She woke with a pounding head and a mouth like sandpaper and very little recollection of how she'd made her way home the night before. The bar she remembered, sitting at the Waterfront with Munch and Stabler; they'd talked, she was sure of it, but what topics they'd covered she couldn't say. The acid bubbling its way up the back of her throat told her red wine had probably been involved - and probably a lot of it. Liquor never gave her heartburn.
I'm getting too old for this, she thought miserably. Another drink always seemed like a good idea until it wasn't, and she knew damn good and well where the line was but she crossed it far too often, chasing a sense of quiet, of peace, she knew she'd never find. Not in the bottle. Wine hadn't solved any of Serena's problems; why should Olivia expect it to do the impossible for her? Maybe because nothing else had worked.
Her eyes opened slowly and promptly closed again; the world was spinning uncomfortably around her, and she wasn't ready to face it just yet. Instead she lay very still, breathing slowly and deeply, and tried to get her bearings. The momentary glimpse she'd caught of her surroundings confirmed that she was in her own home, which was all for the good; it had been years since she'd last tried to sate her loneliness in Brian's bed, but though she didn't really want him and wouldn't have been pleased to find herself there come morning it wasn't out of the question. Brian was good company, usually, and they'd been through too much together to stop caring for one another entirely. The care would always be there.
But if she wasn't at Brian's she did have cause to worry, because she was not alone in her bed. A heavy arm was draped over the dip of her waist, and she could feel the heat of another body pressed against her back, could hear the grumbling sound of a man's breathing, not quite a snore but close enough. Slowly she opened her eyes once more, looked down, and found that the arm wrapped around her bore a familiar tattoo.
It was Stabler fast asleep behind her, Stabler holding her. In her bed.
She was still dressed - jacket, jewelry, and everything, makeup probably smeared beneath her eyes, too - and so it seemed doubtful that they'd done…that. It was hard to imagine his embrace was anything more than innocent when she was still wearing her socks, but the insistent press of his erection against her ass was anything but innocent.
He's asleep, she reminded herself. The little snores, the laxity of his grip, she was certain he was still asleep. And so he couldn't be blamed, not really, for the indency of their position. He was a man with a warm body to hold, his own body reacting of its own accord, without any direction from him. Their every interaction had been above board; Stabler had been respectful, in his own cocky way. The man had a smart mouth but he kept a courteous distance and didn't put his hands on her and didn't leer. Even now he wasn't grinding into her, or moaning in her ear; he was just close, so close, closer than she'd let anyone get to her for quite some time.
And if she was being honest she'd have to admit that she liked it, the closeness. The last few days had been bizarre, maddening, inexplicable, but it was nice, having someone to come home to. Someone to eat dinner with, someone to talk to about something other than work. It was nice, sharing her time with someone again, someone she found she liked. Maybe that was crazy, though; she hardly knew him. It had only been a few days since he'd turned up out of the blue in the interrogation room but she kept having to remind herself that he was a stranger. Her heart seemed to have forgotten that.
And Christ, but he was handsome. Big and strong, bullish and confident, just the way she liked her men. Her own heart was fierce and doubtful and prone to fighting, and she needed a man who could fight back, not one who would be cowed by her. Stabler certainly hadn't been cowed; he was kind, but he was no doormat. Only a few days they'd known one another and he'd already had some words to say about how much she drank. Ed had been the same, once. One time, and one time only, Ed had said something to her about it, and that had been enough to make her change her course, to make her realize how close she was to losing control. Then Ed was gone and her control with him, because what reason did she have, really, to moderate her vices, when her life was small and there was no one around to watch her fall from grace? Stabler was here now, though. Maybe he'd be reason enough to stop.
Handsome, and insightful, and compassionate, Stabler was all those things, and the combination was a dangerous one. It was all too easy to imagine it now, to imagine rolling over in his arms, waking him slowly, doing something to satisfy the ache in his cock, the same empty ache that echoed between her thighs. It would be good, she thought. It would also be monumentally stupid; the DNA test results hadn't come back yet, but even if they had, even if she had that one final shred of proof, he would still be a man in love with someone else, would still be as good as a stranger, one she'd let get too close already. Stabler seemed like a good man, but she didn't know him, not really, and she was afraid what she might find if she looked.
"Hey," she said hoarsely, rolling onto her back, putting a little space between her body and his cock. He grunted, and the grip of his arm around her body tightened for a moment as he dragged himself up from dreams. It only lasted a second, though, the desperate clutch of his hand around her, before his eyes flew open and he realized where he was, and promptly pulled away.
"Sorry, Liv," he murmured sleepily.
"I'm not Liv," she reminded him. She really, really wished he hadn't said that, hadn't reminded her that any care he'd shown her, any interest she'd detected from him wasn't meant for her; he was missing his Liv, dead on the other side of the veil between their universes. Maybe it was his Liv his cock was hard for, his Liv he'd been dreaming of, his Liv he wished he could hold. Maybe Olivia was nothing but a placeholder while he mourned for the real thing.
