Detective Mistress

Circumstance, Chapter 3: Fortune

2006-11-02T03:59:24Z

Detective Olivia Benson strolled through the door of the medical examiner's building at exactly 9:02 a.m. She carried a small cup of coffee, carefully, and finished the last sip before depositing the cup in a trash bin outside Dr. Warner's lab. She thought it rude to drink coffee over the deceased. Whatever mechanisms she possessed to deal with the realities of her work - humor, detachment, dogged pursuit of information to avoid dwelling on the sudden shortening of a young woman's life - she also felt compelled to treat everyone with the utmost respect. Victims, living or dead. Colleagues. Warner expected them at nine, and here she was. She walked through the door.

Elliot was nowhere to be found. Neither was the body. Sometimes they had to examine it, sometimes not. Maybe this time was not.

“Hey, Olivia,” Dr. Warner said warmly when she saw her. As warmly as possible in the cool, windowless room. There was no hiding it - it was a place of death. But Melinda somehow imbued it with life, with a sense of purpose.

“Morning,” Olivia answered as the door swung gently closed in back of her.

Dr. Warner narrowed her eyes, looking behind her at the slowly-closing door. “Where's your backup?”

“Dunno. Running late, maybe.”

Warner blinked. “Everything okay?”

Olivia lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I guess. As okay as ever. Why don't you tell me what you've found out, and I'll fill Elliot in?”

“Sure thing.”

“Cause of death still inconclusive?”

“No. I had to check out the cut on her head to see if that had anything to do with it.”

“Did it?”

“She bled some, but it didn't kill her. This did.” Dr. Warner picked something up off a table, and held up a square black plug with a worm-thin cord hanging from it. A power cord.

“Don't tell me she was electrocuted?”

“No.” Dr. Warner blinked. “She was strangled with it. It's the A-C adaptor for her laptop.”

“So I didn't imagine those lines on her neck.”

Warner shook her head. “And from the looks of it, it happened from above and behind. Pattern of contusions on the lower front of the neck, here.” Warner took a photo from the wall and handed it to Olivia with latex-encased fingers.

“Above... the killer was taller?”

“Not necessarily.”

Both women were startled by the noise of both doors swinging open to bang against the wall. Elliot strode in, catching his breath. “Sorry I'm late.”

Olivia peered at him, but said nothing. It wasn't like him. She glanced over his jaw, noticing it was smooth in some places, rough in others, with a few tiny red marks. He'd shaved in a hurry. Overslept? For a split second she saw the mental image of Elliot, lounging in a bed, completely relaxed. Half-naked. Alone... his lips were moving. He was talking.

“...miss anything?”

Warner leveled a no-nonsense stare in his direction. “Just the entire homicide.”

“Eh, you've seen one...” he said as he sauntered up to the table where Warner had placed the black power cord. “What's this?”

“The murder weapon,” Olivia told him.

“Great, just when I was getting excited about computers. Summary?”

“How about a demonstration?” Warner said, walking to another table for a substitute weapon. She uncoiled a short length of string. “One of you gets to be the victim.”

She turned around, and both women looked at Elliot. He held his palms up.

“Hey, I got to be the vic the last time you two wanted a strangulation demonstration. I'll pass.”

“Fine. You're the perp,” Warner said, handing Elliot the string. “No signs of forced entry, so Lucille probably opened the door. At least a little. There was a struggle, as evidenced by the repositioning of the furniture near the door. Lucille fought back. The perp struck her on the head with something, or she fell - judging by the blood on the corner of the coffee table, that might have been it. Then she tries to pull herself up on the table - her finger- and palm- prints are here, and here - “ Dr. Warner pointed to another photograph of the table - “ - and that's when the perp grabs the cord. This is an impulse killing. The weapon wasn't brought, it comes to hand. Killer wraps it around her neck, twice.” She nodded.

“Okay,” Olivia said, bending over the metal lab table, holding the ends with both hands. “I'm trying to get up, I'm pushing, my hands are occupied.”

“Gotcha,” Elliot said, wrapping the string around her neck.

“The killer pulls up and back, strangling her,” Warner narrated. Elliot looked at her, and she smiled. “You can pull a little harder. It's only string.”

“Hey, let's see you in the noose,” Olivia put in, instinctively tugging at the string with her fingers.

“Uh-uh,” Elliot protested, yanking a little tighter. Olivia froze. “So, I'm forced down and over her to keep up the pressure.” Elliot bent forward, pressing Olivia into the table. The metal edge dug into her hipbones.

“Yes. Imagine Olivia's on her knees, like Lucille was. The more she tries to get away -“

“The less air she gets,” Elliot finished. “Minute or two, our writer loses consciousness.” Elliot dipped his head forward to talk into Liv's ear. “'The end'.”

Olivia didn't move. His whole body was warm against hers, as he held her against the cool table. She felt the heat of his hands, too, at the side of her neck where he held the string firm. The string itched. Began to burn. His hipbones pressed into the soft flesh of her bottom, and everything seemed to stop as Olivia mentally translated their body positions... he had her bent over a table, he was... she almost forgot he was strangling her - pretending to strangle her - until he pulled a little harder. She swallowed and turned her chin to look at him, because she was suddenly desperate to know if he was thinking the same thing.

He was thinking something, because she saw the realization in his gray-blue eyes as they narrowed, inches from her face. One more endless second of body against body, Elliot everywhere on her. Looking at her, looking through her...

He loosened the string, and took a step back and to the side. Olivia rose on her arms and turned around. They both needed a breath before being able to talk. They breathed.

Elliot spoke first. “So Doc, those marks match our victim?”

Olivia was confused until Warner walked over close to her, running a thumb over Olivia's neck. “Yep. Deepest in center, angled upward. Either our perp was seven feet tall, or Lucille was strangled while on the floor. And the few spots of blood on the table indicate her head was directly over it.”

“Sure the blood doesn't belong to our killer?” Elliot casually toyed with the bit of string between his fingers.

“I wish, lab says no.” Dr. Warner said. “So you're looking for somebody who knows Lucille, who also had a reason to come to her apartment at night with a major ax to grind.”

Elliot furrowed his brows. “So she wasn't raped?”

Warner shook her head. “Negative for fluids, no trauma to the genitals. She was undressed when the killer arrived. No sex crime, so technically, you could hand over the case.”

“Over my dead body,” Olivia said, pushing off the edge of the table and moving Elliot from her path with a palm to his chest. “Thanks, Melinda. Let's go,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed the door open.

Elliot nodded to Dr. Warner before turning to follow Olivia, his fingers tucking the string into his jacket pocket.

* * *

They said nothing to each other until they were surrounded by the public office-noise of the squadroom.

“What happened to you this morning?” Olivia said, tossing her keys on the desk.

“Eh, nothing, it happens,” Elliot replied casually. But Olivia didn't miss a hard look from Fin. Accompanied by an almost-smirk. She frowned at him.

“What?” she said to Fin.

“Oh, nothin'.” Fin scooted his chair up to his desk, laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles in exaggerated fashion. He wiggled his fingers and typed experimentally on his new laptop. “Let's see, shirt inside out, late for work? You ask me, that's the sign of a new girl.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. Olivia lifted her brows, but said nothing. A new girl, she was thinking, mentally reviewing her observations. Could Fin be right?

“So where do we start?” Elliot asked her. “Who've we got so far?”

Olivia pulled out her writing tablet. “Okay, well, there's the boyfriend.”

“You talked to him, what do you think?”

They both sat down in unison, without looking at each other. Olivia tapped her notepad with her pencil, subconsciously registering that the two of them seemed to be back in sync again. “No motive than I can tell. He seemed genuinely distressed over her death. He was in shock.”

“Yeah, committing murder does that to people,” Fin put in from across the room.

“What for? He didn't mention any problem, except maybe a little distance. He said she hadn't told him about her online activities until a few days ago.”

“Is that a motive for murder?” Elliot rested his elbows on the desk, folding his arms.

“I don't know.” Olivia looked up at him. “If you found out your wife - or girlfriend - was writing to get people off, would you kill her?”

Elliot regarded her. Blinked. “No.”

“He'd never leave the computer,” Fin quipped, chuckling until a glare from Olivia silenced him.

She sighed. “Why else would he kill her?”

“Money?”

“Didn't have any.”

