TW- small references to Lewis.
Elliot is again at Donnelly's bar, doing his best to keep up with The Brotherhood. Luckily, they aren't pushing shots tonight, but he's on his fifth beer and feeling way more than a light buzz. There are a lot of laughs and a lot of lowkey treachery, and Elliot is playing it cool- immersive and content and not acting too curious. The less attention he calls to himself, the better. He's been accepted into the group, but several still seem wary. His reputation has helped: the suspension, the screaming match at 1PP, the loose-cannon ideology that he was infamous for back in the day; it's all adding up to create this persona of Elliot Stabler. The tattoo sealed the deal, at least in the eyes of the ringleader, Frank Donnelly, who was holding court at the end of the bar, telling an old story.
"The point is, everyone has dirty laundry," Frank reasons. "You do this job long enough, and you don't even have to look for it. Everyone has a troubled past in this job. We've all done something to get something, whether it's a promotion, more money, hell, even the pick of vacation days on the board."
Elliot perks up at Frank's litany, hoping to hear something specific that he can take back to Bell. Instead, Frank decides to turn the tables. "Stabler, name any cop from back in the day, and I'll tell ya their poison."
He really doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to play this game, and he doesn't want to hear about any potential corruption with any of his current or former colleagues. But he knows this is yet another test to get himself further enmeshed into the fold. And, honestly, that's why he's here, no matter how difficult it is to stomach.
He starts safely. A few old cops from his days of working the beat, long before he started at SVU. Ones that his dad might have known too. Frank easily tells tales of bribery, snitches in their pockets, evidence tampering, etc. Many of these guys are long retired, but Elliot commits the stories to memory. It's not exactly what he's looking for, but once the lips get loose, it's just a matter of time before the Marcy Killers come up. He's patient, hopeful.
"Come on, Stabler, you know you wanna ask."
He really doesn't want to ask, but this is a test. He has to ask. He takes a long swig from his bottle before giving in. "SVU. What's going on there?"
"Perfect, pristine SVU?! Ha, well at least since you left, right Elliot?"
The bar erupts in laughter. Elliot smirks, playing it cool, even though his grip around his beer bottle is so tight he might shatter it.
"That Rollins chick did something a few years back, but it all ended up being on the up and up. The only one on that squad that has some dirty laundry is Benson."
That gets Elliot's attention. No fucking way.
He doesn't realize he's said this statement out loud until he sees several sets of eyes glaring at him. He recovers fast. "You mean the perfect Benson I know is dirty?" He tries to drip sarcasm, feigning his annoyance over their fight at 1PP. "What have I missed over the years?"
Frank hands him another beer, and to him, it's just another conversation, another name drop, another story that he assumes Elliot knows. "Well, I mean, she deserved some promotions after how the NYPD treated her after Lewis. Just the fact that her own squad didn't even know she was missing for two days… Jesus fucking Christ, what a nightmare. Kidnapped from her own apartment, fucking tortured the way she was. If that happened to my wife or daughters, the man wouldn't have been left standing. I really wish she would have killed him when she had the chance. She was dragged through that trial, then all that shit when he escaped prison and she admitted to perjury. Russian roulette. Fuck. I mean, she's got nothing but respect from me, man."
Elliot's mind is reeling and he feels a wave of nausea as he processes the words casually falling from Donnelly's mouth. Lewis. Missing. Tortured. Perjury. Russian roulette. What the fuck? And the way it's said, nonchalantly, like it happened a lifetime ago and now it's a sound bite, white noise amongst the NYPD chatter. Something everybody knows about, except him. He clenched his insides, afraid of vomiting all over the bar.
"But," Frank continues, "can't ignore that she slept her way out of a few situations. Making captain- still not sure if she earned that one or if it was because she fucked Tucker and Chief Dodds."
That does it. He slams his bottle down at the accusation. Luckily, it's misread by Donnelly.
"Whoa," he laughs, "I heard you were always jealous when it came to Olivia Benson, but this is fun to see." Frank summons the bartender. "Get my friend a shot here, he needs it after the bomb I just dropped."
