Thank you all for sticking with this story! I appreciate your comments and feedback. They truly keep me motivated.
PS. If you've read any of my other stories you know i love a good sexy shower scene. :)
The warm show spray felt like heaven on her aching muscles. She rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder, trying to release the tension residing there.
She finally found a moment for a shower after Kathleen left in the early afternoon. Lizzie crashed on the couch twenty minutes after Kathleen finally talked her into taking the painkillers. It took Elliot another twenty minutes to convince Kathleen that it would be okay if she went home for a while.
About the time Elliot started compulsively cleaning the kitchen in silence, she ducked into her bathroom to sneak in a much-needed shower.
The air around her thickened with steam, creating a heavy condensation on the glass panels of her shower. She squirted some overly priced shampoo into her palm before lathering the suds into her hair. As she washed, she felt her mind drift.
The past few days had felt like an eternity. Everything felt heavy, and she felt like every step she took and every word she said sent her wobbling like an inexperienced acrobat on a tightrope.
She let the spray rinse the suds from her hair, but once her hair was clean, she remained in the same position beneath the showerhead.
She wasn't young anymore. She was a seasoned captain with the NYPD who spent her life helping victims. Survivors. Still, no amount of experience could have prepared her for the rollercoaster of emotion she had ridden the past few days. However, she herself didn't feel unstable. It was more like the foundational sands of her life continued to shift, and she found herself scrambling.
A soft knock on the door pulled her from her silent thought spiral.
"Liv?" His voice sounded muffled through the door, and it was barely audible over the sound of the spray hitting the tile.
"Yeah?"
"Do you have dish packs or anything? Where do I find those?"
Again, his voice was muffled.
This was ridiculous. The man had already seen her naked, so why the hell were they communicating through a closed door?
"Just come in. I can't hear you," she called.
She knew what she was doing, but her heartbeat stuttered anyway when the doorknob twisted.
"Uh." His hulk-like frame hovered in the door. He kept his eyes focused on the terrycloth mat on the floor and rubbed the back of his head nervously.
She melted a little at the bashful response from a man who was often described as a bulldog.
Tough. Fierce. Protective. Loyal.
Hers.
And she loved every endearingly, yet infuriating, part of him.
Before he tried mumbling out some more unintelligible questions, she spoke.
"El," she said softly.
His head whipped up like her voice was as loud as a crack of thunder.
She watched as his eyes first found her face, but they quickly drifted down her body, pausing to drink in every dip and curve.
"I,uh." His voice croaked.
She smiled. There was something supremely satisfying in seeing the obvious power she held over him.
Him. The ever tenacious bulldog. The pain in the NYPD's ass. Elliot Stabler was putty in her hands.
"Shower with me?"
A breathy laugh escaped her lips when his eyes widened in surprise.
His lips curled into a self-confident smirk that was so characteristic of the man she had known for more than two decades.
He lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it in the general direction of the laundry hamper. Her invitation seemed to banish any uncertainty he had entered the room with. He quickly shucked his pants and eagerly reached for the glass shower door.
-000-
He had to be dreaming. For twenty years he dreamed of some variation of the current scenario, but the reality of Olivia's water-slicked body beneath his hands left him awestruck.
His hands grasped at her hips while a smile teased the corner of her lips. She knew exactly what she did to him. What she had always done.
"Hey," she greeted.
He slid his hands around her until his palms rested on the swell of her ass. His lips brushed the shell of her ear as he returned her greeting. "Hey," he husked.
She easily slipped into his arms. Her wet, warm body settled against his, and he bit back a moan when her breasts pressed against his chest.
Without a thought, his lips found her collarbone, and his tongue flicked at the drops of water there. He kissed a path up her neck before settling on the spot just beneath her ear. Her body trembled lightly, and her response made his heart pound faster.
He let his hands wander, noting the places that left her breathless. "You're so damn beautiful."
Her delicate fingers brushed against the stubble of his face before she pulled his face towards hers. The kiss was slow and sweet as they savored the novel feeling of their mouths working with each other. A low burning heat began to accelerate. The slide of her tongue against his threw gasoline on that low burning fire.
His one hand grasped her ass while the other pulled one of her long tan legs around his hip. Their lips broke apart briefly when her back met the shower wall firmly. He thought about apologizing, but the little bit of roughness seemed to only arouse her more.
Her hips ground down, and she let out a breathy gasp when he sucked the skin on the top of her breast between his teeth. She didn't stop him as he worked a mark into the sensitive skin there. It would be low enough, easy to cover, but they would both know it was there.
His lips moved. As he worked his way between her breasts and down her stomach until he found himself on his knees before her. Her chest was heaving, and her wet hair dripped on his face as he lifted his eyes to hers—silently asking permission for what he hoped they both wanted. Her hands settled on his broad shoulders, bracing herself for what would come next...