“Revenge? Obsession? Was she dumping him?”

“Not this guy. He's very normal, good-looking. Really nice. Seems genuine.”

Elliot snorted. “What, you're cutting him a break because he's the all-American good guy type? Even the attractive ones can kill, you know that.”

Olivia slapped her pad on the table, and then set her pencil next to it. Gently. “Are you saying that I'm biased because I think Nick is a decent person devoid of murderous rage, based on my first impressions?”

Elliot smiled, a small smile that wasn't nice. “No. I think you're biased because you think he's cute.”

Olivia scoffed and tossed out a quick retort. “Oh, please. Gentlemen may prefer blondes, but I certainly don't.”

Fin's typing stopped. Elliot's chin lifted a little in satisfaction. Olivia's mouth hung open for a second, as she thought how to extract herself from the noose she'd stepped into, when the phone rang. She stared at it. It rang again.

“You gonna answer that?” Elliot said, leaning back and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“SVU, Detective Benson.” She listened, and then leaned forward and snapped her fingers twice, catching Elliot's gaze. He immediately stood and began to put on his coat. “Yes! Please, right away. We'll be right over.” Olivia was standing as she hung up the phone. “Lucille's sister. Let's see if she can shed any light on our motive.”

Fin peered at his screen, listening all the while. “Hey, El, you gonna let her snap her fingers at you, now?” he said offhandedly, without looking over. “Elliot?”

Two sets of footsteps sounded along the squadroom floor and out into the stairwell. Almost in unison.

* * *

Mrs. Amy Morrow, Lucille's sister, had long, wavy dark brown hair that made her seem younger than her thirty-two years. She held her eighteen-month-old daughter on her lap as she faced the two detectives. Olivia wondered briefly what Lucille and Nick's daughter might have looked like, as she glanced over her notes for things she wanted to ask Amy.

“Mrs. Morrow, can you think of any reasons anyone would have wanted to hurt Lucille?”

Amy shook her head numbly. “No. Lucy was flamboyant, but she got along with people generally... I don't know why someone would have... wanted to kill her.”

“How was her relationship with Nick? They fight recently, anything like that?” Elliot chimed in. Olivia fought the urge to look crossways at him.

Amy frowned. “Nick? Oh, no. They never fought. Is he... is he a suspect?”

Elliot smiled placatingly. “We're just gathering information right now. Anything you could tell us about your sister's social life would be helpful.”

Amy wet her lips and seemed to think for a moment, looking down at her daughter's face as she clutched part of Amy's sweater in her fist. “Social life? Well, other than Nick, she didn't have much of one. We talked once a week, more or less. We're... we were... um...” She took a deep breath and sighed, holding her child closer. “We were the only living family left, you now? We were close, but other than that...” She shrugged.

Olivia met the other woman's eyes. They were red and bloodshot, from grief and stress, she was sure, from making all the funeral arrangements. “Amy, what can you tell us about your sister's online activities?”

Amy sighed. “She spent a lot of time on the computer. Her site was really popular... she was always getting messages about her writing.”

“Messages? You mean e-mails?”

“No, uh... comments, on her page. Hundreds of them people leave, there. I've been there, you know, to look around... she has a whole group of fans. Repeat visitors, you know, like friends.”

Olivia exchanged a look with Elliot before she spoke. “Do you know if anyone ever threatened her in these comments? Would anyone have reason to be angry with her?”

Amy shook her head. “I don't know. I'd have to read through them all... she never mentioned...”

“It's okay, we'll do that,” Olivia said. “What about these online friends, did any of them live in the area? Did Lucy ever meet any of them?”

Amy's brows furrowed in thought. “There may have been someone in New York.” A pause while she considered. “A month ago, maybe. A woman, another writer, they met for coffee or a drink. I don't know her name, but she'll have left lots of comments on Lucy's page. And her blog.” The young child then began to cry, and Amy bounced her knee and shushed her. “Detectives... I have a lot of things to do. I don't know what else to tell you. But if anyone really hated Lucy enough to hurt her, you might find something online. It was half her life.”

“Thanks very much for your time,” Olivia said as they both stood. “We'll be in touch.”

Once outside, Elliot shoved his hands in his pockets as they jogged down the steps of Amy's Queens apartment building. “We still got no motive.”

“I know.” Olivia tucked her notebook in her pocket. “I have to get a close look at that web site. If we're going to find any more clues to Lucille's personal life, it would have to be there.”

“I'll check phone records for new friends calling her lately, you get up close and personal with the site... you want to head back to the precinct?”

“Yeah, right away. Got lots of reading to do.”

Elliot opened the car door for her. “You want a bottle of wine to go with it? Maybe some candles?”

Olivia rolled her eyes as Elliot shut the door and walked around the back of the car. When he climbed into the driver's seat, she reached for her seat belt. “You think this is funny?”

He shook his head. “The case, no. I want to get this guy.”

“Or girl.”

“Right.”

“So what, then?”

Elliot pursed his lower lip as though suppressing a laugh. “Not funny. Just ironic, that you get to spend your afternoon reading porn.”

“All in a day's work,” Olivia muttered as the car pulled away.

* * *

The phone across the desk rang once. Twice.

“Elliot, you going to get that?” Olivia said, eyes glued to the screen of her new laptop. The phone rang again, and she looked over to see Elliot's chair empty. Maybe he had said he was going out for a cup of coffee. Or was it dinner... when she was in her work zone, she hardly noticed the passage of time at all. The phone rang a fourth time, and Olivia sighed, getting up to answer it. It could be one of Lucy's friends or family with information.

“SVU, this is Benson.”

Silence on the other end. Then, a female voice. “Oh... I'm sorry, is this extension twelve?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I was trying to reach Elliot Stabler.”

Silence, as comprehension dawned. A woman, calling for Elliot. Elliot, not Detective Stabler. “This is his partner, may I help you?”

A low, throaty laugh. “Oh, you must be Olivia. Elliot speaks highly of you. So... yes, can I leave a message for him? His cell voicemail's not working.”

Olivia swallowed. Reached slowly for a pen, a pink 'While You Were Out' pad. “Go ahead.”

“It's Christine. He has my number. Thanks.”

“Christine.” Olivia wrote the name, stared at the letters as she tore the paper from the pad. “I'll let him know.”

Click.

Olivia set the small pink piece of paper at the center of Elliot's desk. Looked at it. Moved it to one corner. Tugged it so it was half off the desk. Then she sat back down and returned to Lucille's web site.

After another half hour, Olivia wiggled her fingers to alleviate stiffness, then returned to hitting the down arrow on her laptop. She was finishing a story called “The Pirate's Sword” that had over a hundred and fifty comments attached. Some frequent visitors with handles on Lucille's blog, and other one-time readers. Lucy - posting as 'Luscious' - had replied to most of them, and more information was often contained in the post-story conversations than the story itself. Not that any of Lucy's stories were devoid of detail.

“'His dark eyes glinted with the promise that he would teach her how to handle a pirate's sword properly,'” Elliot read aloud over Olivia's shoulder, setting a brown, fragrant bag on the desk next to him. “This is what's got you so fascinated?”

Olivia smiled, not taking her eyes off the mauve screen. “Looking for Luscious's personal contacts stemming from her fiction posts. Since we're at a loss, I'm examining her writing, too... who knows, maybe she wrote something offensive, pissed somebody off?”

Elliot's chin was again perilously close to her shoulder. “Anything good?”

Olivia eyed him, noting his proximity. “See for yourself.”

“Nah, I'm more of a visual man.” He turned his face toward hers, his nose nearly brushing her cheek. She could feel the chill of the outside air on his skin. “Unless you want to read it to me?”

She smiled a sarcastic smile. “I could, but it'll cost ya.”

“How much?”

“More than you can afford.”

Elliot grinned. “Oh, I see. Well, you're not rich, either, unless you got yourself a night job doing, uh...” He indicated the content of the computer screen with his chin. “...books on tape.”

Olivia snorted. “This is my night job. It's seven o'clock.” The smell of garlic reached her nose, and she finally looked up from the screen. “Chinese?”

“Enough for two. Beef and snow peas.”

Olivia's stomach rumbled. Elliot did know her well. In a few minutes they both had paper plates piled high with brown rice and steaming meat and vegetables. Elliot regarded her as he gathered a forkful of food on his plate.