It takes everything in him to not punch Donnelly in the face. The misogynistic stereotypes were disgusting, and, unfortunately in the year 2022, were still going strong. Anytime any woman got a promotion or recognition in the department, the talk amongst the guys was always about who she slept with or blew to reach the top. He never participated in the gossip and made sure people knew that he thought the conversations were inappropriate and disrespectful.
He doesn't know Dodds, but he sure as shit knows Tucker.
He downs the shot. Requests another.
Ed Tucker.
And then, Ed died.
He heard her that day, the day he tried to be casual and cute, but failed miserably.
He needs verification, even though he knows the answer. "What's Tucker up to these days?"
Donnelly shakes his head. "Brain cancer. Ate his gun so his new wife didn't watch him suffer."
He's relieved and devastated all at once. Devastated to know that it was the Ed that Liv mentioned. Relieved that he was dead. It was an awful thought, but it's what it was. There was no love lost there, and while he'd never wish death upon anyone, knowing he wasn't a current threat to his relationship with Liv gave him a measure of peace.
The same could be said for Kathy.
He downs the second shot, shakes off the guilt that burns his throat and tries to get a handle on the dirty laundry he's been presented with.
He knows Liv, knows that would have never been the reason- to get ahead in her career. Somewhere along the line, Liv fell in love with Ed Tucker. The man that cost him his job, even though Liv really had no clue about that. Or, maybe she does. Who gives a fuck anymore, right? He finds himself sinking back into that place of panic, where he secretly wishes time stopped for ten years, where he really doesn't know the person Liv became in his absence. The Liv that somehow got into the hands of a man named Lewis and was put through hell. The Liv he frightened when he showed up to her place, drugged out of his mind.
So many dots are connecting and he has to get out of there. Several of the others decide to call it a night- is surprisingly easy to leave. He is too drunk to drive, so he walks. And walks. His mind is ablaze with too many nervous thoughts, and he desperately needs to see her, hear her. He also knows he needs to sober up a bit. No more insane visits.
He decides on a text. It's late, well, early, and he wonders if she still has trouble sleeping and keeping a normal schedule. You awake?
She responds immediately by calling him. "El, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he grumbles with relief. "I just needed to hear your voice. Rough night with The Brotherhood."
"What happened? El, come over."
"No. I've had a few, and I'm never doing that to you again."
"I know I've said this, but you're doing the right thing."
"Am I? Because I'm hearing shit that is blindsiding me." He chokes back a sob. "Liv… I am so fucking sorry. For everything."
Silence. He can hear their unspoken wordplay in these excruciating seconds. Finally, she sighs.
"How much did you hear?"
"Bits and pieces. Enough."
"El, there were so many times I wanted to bring it up this year, but I couldn't. Still can't." She whispers.
"Liv, you owe me nothing. I owe you everything. I just… needed to hear your voice."
"I'm right here. I've always been right here."
"I know." He leans against a building, forehead facing the ground, feeling the familiar effects of bile and alcohol rise in his throat. "How close did I come to losing you forever?"
More silence. Finally, she's barely audible when she mouths, "Close."
He mutes his side of the phone as he empties the contents of his stomach. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Unmutes. "Liv…"
"Elliot, please, come over. I'll put coffee on. I've got an extra toothbrush."
"No. Noah can't see me like this."
"He won't be up for a few hours. Don't worry, I'll kick you out by then. Please. Let's talk. In-person, okay?"
"I don't deserve you, Liv."
"I know." She tries to sound light, and he chuckles softly, appreciating the sentiment. Her promise of stale donuts seals the deal, and before he knows it he's at her door.
She opens it and smiles. "Howdy."
She's perfect, in wine-colored pajamas and hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She looks tired, concerned, beautiful.
He walks in, and before she's finished closing the door, he has her enveloped in a hug. He needs to drink her in, feel her, inhale all of her. He's protective, gripping her as he should have years ago.
They'll talk, eventually. Real talk. But not tonight. Tonight, they'll hold each other, share coffee and donuts like old times, maybe reminisce and smile.
The stories can wait.
Notes: My mom is a police officer, and unfortunately, the rumor mill is TOXIC when it comes to women in law enforcement. Baseless, senseless, ridiculous, doesn't matter. It's infuriating. I wanted to use this little ficlet as a platform to call out some of the atrocities. These jerks would be just the type to stir the pot.