, barely suppressing a laugh. "Olivia is not afraid of him, Chester. She pushes his buttons just to see how riled up she can get him."
"But she'd have no reason to fear for her safety?"
Cragen shook his head. "None at all. That man would die to protect her. Are we done here?"
Lake sounded quite full of himself when he pulled the picture from the bottom of his stack, thrusting it in Cragen's face. "Then explain this to me."
Elliot was seething, convinced he was going to have to murder Lake if for no other reason than the man couldn't leave well enough alone. Lake had gone from thinking they were having an affair to trying to prove that Elliot was abusing Olivia. Elliot waited in the quiet, knowing Cragen would dismiss the claims out of hand and demand that they get back to work.
The quiet lasted longer than it should have. And Cragen's face had paled considerably.
Cragen came barreling through the door before Elliot could think to move. "Stabler!" He stopped short, blinking as he realized the target of his search was standing right there. "Get in here!"
He wanted to smack Lake right across his cocky face. He wanted to grab the captain's shoulders and shake some sense into him. Instead, he unexpectedly found himself shoved toward the table, pushed into a seat as he'd done with a million perverts. He tried to look up at Cragen to inquire what was going on, but his eyes caught on the pictures that covered that side of the table. They were all of him and Olivia and it was clear they were fighting. They were in each other's faces, yelling, red-faced, glowering at one another, storming in different directions, and they were wearing several different clothes, revealing how very common it was for them to have a shouting match on the street or in the car or on the precinct steps. One shot, that featured only Olivia, clearly showed her crying, lying next to a picture stamped from a second before where he was walking away from her.
His breath caught in his throat as he looked. He'd never realized she cried over something he'd said. Cragen had said it himself; they always fought and it didn't mean anything. But staring at her hurt face, he realized it did mean something.
And then there was another picture in front of him, so close he had to back up to see what it was. Cragen's voice was in his ear, asking him just what the hell he'd thought he was doing.
He was staring at a photograph of Olivia, held in place by a grip so tight on her arm the skin had reddened around it. Her face was turned away from his, her eyes downcast, as though she was resigned to the situation, as though she was powerless against him. And there he was, his hostile expression full of hatred, the one hand holding her still, his other hand raised in the air, poised to come down heavily to strike her across the face.