“So, anything in there explain why somebody'd want to kill her? Anything illegal up there?”

Olivia shook her head, mouth partially full. “Not until writing...uh, masturbatory drivel becomes a crime.” She stabbed a piece of beef, eyeing the pink piece of paper perched on the edge of Elliot's desk before continuing. “She's got everything in here: threesomes, voyeurs, oral, you name it. But nothing really weird, no kids, no animals, nothing like that. Seems like your run of the mill sex writing.”

Elliot smiled as he scraped rice grains together with a plastic fork. “You're familiar, I take it?”

“In a strictly professional fashion.”

Olivia watched as Elliot reached for and squashed the brown paper bag after emptying it of containers. The puff of air nudged the message slip off the desk, and it floated to the floor. Olivia took another bite of her stir-fry. It was delicious.

“So, in your uh, 'professional' opinion, her murder's got nothing to do with her porn writing?” Elliot asked.

Olivia chewed. “It's not porn, it's 'erotic literature'.”

“Oh, spare me. That line didn't work on my father when he found six issues of Playboy stashed under my bed.”

“Serves you right for not hiding them any better.”

Elliot met her gaze. “Yeah, well, I was ten. And I stole 'em from my brother, anyway.”

There was a long pause while they both cleaned their plates. Olivia considered Elliot's statement. Suddenly she had an idea.

“Elliot, what if...” She turned back to the computer and tapped away.

“What if, what?”

Olivia clicked a number of links rapidly. “Her last post was made the day before she died. I noticed something strange about it, like... it wasn't like all the others. You got me thinking.”

“Meaning?”

“Take a look.”

Elliot finished his last bite and got up, leaning over her, making her as disconcerted as before. She was warm, suddenly. But perhaps that was the food, it had been a bit spicy. She cleared her throat, pointing at the screen. “It's a different style, almost. Notice how short the sentences are. And there's an extra space between the paragraphs, almost like the formatting got messed up before she posted it. You mentioned stealing.”

“You think it's not hers?”

“Maybe not. And maybe our other would-be author found out about it.”

“You think she was killed over plagiarism?”

Olivia angled her chin thoughtfully. “They would have to have known her real identity.”

Elliot lifted his brows. “Well, somebody did. I've got a list of Lucy's cell phone calls for the last month - shall we contact the ISP and find out who these folks are?”

She looked at her watch. “Absolutely. But... I think we'll have to wait till the morning to contact the company.”

“In the meantime, let's see if we can figure out who our mystery writer is.”

“Well, get out your own laptop and get cracking. We can link to the other writers' work through their profiles.”

Elliot took his arm from the back of Olivia's chair. “One thing first.” He reached for a tiny plastic-wrapped item on the desk, tossing it to Olivia, who caught it. A fortune cookie. Elliot picked up the other one, nodding to her. “Open it. Maybe it'll bring us luck.”

Olivia looked at him skeptically, but did so, as she heard the crackling of Elliot's wrapper.

Elliot popped the cookie halves in his mouth, peering at the tiny slip of paper. “Hey, not bad. 'Your dreams lie ahead of you'.” He regarded Olivia across the desk. “Yours?”

“I'd rather not.”

“Ah, come on. Just read it.”

Olivia stared at the tiny red letters. “'You will discover a hidden secret.'”

Elliot waggled his brows. “Sounds like good news for our case. “

She crumpled it and tossed it into the trash, turning back to the computer, but not before noticing the pink slip now resting next to Elliot's chair on the floor. “Maybe.”

Lucille ‘Luscious’ Spencer wasn't the only one keeping secrets.

Circumstance, Chapter 2: Luscious

2006-10-27T21:55:39Z

Detective Olivia Benson strode into the carpeted hallway of the building, passing a uniformed officer on his way out, who nodded to her. She knew she had to face the scene, soon, and so she planned on stopping for a moment to relax.

She did it whenever she could, to prepare herself for the worst. Blood would be the worst - blood everywhere, the most visceral sign of human life. After years on the job, she was almost used to it. Almost. She had to make sure she was ready for blood. She closed her eyes and paused in her stride. Only a second or two, to center herself after all the stress of the last hour.

Elliot was following behind her so closely and so quickly that he almost ran into her. He stopped on his toes, a hand on her back. “What, are you meditating?” It unsettled both of them, because they were so used to each other's body language that they walked together, in sync, with plenty of space.

She didn't answer him, and took a deep breath. “Go on ahead, I'll be right behind you.”

He walked around her in two big strides, turned back to face her. “No, it's okay. I can wait.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“Something the matter?”

“A woman is dead.”

“Besides that.”

She sighed, opened her eyes. Looked at him, with his thick eyebrow cocked in concern, arms folded across his chest. “Yes, come to think of it. You're totally out of line.”

He blinked, expression blank. “What, the coffee remark?”

“You're damn right.”

“I'm sorry. You know how it is, sometimes I forget you're not just one of the guys.”

Olivia looked at him, incredulous. “Well, there's a backhanded compliment.”

“Come on, I'd say the same thing to Munch or Fin.” He absently scratched the back of his head. “I was just kidding, we'd been going at it all morning.”

His inopportune choice of words did nothing to help the situation, but she knew he was at least trying to mollify her. She glanced up the stairs to where crime lab personnel were filing in and out.

“I'm sorry, all right? Can we go in there and be ourselves, please?” Elliot laid a palm on her upper arm, and she turned her eyes back to him.

“She needs us to do our job without distractions,” Olivia said in a soft, but firm, tone.

“Absolutely.” He removed his hand from her arm, and stood back a few inches. “Okay, Detective. Let's go.”

She noticed he still waited for her to begin climbing the steps, before turning around behind her. It seemed as though Elliot was behind her, watching her back. That was what partners did.

She walked down the hallway after they reached the second floor, and took one final breath before they turned the corner into the apartment. She stopped just inside, surveying the scene.

No blood. Thank God.

She breathed a small sigh of relief, as she scanned the cozily furnished living room. Techs were kneeling, dusting for prints along the coffee table, and others snapped photos of the body. The body... A woman, not a child. Olivia breathed again. What happened to this woman was terrible. But a child... she couldn't take a kid. Not today.

A woman in uniform approached. “Hey, Benson, Stabler... nice to see you, better circumstances and all that.”

“Yes, likewise... name?” Olivia answered, staring at the too-pale legs protruding from under a short red satin robe.

“Lucille Spencer. Twenty-eight. Worked part-time downstairs in the store. Seems like she was strangled, but we'll wait for the M.E., of course.”

Lucille lay sprawled on the carpet, her robe partially open to reveal black lacy underwear and a curvy figure. Shoulder-length dark hair was fanned out on the floor, and across her cheek and chin, but did little to obscure the bruised lines on her neck. Yes. Strangled.

Olivia swallowed, her throat constricting a little. “Forced entry?”

“Nope.”

“Who found her?” Olivia said to the officer.

“Boyfriend - uh, Nick, I think. We took him down the hall,” the woman replied, gesturing with an outstretched thumb.

“Okay, thanks, we'll take it from here.” Olivia looked back at Elliot and nodded. They had an unspoken agreement in effect most of the time: she dealt with the living; he dealt with the dead.
All professionals have their own particular talents. It would be all right. They would get this woman justice, because there was nothing else they could do.

She found the young man seated on the steps of another staircase at the end of the hall, giving a statement to an officer. He looked dazed. He was young, under thirty in Olivia's estimation, with short dirty blonde hair and athletic clothes. Gym sneakers that he nudged back and forth against the carpeted stairs. He looked up when Olivia approached.

“Hi, Nick? I'm Detective Benson.”

He nodded numbly, rubbing his bare arms with his palms. “Nick Goodwin.”

Olivia caught the officer's eye and he moved away, saying, “We can finish in a bit.”

She saw Nick was about to stand, and gestured in protest. “No, sit down. You've had a shock.” Olivia perched on the edge of the top step, stretching her long legs out and crossing her ankles. “I'm very sorry about what happened, but I need to ask you a few questions about Lucille, is that okay?”

A nod from Nick. His eyes darted away and down.

“When was the last time you spoke to Lucille?”

“I, uh, I called Lucy from work yesterday. Told her I might stop by later, but as it turns out I was stuck there.”

“What do you do, Nick?”