Beside her he sighed and rolled onto his back, stretching languidly, and she watched him, something like shame biting at her. He'd taken off his pants, stripped down to boxers and one of Brian's old white undershirts, and she could clearly see the heavy lines of his muscles, but more enticing than that she could see the way the bulge of his cock tented the soft fabric of the boxers, and…well. There was a lot to see.
"Sorry," he said again, and then his body went tense all at once, and he knows, she thought, he's figured it out. It had taken him a moment to wake fully, and now he couldn't ignore the state of his own body, and he chose to roll away from her, sitting up suddenly, sharply, with his back facing her.
It's too bad, she thought. She would've liked to look some more.
"How did we get here?" she asked him while he ran his hand over the back of his heard.
"I drove us home," he said.
She thought he'd leave it there, but he didn't.
"You can't keep doing this, Olivia," he said grimly.
"Doing what?" she demanded. With just a few words he'd raised her hackles; she'd never appreciated anyone telling her what to do, even if they were right.
"You know what," he said darkly. "How would you have gotten home if I wasn't there?"
Brian probably would've taken her back to his place and they probably would've fucked, sloppy and drunk, and she'd have slipped out at daybreak, but she didn't think that was something he needed to know.
"I'm a big girl, Stabler," she reminded him. "I can take care of myself."
"Then why don't you?" he turned to look at her over his shoulder, still hiding his body from view, his blue eyes burning at her from the other side of the bed. "You got no food in this house, you drink too much, you-"
"What gives you the right to judge-"
"I'm not judging, I'm scared," he snapped, and the vulnerability of that revelation shocked her so profoundly she could not think of a single thing to say in response.
"You got…listen, I don't know you, but I can tell you what I've seen. You've got a career you worked hard for and a team that cares about you. Munch cares about you. Hell, Cassidy does, too. You got a life, Olivia, and you scare me because from where I'm sitting it looks like you're trying to throw it all away."
It was a terrible thing, to be seen. For so long now Olivia had been wearing a pretty mask, presenting a face to the world that was strong, and steady, and undaunted by the horrors she'd endured. That mask, she wore it well, wore it with pride, and did not ever, ever, let anyone see what lurked beneath. The lonesomeness, the shame, the part of her that rushed headlong into danger, seeking to feel something, anything, that wasn't emptiness. Stabler had seen it, though. Was he just that clever, just that good at reading people, or had his Liv been the same?
"You're reckless," he continued. "I'll always be grateful to you for taking me in but that was risky, Olivia. Everything you've done…you're taking so many risks, and for what?"
"Are you saying I shouldn't have let you stay here?"
"I'm saying I'm damn glad you did and I'd like to stay here longer but I don't understand why, Olivia. I don't know what the fuck you're thinking half the time."
That was the problem, she thought. The problem was that he thought he ought to know what she was thinking. He still hadn't separated them in his mind, the Liv he remembered and the Olivia in front of him.
"I'm not Liv," she said for the second time that morning. Jesus, her head hurt.
"Oh, I know that," he told her.
"Do you? Do you hear the way you're talking to me right now? What do you expect from me, Stabler? What makes you think you've got the right to try to protect me?"
"Somebody's got to," he said. "And it's gonna be me. Because I see you, Olivia, and I see somebody worth knowing. I'm not gonna lose you. I can't."
"You don't have me." She wasn't his to lose; she wasn't anybody's.
This time he turned with his whole body, pulled his legs up on the bed and faced her head on, and god help her but she looked, and saw that his erection had not deflated in the slightest.
"Don't I?" he growled at her.
If he'd tried then, she'd have let him kiss her. Her heart was pounding, and her blood was racing through her veins, and she felt more alive than she had in months, and anger and lust had always danced hand in hand inside her heart. It should have sent her running, a strange man laying claim to her, trying to assert himself into her personal affairs, trying to tell her how to live; it was fucked up, and the kind of shit she wouldn't stand for, normally. But coming from him, it felt…good. Whatever his reasons, he wanted to claim her. Whatever his reasons, he saw something in her worth saving. And Jesus, she wanted to be saved.
He didn't try to kiss her, though. His eyes dropped down to her mouth and there was a vein throbbing in the side of his neck as his own heart pounded, but he didn't try to kiss her.
Too bad, really.
"I'm not doing this with you," she said. "I've got to go to work." With that she slid to her feet, and tried not to let him see her wobble on unsteady legs.
"Fine," he said. "Go, take a shower, I'll see if I can find something for breakfast."
There was something in his eyes that told her he had more to say. We're not done, she thought. Not by half. For the moment he conceded, though, and did not stop her as she made her way across the room, shutting the bathroom door smartly behind her.