.
-000-
Velasco scanned the video of the back alley way carefully. He had started the video at the time they first noticed the bartender change.
"Will you watch the other feed until Liz leaves?" He said over his shoulder. "There's a truck blocking most of the alley. I need to know what time she leaves."
"Hopefully this damn truck moves," he grumbled under his breath.
Next to him, Churlish rested her head in her hand. "I'm sure we should be pissed at Stabler for having his team hacker get this feed, but I'm not."
Velasco chuckled lightly. "Girl, one day you're gonna have to learn that the world isn't so black and white." He kept his eyes on his screen. He leaned in when he noticed their bartender friend approaching the truck. "Stabler's a good guy. He just doesn't always play by the rules."
"I get that, but I don't know the man, and isn't that the point of having regulations? We have to have some standards. It's not like we can judge the world by one man's sense of morality."
Velasco watched the bartender sign for some sort of delivery before helping the delivery man unload the truck. "Well," he paused so he could zoom in on the boxes. "One day you're gonna have to decide between getting justice for a vic or letting a perp walk on a technicality. Sometimes your sacred regulations let bad guys go free."
He squinted his eyes, but he couldn't quite make out the brand on the sides of the boxes.
"Better than anarchy," Churlish defended herself.
He shook his head, eyes still on his feed. "Yeah, well. Agree to disagree," he grumbled.
The driver leaned in and shook the bartenders hand, but something about their proximity felt off.
"Good call," she murmured back. Her eyes returned to her screen.
Velasco was still trying to decide if he saw what he thought he just saw when Churlish interrupted his thoughts. "She's at least three drinks deep. I'm not sure what kind, but she's looking a little off."
Velasco paused his feed and rolled his chair closer to Churlish's desk. Liz's eyes kept dropping to her phone screen. She picked it up, then immediately put it down. "How many times has she checked her phone?" Velasco wondered aloud.
"A few times. Not excessively. She's been doing it more every time she finishes a drink."
"Maybe considering a drunk dial?" Velasco would never admit to the amount of drunken dials he was guilty of.
Churlish shook her head. "I don't think it's that. She just checks the screen and puts it down. She hasn't texted or called. It's more like she's waiting for someone to reach out to her."
Velasco nodded in silent agreement.
They watched silently as Liz stood up from the bar stool. She rubbed her temples briefly before settling her tab. Her gaze drifted to the door and then back to her phone. She stepped towards the door but paused. She pulled her phone from her pocket and finally made a call.
Velasco rolled his chair back over to his desk. "I have her phone logs here somewhere." He clicked through some files. "Whoever she called right there is the last person to talk to her before the assault."
Churlish continued to watch the feed while Velasco searched for the call log. "She looks so sad," Churlish observed. "It looks like she's going to burst into tears any second."
"Got it." Velasco scrolled to the bottom of the page, where the final phone number and name sat.
"And?" Churlish prodded.
"Well. I think it's time to give Satge a call. We gotta finish viewing this footage, and it looks like someone needs to pay a visit to good ol' Brandon."
-000-
Lizzie stared at the ceiling in Noah's room, silent tears falling. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to sleep—lose herself in the dark, nothing of unconsciousness. She had already slept for two hours, but her aching ribs woke her up, and now she couldn't get her mind to slow down.
Her time with Kathleen in the morning had been a beautiful reprieve, but that lightness faded away, and she felt a deep heaviness settle into her chest.
She tried not to think about it. She wanted to push it away. Bury it. But it didn't matter. Every time she blinks, she is greeted by shadowy faces. Every time she moved, she felt their hands on her skin. She couldn't escape it. She couldn't escape them.
She rolled onto her side so she faced the wall. She thought of her dad taking time away from work—Olivia sacrificing her privacy and home—even sweet Noah was giving up his room for her because she couldn't go home. Her life was crumbling, but she hated that she was dragging everyone she loved down with her.
More tears fell, but she remained silent. She was eight when she learned how to stifle her sobs. By the time she was ten, she could keep a smile on her face while dying inside. She wanted nothing more than to slap a smile on her face and pretend none of this happened. Everyone could move on with their lives, and she could limp along. If she pretended long enough, maybe every memory could fade away into a faraway nightmare. Maybe she could convince herself that it had never happened at all.
She took a slow breath through her nose. She desperately wanted to avoid another panic attack. The last one was hell, and she knew she said things that cut Kathleen deeply. She didn't intend to hurt her, but some beast inside had been set loose, and she said things she didn't mean.
It wasn't Katie's fault that bad things happened to Liv, and the attack wasn't Katie's fault either.
It wasnt her fault; it was yours. You knew better. You know better.
More tears leaked from her eyes. She knew she should challenge the errant thought, but it felt too true to disregard.
She had been attacked. She had been raped. And it was all her fault.