“I-T work. I was on call and one of the servers went down. Took a few hours to fix.”

“What time did you talk to her?”

“Around five, maybe six. Don't know, don't remember.” Nick shivered, and Olivia furrowed her brows.

“Listen, I think you may be experiencing some symptoms of shock. Why don't I get a doctor to check you out?”

“No, no.”

Olivia continued with the usual barrage of questions, patiently, as always, making a note here and there. Family? Yes, a sister in New York. Oh, god, he'd said, I have to tell her Lucy's dead. Anything missing from the apartment, jewelry, electronics? He hadn't had time to check, but thought for a moment. Electronics... I didn't see her laptop anywhere. Do you... do you think they killed her for her computer? Oh, god... Tears, then. Any idea who might have done this? A bitter chuckle. A sick asshole, unfortunately I don't know his name or what he looks like. Sympathy from Olivia. We'll do the best we can. Did Lucy have any other jobs besides the computer store?

“Not unless you count the luscious stuff as a job.”

“The... excuse me, what?”

“Lucy spent a lot of time writing. Luscious is her handle.”

“Handle, you mean on the internet? What did she write?”

An odd look from Nick. “Well... she wrote, uh, sex stories. You know.”

“Erotica?”

“Sure.”

“Just as a hobby?”

“Hell of a hobby, she had her own site and everything. Not that she ever said anything to me about it before last week, and we've been dating three months. I'll give you the address if you want it.”

“We'll check it out, can you write it down for me?” Olivia handed the young man her pen and tablet.

In a few minutes she rejoined Stabler in the apartment, as he was stripping off latex gloves in the kitchen. “You done here?”

“Yeah, just about, Melinda will fill us in A-S-A-P. What'd you get?”

“Boyfriend's pretty out of it. Has an alibi for last night, but that's not what's interesting.”

“Yeah?”

“According to him, Lucy Spencer's not your average computer geek. Hostess of her own erotic fiction website.”

“That is interesting,” Elliot said, walking over and waiting for her to turn so they could walk out. She didn't realize he was expecting her to walk through the narrow doorway until he nearly collided with the tablet she was staring at.

She tapped the paper with her pen. “Maybe someone targeted her online.”

“We done?”

She looked up to find Elliot's chest ridiculously close - again - and forced herself to relax. What was he saying? Oh, done. Turn around. Go?

“Yeah,” she said mechanically, still deep in thought. “Luscious Fics dot com. Well, I guess it's time to take our new computers out of the packaging. Sex Crimes goes high-tech.”

“Yup. 'Bout time we caught up with the perps,” Elliot said as he followed her out of the kitchen and out into the hallway.

* * *

The usual rounds followed; place of employment, family in the area. Questions asked at the computer store where she worked, notes taken. Elliot prodded, Olivia soothed. Lucille's sister wasn't home, and they headed back to the squad room to wait for Warner's report.

When they walked in and headed for their desks, they crossed paths without looking at each other; Olivia went to hang her coat on a hook by the wall, while Elliot shrugged out of his and hung it on the back of his chair. They orbited each other gracefully, most of the time, balanced forces of forward movement and gravity anchoring them in the same patterns day after day. Every once in a while something was out of whack and there was a near-collision. Like this morning in Lucille's kitchen. Out-of-whack days were rare, but always unsettled Olivia. They were two individual bodies, following their own paths... what if they crashed into each other? What if-

“Liv?”

Olivia looked up, startled, from the form she wasn't seeing at all, and Elliot was frowning at her.

“You tired? I thought I saw you drifting off there for a minute.”

She shook her head, tightened her grip on the ballpoint pen. “No. Just thinking...” She stared down at the page, and the letters lifted, swam. Collided. “You know, I think I'll go ask the captain how soon I can get my hands on a laptop. I may as well check out this site.”

“Sounds like fun,” Elliot said, lifting his brows.

It occurred to her as she walked away that he hadn't sounded as sarcastic as usual. Checking out porn sites in the line of duty? Sure, that was fun. Loads of fun.

Or maybe Elliot did think reading some dead woman's sexual fantasies would be fun?

Or maybe he was just jerking her chain?

She tried not to let it rattle her as she headed for Cragen's office. She didn't like out-of-whack days.

It took three people to unload the laptops from Cragen's car, all because he'd had to pick them up himself after the units were specially modified for their squad and for security reasons. Then it took an hour for the tech to configure Olivia's Gateway for their network. By that time it was three p.m. and she was sitting across from Elliot figuring out the finer nuances of her browser preferences.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was deep in 'work' mode, examining a file even while taking a break. His brawny forearms were currently employed, together with his equally bronzed and strong hands, in peeling an orange. Long fingers gently stripped away the skin and pried out pieces, which he lifted and popped into his mouth, sucking absently as his eyes passed back and forth over the form in front of him. A drop of orange juice clung to his lower lip, just for a moment, before his tongue caught it and it disappeared between his lips.

She hadn't realized she was staring until she heard Elliot say, “You want some?”

His words were low and softly spoken. Dangerous. Like this morning in the car, she thought. Suddenly it seemed to be a hundred degrees in the immediate vicinity of her desk. “What?”

He held up the remaining half of the orange in his palm. “Hungry?”

Her cheeks colored. “I'm good, thanks.” She made herself look away. Back to the screen. Still she felt his blue eyes boring into her face. Good? Like hell, those eyes seemed to say.

She forced herself to concentrate, and soon she was browsing Lucille's web site.

It was purple. Very purple. She explored all the different sections, noting that Lucille - a.k.a. Luscious, as she was known on the site - dabbled in any number of genres of erotic fiction. She decided not to explore any in detail for the moment, and picked up the phone to try Lucille's sister again. Still no answer. She then tried the M.E.'s office.

“Warner.”

“Hey, it's Olivia. How's it going, will we have cause of death today?”

A sigh from the other end. “Still inconclusive. Most likely strangulation, but I'm still waiting for test results, and the lab's backed up. Tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

“Oh, great. All right, thanks, see you bright and early.”

“You got it.”

Cragen strolled by. “Was that Warner?”

Olivia sighed. “Yeah, nothing conclusive till tomorrow. We can keep looking for the sister, but we've struck out so far. Doesn't seem to be employed. May be out of town, I don't know.”

Cragen nodded. “Go home, both of you. Get some rest. Tomorrow we've all got a full day.”

“Nah, Liv, you go ahead. I'll do some of the record-checking,” Elliot replied.

“No need, I'm good to push papers around for a few more hours,” she countered, feeling suddenly pressured to prove her diligence. “You go home.” I'll get more work done if you're not here, she thought. Been that kind of day.

“Go home, both of you, I said,” Cragen said, a little louder. “Quit being martyrs - or giving each other a hard time, whichever it is - and get out of here. We'll start fresh in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Elliot said jovially, shutting the folder in front of him and pushing back his chair as Cragen strolled away, returning to his office. “Don't have to tell me twice.”

“I think he just did,” Olivia noted, as she gracefully sidestepped Elliot in pursuit of her coat. Not so weird after all. They could still be comfortable, maintain the proper distance.

But when she turned around, shrugging into the sleeves, he was right behind her. No, in front of her. Against her...

“Excuse me,” he said quietly, but neither of them moved a muscle. Olivia held her breath.

Move, her mind told her. She took a small step to the side. He turned, too, and inched by. “Thanks.”

She forced herself to exhale, slowly. What was wrong with them today? The closeness. The heat. It happened every once in a while. She thought it was when something was off, when circumstances combined in particular ways... but it was happening more and more frequently of late. She was always focused on the job. Both of them were. Maybe that was why every so often the rest of their lives bled in, clamoring for attention, taking them over... overwhelming sadness, perhaps, or hunger. Thirst. Basic human needs. She glanced up under lowered eyelids to see Elliot closing a button on his jacket, the shadow of his beard emphasizing the square, powerful cut of his jaw. The urge to trace that outline with her fingertip arose unbidden in her mind, and she fought it and swallowed, her mouth dry.

“Thirsty?” Elliot said, as though reading her mind. “Want to go get a drink?”

Olivia fought the urge to laugh. “No, thanks. I'm going to stop by the market, since I'm getting out of here while it's still open, for a change.” She appear casual as she stuffed her hands in her pockets. She smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

She turned around, picked up her bag, and left, before he could say anything else.

* * *

Several hours later, Olivia unpacked plastic bags on her kitchen counter. She had enjoyed her trip to the market, losing herself among the rows of colorful fruit and vegetables. She found it relaxing to suppress thinking and reasoning about price and other trivialities and simply buy what appealed to her. Somehow she'd ended up with ten bright, round oranges, one of which now rolled across her counter and hit the floor with a thump. She hadn't realized she'd still been thinking about Elliot as she picked them, examining them one by one. She planted her hands on the counter on either side of her, leaning forward and hanging her head with her eyes squeezed shut. Don't, she thought. Can't think about him now.

Or ever.

At least that's what she told herself, every time she was suddenly overcome with need. Raw, unadulterated need that permeated every limb until her fingertips quivered. She told herself, Don't think about Elliot. Not like that. But it was so hard to fight, especially since it seemed to coincide with tough days, crime scene and frustration days, long days.

When this happened, if she was lucky, one of her admittedly few old boyfriends would answer his phone and be available for a drink. If she was lucky, he'd drink just enough to loosen up, and she'd pretend she wasn't wound tighter than a spring, coiled and ready to explode. When she was lucky, the hapless guy would follow her back to her place and they'd fuck hard, so hard her head would hit the wall or his would, and she'd forget Elliot in the intensity of it, except for maybe at that one unguarded moment when everything came loose and she'd bite her tongue to keep from saying his name.

If she wasn't lucky, her ex had a date of his own, or else he'd grown tired of the futility of answering Liv's calls and would find more uncomplicated or more sympathetic company elsewhere. If she wasn't lucky, she was left alone in her apartment, wandering like a ghost from room to room, until she ran a bath to drown her desire.

That was tonight. Olivia wrapped herself in a bathrobe, and sat on the edge of the tub to reach the taps.

The bath needed to be hot. Never cold. Cold could never compete with the burning in her gut when she started on him. She needed something hot. Something to scald her, to turn her skin pink and seep into her muscles, silently spreading any thoughts of sex with Elliot out into the hot water so it could be washed away.

But that same moment would come, when the steam had done its work and opened her completely, and she'd be at the peak of relaxation, half-awake, half-sleeping... her mind would drift and still it would find him. Only for a second. His long fingers, wrapped around a cup of coffee, steam wafting from the top. Water dripping from his chin, his palms as he splashed his face in the locker room. The heat that always told her when he was near, even when he was behind her. Elliot was hot, always hot. Hot on her back, on her waist, her neck. Anywhere he came close to touching her.

She got out of the bath, flushed and moist, wrapped herself in a dark towel. Drained the tub. Wiped a palm across the steamy mirror and sigh, a small sigh of exhaustion. Married, was the word she used to say to herself as she turned on the faucet and picked up her toothbrush, recovering her balance and sense of normalcy from following her routine. It used to be enough. Now she couldn't say that any more.

Partner, she said now. But it sounded weak, even in her mind. She brushed her teeth and climb into bed, and real bodily exhaustion combined with the bath rendered her unconscious, as it had before, in a matter of seconds. No time to dwell on Elliot then. Better that way.

Sometimes, on a night like tonight, when she was both lucky and unlucky at once, he would visit her in dreams.

------------

Feedback greatly appreciated.

Circumstance, Chapter 1: Spillover

2006-10-27T21:49:42Z

Lucille Spencer laughed as she pulled her laptop atop her bare thighs. “Oh, please! Like I'd confuse fluid and fluent. Pathetic. I know my tongues, darlin'. Hold on, somebody's knocking. Yeah, must be Nick, maybe he left his keys in his gym locker again. Men! Hold on.”

After punching the mute button on her phone, she set the laptop down on the coffee table, and the cell phone next to it. She padded across her living room to the door, and unlocked both latches with two quick flicks of her wrist. “Nicky, did you lose your... Oh. It's you. You should leave.”

The door slammed open, and Lucille was knocked backward. She swore violently. “You get the hell out.” She was stunned into silence by a blow to her face that sent her to the floor. When she realized what had happened, she screamed in rage. But her scream was cut short by another blow. And another.

“Hello? Lucy?” came the voice on the cell phone. “Hello?”

* * *

“Hello, Stabler here,” Elliot said in a jovial voice. It was morning and sunlight streamed in through the dirty windows in the squad room. Olivia cast a look at him over her styrofoam coffee cup.

“Somebody's in a good mood,” she muttered loud enough for him to hear, and received a lift of an eyebrow in response.

She sipped the hot coffee as he said, “Yeah,” and then replaced the phone. He rested his elbows on the desk, folding his arms. “If I'm in a good mood, you're in a rotten one.”

“Didn't get much sleep. What else is new?”

“Actually, Cragen's got something for us. He's still collecting the details, said he'd be with us in twenty.”

“Good, something to take me away from my paperwork,” Olivia said, shoving a stack farther forward on her desk to make room for her coffee. Elliot regarded her solemnly.

“Liv, we get to do our paperwork when nobody's gettin' raped and murdered.”

“You know that's not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“If I wanted forms to fill out all day, I'd be working for the IRS.”

“What, not ready to trade me in for Uncle Sam?” He was back to joking again, as he picked up a pen. Uncapped it with one hand, a graceful twisting movement Olivia had yet to figure out.

“Nope.”

“Why not? Haven't had your fill of the worst New York has to offer?”

“No. But you're better looking than he is,” she said before taking another gulp of coffee, her voice dripping sarcasm as a few sips' worth of coffee rolled off the brim and landed with a small splap on her desk. “Oops.”

“Liv, you're a mess,” Elliot said without looking up from the form he was rapidly completing with glances at an open folder. “Every day that coffee gets all over. Pretty soon you won't have to sign your forms, they'll know they're yours by the coffee stains.”

“How will they know yours, the bad handwriting?” She stood, pulling out her center desk drawer, fishing for napkins. Nothing. She walked around the desk, heading for the ladies' room.

“My handwriting's fine, you're the only one who can't read it.”

“She's right, Elliot, your handwriting sucks.” This from Fin, with a wrinkle of his nose.

Elliot glared at him. “Hey, thanks a lot, pal. Ever hear of 'bros before - Ow,'” he amended as Olivia tapped him firmly on the back of the head with her knuckles.

“Bros before ow? Sorry, Ell, never heard that one,” Fin teased as Olivia sauntered out the door. “Don't worry, Liv, in a battle of wits, you got Elliot way outgunned.”

“What are you talking about,” Elliot said with a smile, leaning back in his chair. “Just between us, of me and Liv, I bet I have the higher IQ.”

“How much?” Fin replied.

Elliot pursed his lips quickly, and drew them back. “Eh, probably not that much.”

“I meant, how much you wanna bet? 'Cause my bet's on Olivia.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Actually,” Munch put in, “statistically, men do better on IQ tests than women. This would indicate some bias inherent in the test. Unless you really think all men are smarter?”

“If they're so smart, how come they still need us?” Olivia said as she strolled back in, with a small stack of cheap paper towels.

“Need you for what?” Elliot said, finding her with eyes glinting with mischief.

She nodded in his direction, once. “Your shirt's inside out.”

Fin and Munch laughed as they saw she was right. The green tee he was wearing had a tag protruding from the neckline, and the stitched outline of a pocket on the left breast.

“Get dressed in a hurry, Elliot?” Fin said between snickers. “What you been doing, anyway?”

Elliot rolled his eyes, reaching behind him for the dress shirt he'd stripped off in the warmth of the squad room, and waved their laughter away with the swipe of a hand. “Doesn't matter once I put the shirt on, get out of here.”

Olivia was smiling, now, too, as she watched him make his way up the row of buttons, still holding her coffee. He caught her eye and watched her watch him for a few seconds, until both of their throats felt dry, and he cleared his and she took a long drink of coffee.

“Oh, naw, that's no good,” Fin said, shaking his head. “You can't just cover up that mess. Go turn your shirt around. And hurry, before we tell the captain who can't dress himself.”

“Who can't dress himself?” Cragen said, taking long strides into the room.

“Stabler,” Munch said, squinting behind his darkened lenses.

Cragen turned toward Elliot, hands on hips. “That so?”

“You know, this is all your fault,” Elliot said to Olivia.

“That's rich, I'd love to see the chain of evidence for that.”

“Save it, you two, we got something.” Cragen lifted a palm to his forehead. “Just my luck I'm at the computer store picking up our order - the laptops finally came in - and wouldn't you know it, someone starts screaming upstairs. Turns out, there's a bunch of apartments above the store, and one of them has a dead woman. Strangled. Half naked. And she's all yours.”

Elliot shoved back his chair. “Where're we going?”

“Corner of... you know where Twenty's used to be?”

“Next to the strip club,” Fin said, and four pairs of eyes fixed on him. “What? I was there for business, back in Narcotics.”

“It's across the street,” answered Cragen, slowly turning back to Elliot.

“I don't know it,” Elliot said.

“Hell, I'll drive you, it'll be quicker,” Cragen said, turning on his heel. “Benson. Stabler. You're with me.”

“Hey, am I not good enough or something? I actually know the place,” Fin called after their retreating forms.

“Thanks for holding down the fort, soldier,” Cragen called back before disappearing down the hallway.

When they reached the street and Cragen's car, the captain swore. “Crap, I forgot all that computer junk's in the back seat. We have to unload it later.”

“If nobody lifts it from us first,” Elliot said, opening the passenger door before turning to Olivia. “Guess we're squeezing in front.”

Olivia stared, clutching her coffee. “Are you kidding?”

“Move it, sister,” Cragen called from the driver's seat. “I want you two on the scene before it gets messed up.”

“I'll never fit in there, Elliot's you-know-what is too big.”

“My what?” Elliot said, sliding in and reaching out to take her coffee from her, his blue-gray eyes twinkling.

She knew two spots of color were forming on her cheeks as Cragen turned the key in the ignition, trying not to laugh. “I meant your ass.”

“Oh,” Elliot replied matter-of-factly, eyes still sparkling a bit, before patting his knee. “Climb in.”

“This is illegal.”

“So is shooting the both of you, which is what I'm going to do next. If Olivia doesn't get her ass in this car right now,” Cragen said, leaning sideways to frown at her. Elliot buckled the belt and lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

With a sigh she ducked her head and climbed in, and Elliot shut the door with his right as Cragen began to back the car up. She balanced herself on his rock-solid thigh, hot and smooth through his thin dress slacks, as she tried her hardest not to notice. His right arm came around her waist to hold her against him as Cragen pulled out into traffic.

“This is really dangerous,” she observed uselessly as they wove around a taxicab and she swayed, nearly toppling off of Elliot. “I don't think I've ridden on a guy's lap since I was fifteen.”

Cragen braked hard at a red light, and Olivia lurched forward, only to feel Elliot's arm, hard as a steel band, crush her back against him.

“That long, huh?” Elliot said with a broad smile and a near-wink, and she was sure she colored more as she understood his innuendo. She looked down at him. He was close, too close... she could smell his aftershave and that was never good, days when she smelled his aftershave were bad days, because it somehow got into her pores and she could smell it all day and all night...

Cragen was swearing at a left turner. Something warm was in her hand. She looked to see what it was. Her coffee. Elliot was handing it to her, whispering, “Hold tight. So help you, if you spill that on me...”

“No less than you deserve, so what if I do?” she whispered back as casually as she could muster, glancing nonchalantly out the window.

“You spill so much as one drop of that on my lap...” Elliot glanced at the distracted Cragen before leaning forward to brush his lips against her ear. “...and I'll see that you personally lick it off.”

Her head snapped toward him and her lips formed a shocked O of protest, but her retort was cut off by Cragen.

“What was that, Detective?”

“Nothing, sir,” Elliot answered, still holding Liv's furious gaze.

“Good. We're here.”

Olivia was never so grateful to be double-parked. When the door opened, she shot out of the car like a daredevil out of a cannon, and took off toward the sidewalk, still gripping her coffee. It was getting cold. Or maybe she was getting hotter.

She mentally reviewed her morning as she yanked open the door to the building, nearly hitting Stabler with it. She'd been insulted, nearly flung through the windshield, indirectly propositioned by her partner, and she hadn't yet finished her first cup of coffee. Oh - never mind that some poor woman had been raped and murdered. Her stomach began to do flip-flops, as it always did before she got to a scene, imagining the worst possible sight.

And it wasn't even nine-thirty.

Oh, yes. Her day was going great.

--------------

Click "next entry" for Chapter 2: Luscious.

fic: Circumstance

2006-10-27T21:44:56Z

You may have seen the first chapter of this over at svufiction. Here's the first and second, linked to my journal. Second one is not "approved" yet on svufiction, but I assume it shall be soon, and you can read it here.

Title: Circumstance

Disclaimer: In the internet fanfiction system, crimes of copyright infringement are considered especially heinous. The brilliant characters who appear in these stories are property of Dick Wolf and Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. This is their story.

Summary: Lucille “Luscious” Spencer, writer of erotic fiction, meets a tragic end. Will Olivia and Elliot find a better one for themselves as they work to solve the case and bring her murderer to justice?

Takes place anywhere post- “Doubt” (Elliot and Kathy separate) and pre- “Fault”. Or in an imaginary Season 8 or future of your choice.

Characters: Benson, Stabler, Fin, Munch, Cragen, Novak, OCs

Pairing: Elliot/Olivia

Chapters: 2 so far, not completed

Rating: MA

Chapter 1: Spillover

Chapter 2: Luscious

First SVU fic: Burden

2006-09-27T22:24:34Z

Title: Burden

Disclaimer: In the criminal justice system, crimes of copyright infringement are considered especially heinous. Sometimes authors are prosecuted for stealing characters that don't belong to them. This one isn't making any money off of them. This is her story.

Fandom: Law & Order: SVU; Season 6, after “Doubt” (in which a young woman claims to be raped by a professor, Elliot and Olivia disagree on the guilt or innocence of the accused, and it comes out that Elliot's wife has left him, and he is falsely accused of groping the victim when he takes her home.)

Rating: NC-17/MA (No one under 18 permitted anywhere on my journal)

Summary: An argument over a case heats up and becomes personal, and Olivia won't take Elliot's stony silence for an answer. Set season 6, post- “Doubt”.

Chapters: 1, words: 4,000

“Elliot!”

Olivia slammed her palm against the door that was swinging shut behind him, as he strode out, quickly and confidently. She gritted her teeth. There was no dealing with him when he was like this.

“Elliot, wait!”

He was climbing the steps, two at a time, without looking back at her. She jogged up them as fast as she could, still unable to catch him.

Another door. The emergency exit. The grating sound of the metal push bar echoed in the stairwell as sunlight flooded in and Elliot walked out onto the roof. Olivia was not far behind, though she was out of breath, and a few seconds later the push bar screamed again as Olivia hit it, forcefully, frustrated.

He walked to the edge of the roof. Maddeningly calm of gait, his broad shoulders swathed in the blue shirt she'd come to think of as his rip off shirt, as in the one she often found herself thinking about unbuttoning... it was loose around his chest but tight where it disappeared around his lean hips, held fast by his brown leather belt.

But he couldn't run any more, she thought as the door swung closed behind her. He was on the goddamn roof. If he wanted to avoid talking to her so bad, he'd have to jump.

“Elliot, enough,” she called, walking toward him. He crossed his arms across the broad expanse of his chest, staring out at the surrounding buildings.

“What do you want me to say,” he muttered, looking in her direction for a brief moment. Not at her. It was not a question.

“I just want you to listen.”

“Guess I don't really have a choice, unless I sprout some wings.”

“Look...” She drew up to stand next to him, facing the sky and street. “I know I made a blanket statement. I'm sorry. I didn't mean you.”

“Oh, that's supposed to make all the difference, right? If I said to a vic, 'I think women are generally bitches, but not you,' I'd get my ass handed to me.”

“I was upset about the verdict. I'm still upset about the verdict. That piece of trash got away with rape.”

“Well, the jury seemed to think he was innocent.”

Olivia stared at him. He turned to look at her, and his jaw set, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “He got to you,” she concluded, reading his eyes expertly. “Somehow he got you on his side.”

“We're not supposed to be on anyone's side, Liv. We investigate. That's our job.”

“You're wrong. We're supposed to be on the victim's side.”

“And what if the victim's not always right, huh?” Elliot turned to face her, his voice getting deadly quiet. “You know how it is. A little girl, a kid, no question there. But this woman... Liv, if you'd have seen the way she was lookin' at me, all big-eyed and helpless-“

“Are you trying to blame her for something inappropriate? She's a rape victim!”

“Alleged rape victim.”

“She knew exactly what she was doing.” Elliot's eyes flashed blue, the same blue as the sky behind them, the blue of that damned shirt... “A man knows when he's being seduced.”

“And that gives him the right to rape her?”

“No, it gives him a fucking hard-on, and I'm pretty damn sure she'd know what to do with it.”

“So because she was giving you looks, she's lying about being raped.”

“It sure does make me awfully suspicious, yeah. She used my support to make a false allegation against me. She uses people. Maybe she used her professor the same way.”

Olivia sighed, understanding his anger better, now. He was feeling abused by women, these days, given what had happened. Naturally he wouldn't deal with it well. He would lock it inside, easy as a flick of his wrist to snap on cuffs. Maybe it was Kathy he was most angry at. Still... “Elliot, you can't use her looking at you as evidence.”

He chuckled wryly, not smiling. “Sure wish I could.”

“Lots of women look at you.”

“Not like that.”

“Yes, they do. You just don't see it.”

He turned his face toward her, again, furrowing his brows, looking her up and down. “And you do?”

“Do what?” she answered numbly, feeling her breath catch as his gaze seemed to heat her face.

“See it.” He cocked his head, all business.
“Of course I see it. Because I'm your partner, and I'm with you all the time.”

“So you think it's perfectly natural for a woman to practically eat me with her eyes.”

“Why the hell not,” she countered, fast. Too fast. His eyes lit on hers. Blazed.

He took a step closer. Olivia, a woman unafraid to interrogate the worst the city had to offer, unafraid to shove a gun in someone's face, unafraid to use her height or her voice or anything she had to her advantage, was suddenly dwarfed. And intimidated. But that was what he wanted. He was pushing her, playing with her, just like a perp. When he spoke, his voice was an iron whisper. “Because you do, too... isn't that right?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she managed, feeling her pulse speed up as her senses registered he was close enough to smell his aftershave.

“The hell you don't. Talk about looks...” Elliot lifted a brow and scanned her face, up and down. “I've seen this one before, too. Doe in headlights. Just like when I told you Kathy left me.”

Olivia swallowed, still too unsettled by his nearness to think clearly. He was inches away. “I meant women in general.”

“Well, today's your day for blanket statements, isn't it? First all men in general are bastards, now all women, in general... uh, what would you call it?”

Asshole, she thought. Men in general are assholes. And any woman, being alive and healthy, would probably trade life and limb to strip down a man like Elliot and get an eyeful of all those muscles. Just like his wife probably did, every night... the nights when he made it home, that is. She sighed. This wasn't about the verdict.

“Elliot... it's not fair for you take out your anger at your wife on me. Or the vic.”

“Why not?” Elliot whispered, still dangerously close. “She thought it was your fault.”

“Who did? The vic?”

“No.” He smiled a little, a bitter, sad, smile. “My wife.”

Olivia folded her arms across her chest... another barrier between them, since he wasn't backing off and neither was she. “Really.”

“Yup. Some of those long nights we were on a stakeout, or crunched for time to find evidence, she started to think I was sleeping with you. Because short of that, in her mind, nothing could have kept me away from her.”

“Jesus,” Olivia breathed. “Well, that's absurd. Did you tell her it wasn't true?”

He laughed, sourly, and turned away, finally, just a little, their bodies at a right angle. “Course I did.”

“And?”

“She didn't believe me.”

Olivia couldn't help it. She felt sorry for him. She lifted a hand to rest it on his shoulder, shivering inwardly at the steely hardness of it. “I'm sorry.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the not-amused smirk still on his lips. “Are you? You didn't look sorry when I told you she'd left me.”

“I was surprised. You seemed so happy.”

“I was. She wasn't.”

It was quiet for a long moment up on the roof, with only the occasional distant siren or car horn from below to remind them they weren't alone in the world. Eventually he spoke again, shaking his head slowly.

“You know the irony of it, Liv? I break my back on this job, go home to her and the kids, and she thinks I'm fucking my partner. I drive this victim home, practically carry her up the stairs, and she accuses me of copping a feel in the process. Why bother? You know? Why bother being a good man who plays by the rules?”

“It's who you are, Elliot,” she responded, confidently.

“Maybe.” His eyes moved over the surrounding buildings, before swinging around to rest on her face. “Maybe not.”

Olivia felt her cheeks heat at the tone of his last remark, unsure why it had affected her so. She didn't know what he meant. Did she? “You are.”

“Do you want me to be?” he asked, turning toward her again, bringing them perilously close. “Or do you want me be an asshole like you said before, 'just another asshole who got away with it'.”

“Of course, I...” and her words died on her lips as she realized he was standing too close on purpose, leaning in on purpose. His words a dare. This was wrong, she reminded herself. He's not himself, with everything that's been going on. When she swallowed, this time, her throat felt far too dry. “Even good men make mistakes once in a while.”

“You saying you want me to make a mistake?”

“Inevitable,” she whispered, shocked to hear how throaty her voice had become. “We all make mistakes.”
“Even you, Liv?” he whispered back, inches from her lips.

“Definitely,” she replied, and raised her chin a little, stopping just short of kissing him. They were frozen there for what seemed like an eternity, as her heart pounded. She saw his lashes flutter closed, and then he did the unthinkable. He kissed her. On the mouth.

The kiss began gently but didn't stay that way for long, because it couldn't. Not after several long years of bridled lust and furtive glances. Windows steamed up on a stakeout just from their silent breathing. In a few seconds he was shoving his fingers through her silky hair, ruining the neatness of her bob, pressing her closer to him so he could ease her lips open with his tongue and then sweep inside, eliciting a whimper from her, and then his other arm came around her waist and dragged her against him with a sharp pull, and she moaned into his mouth.

His mouth abruptly left hers to glide, hotly, along her jaw and down her neck, and when she felt the slight nick of his teeth, she gasped. Elliot. He was kissing her, touching her... she didn't realize she'd said his name aloud until he stopped and looked at her, his head still tilted sideways from nuzzling her neck.

“Yeah?” he said in reply, his lids rising halfway to reveal smoldering blue irises.

“Yeah,” she affirmed, reaching up to draw him back to her. He captured her lips again, and she leaned up to rest her elbows on his shoulders. She loved the feeling of being enfolded in his arms... of all the men she'd known, all the men she could take in a fight, even, Elliot was the only one who made her feel safe.

The kiss was greedy and hungry, and Elliot leaned his head first to one side, then the other, as he tasted every corner of her mouth. If she weren't leaning on him, she might have actually been worried about fainting. Ridiculous. Detective Olivia Benson, faint like a blushing violet? She would have laughed, but her mouth was occupied.

Too much. It was too much, the heat and strength and smell of him, as he kissed her for all she was worth. Her hands came off his shoulders to smooth his shirt against his chest, and then one fell of its own accord down between them, feeling a bulge in his pocket... his wallet? No, he wasn't turned that way, it wasn't his wallet or his gun, it was bigger and hotter and harder... she raked her nails lightly across it, and his lips jerked away from hers as he hissed, “ 'Livia...”

“Yeah?” she responded, playfully, trailing her nails up and down where his slacks were stretched tight opposite her hips.

“Yeah,” he nearly growled, grinding his hips into her hand, which she turned so her palm was facing him, and he groaned a little as he settled his lips against hers, again.

Hot desire was rushing through her body at an alarming rate as he opened his mouth against hers, and she answered in kind... they were losing it, losing control already, and they were standing on the roof of the building where they worked...

“El,” she forced out, turning her head a little to the side. “We can't do this here.”

“Why, what are we doing?” His voice was deep and soft, and she would have thought him in complete control were it not for the pulse she felt racing against the palm she held up to lay against his chest.

“Uh, breaking procedure, for starters,” she whispered against his cheek. “Then, abusing clocked time, then, fraternizing with a colleague, then...”

“None of that's a crime.”

“Not unless I say 'no' and you continue.”

“Is that what you want? Never thought you'd be into that.”

“Someone could come out that door any second.”

“Adds to the excitement, doesn't it?” He reached behind her to haul her against him, looking searchingly into her face. “You got your cuffs?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and her lips parted as his eyes seemed to burn right through her. “My c-cuffs?” she choked out, her mind racing.

He grinned at her, only for a second, and she thought to herself it was the first time he'd smiled all day. He tossed his head in the direction of the exit. “For the door. Only locks from the inside, but the handle can be chained to that metal ring.”

She turned to look, and then turned back, frowning at him. “How do you notice this stuff?”

“Let's say I have an active imagination.”

She withdrew her handcuffs from the back of her belt, pressing them into his palm. “It's not going to stop anyone for long.”

“We don't need 'long'. We just need a minute to get dressed.” He walked around her and headed for the door.

She felt her lungs constrict at the idea, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. When he turned to walk back after clapping the cuffs around the door's handle and an iron ring that protruded on the jamb, she marveled at how calm his walk was. How straight, how sure. Would he walk like that naked, she wondered? Was that how he walked toward a woman lying in his bed... “They'll suspect we were up to something if they find the door chained with my cuffs.”

He reached her and slid his hands around her sides, and they were burning hot, even through the fabric of her shirt. “They can suspect all they want - but they won't be able to prove it. Burden of proof's a bitch, ain't it?”

He pulled on her waist and turned her around, steering around the side, blocked from the view of the door. He stopped in front of the brick wall of the stairwell, and gently pushed her back against it.

“What are we doing, Elliot,” she wondered as she felt the rough geometry of the brick against her back.

“Anything we want. Why not? Everyone else does.” He leaned in and began to undo the buttons of her plain blouse, working his way up from the bottom. He parted it when he was finished, and stroked the backs of his fingers down her exposed stomach. She shuddered, as he drew his fingers back up toward her breast. “Copping a feel.” He cupped her silk-clad breast in his palm, weighing it in his hand. “Followed by the other things I was falsely accused of. Since she thinks I did them, anyway... why shouldn't I?”

Her head fell back against the brick as he fastened his mouth on her neck, again. It had been as good as saying, I'm going to fuck you, right here, which she knew he wouldn't say, it just wasn't him. But he would think it, and act on it, and he was going to get them into so much trouble. It was a little scary, she thought as she felt his fingers in the middle of her back, then on her bra clasp, then flicking it open. I must be out of my mind, she concluded as he slid his palms over her bare breasts, and she arched up against him with a soft cry. It had been so long. So long since she'd had a man touch her like this, so long that she'd been daring to imagine circumstances would combine to throw Elliot into her arms.

She wedged her wrists between his forearms and began to claw at the buttons of his shirt, reminding herself to be careful. Don't rip them, you want him to wear this shirt again, right? Just not when he was touching her like this... she opened it and her fingertips encountered the soft cotton of his undershirt, the crisp curling hairs at the top. Her mouth was completely dry. She knew he'd be like this, all hard muscle and raw masculinity, but she wasn't prepared... wasn't prepared to want him this much...

Her jeans were sliding over her bottom, around her hips and down. When had he unzipped them? She hadn't noticed, she'd been busy crumpling the hem of his beater in her fingers and sticking them under it to glide over the ridges of his abdomen and squeeze the hard flesh around his ribs and chest. She tasted him, the flat of her tongue pressed against his upper chest in a brief kiss, and he'd made a sound low in his throat and grabbed her around the waist to lift her up, back against the wall.

There was a pause, while both of them breathed hard. Elliot glanced down, seeing the white silk panties that matched her bra, and then he looked back up at her face. “Nice,” was all he said, before he lifted her even more, balancing her on his thigh, trailing a long, slender finger over her panties, down between her thighs, over the moist spot she knew must be growing wetter every second. “Very nice,” he breathed into her ear as he leaned forward, closing his eyes, seeming to lose himself in what he was doing. When he nudged the edge aside to slip his fingers underneath, and she felt the hot touch of his fingertips right in the center of her, she gasped aloud and bent an arm around his neck to hang on to.

“Oh, my God, Ell...” Her words broke off in a sigh he slid a finger into her, gently, curling it toward the front, as though he were beckoning... and with his other hand he was undoing his belt and opening his slacks, and she was so lost to the touch and feel of him, so lost.

His hand withdrew. She was more than ready, and she knew he could tell. She'd been ready for a damned long time. His trousers fell in a pile with a soft swish, and they pooled around his ankles. Oh God... he was going to... she felt her thighs spread wider by themselves, as though her body had a mind of its own when it came to him.

Dark briefs were soon lowered. She was standing again while he did so, and then he had her again against the wall, but this time he was pressing into her and he was so searing hot and velvety and then he was in her... Elliot was inside her, and she thought she might die from the pleasure and the terror of it, and she hung onto his shoulders for dear life as he thrust slow, and deep.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Liv,” he was muttering into her ear. “Can't believe I... we...”

“I know,” she whispered back, moving to meet him urgently. “I know.”

“Took so long, but I couldn't... I thought I...”

“Shhh,” she said, stroking the back of his damp neck with her fingers. He ground into her, deeply, repeatedly, and she was less and less able to think, to focus, with each thrust... she was losing her mind, this must be what was meant by 'mindless' fucking. She ground down, squeezing him as much as she could, wanting him to know how much she wanted him, needed him... His breathing was deep and labored, but his strokes were confident and accurate, right where she wanted him. She didn't know if she was riding him or he was taking her, a little of both, out there on the roof with the cool breeze blowing around them.

“I want you to come,” he whispered softly, so softly she could feel the movements of his lips against her earlobe more than she could hear what he said. “I want to make you come, like this. Tell me.”

She told him by dragging one of his hands down to where they joined and pressing his fingers against her again, and he took the cue and stroked her with the pad of his thumb, and she cried out and bore down harder against him, as he matched the rhythm of his hips and hand. She began to buck more frantically as he set her on fire with his rubbing, and could tell he was getting wilder, too, as his aim was less sure and he got faster, his breath grating harshly against her ear and neck.

“Liv,” he said through clenched teeth. A warning. A plea.

“Yes, I'm here,” she gasped out. “Yes... oh, yes, Elliot... yes, yes...” A wordless cry, then, as the flames erupted and she shuddered against his hand, feeling herself clenching and unclenching around him as he was buried in her. He began to shake, then, too, and slammed deep into her one final time as he groaned his release into her neck. A long, drawn-out groan, from between gritted teeth, like a sound she'd heard him make when he lifted something heavy, something that weighed a ton... or when he'd finally put it down.

He set her on her feet a moment later, and she fell against him, against the solid rock wall of his chest. Her lips were open against his shoulder as she struggled to draw breath, pleasure still shooting through her insides. The enormity of what they had done was starting to weigh upon them. There was no eye contact as they breathed in silence.

Not until they heard the door rattle.

“Hey, you two out here?” Munch.

Elliot leaned down and pulled up his pants. “Get dressed,” he whispered to Olivia.

She stared for a few seconds, still in a passionate stupor, before glancing around for her jeans.

“Hey! Nobody better be getting murdered out there, you were seen tear-assing out of the office like some bad shit was going down,” Munch called.

“We're fine,” Elliot called back. “Be down in a minute.”

“Olivia, you okay?” Munch called, probably just to vex Elliot.

“Fine,” she said. “Just talking, we'll be back in a few!”

“All right,” he replied, and they heard his footsteps recede down the stairs.

Olivia's heart still pounded. She watched Elliot button his shirt, zip his slacks. “We can't do this again,” she said in a low, even voice.

“Nope,” Elliot replied, expertly cinching his belt with ease. “Next time, we're going to my place.”

Olivia stared in disbelief. “Next time? In the bed you shared with your wife?”

“It's just a bed. If it were anything more, she'd still be in it,” Elliot said as he took the handcuff keys from Olivia's pocket and walked over to the door. He unlocked them and tossed both back to her. She caught them but dropped them, still off-balance. At her wary look, he smiled, opening the door with a gesture for her to enter. “Don't worry. I'll change the sheets.”

“We'll see,” she said as she straightened her blouse with a tug, and preceded him into the relative darkness of the stairwell.

-------

Did you like? Leave a review. My first SVU fic.

Introducing...

2006-09-27T22:13:31Z

Detective Mistress!

Yet another alias of the one & only piratemistress. This makes 7. How many names will LJ let me link to one email account?? The world may never know.

Enjoy the SVU fic, etc.!