L&O SVU Fic: the family man
the family man benson/stabler, pg.
give a man a hammer and he’ll need some nails. give a man a house and he’ll need the directions. general season 11 spoilers. 1,807 words.
notes: for mediapass, who requested ‘subway rides’ for the alphabet meme or something rather. enjoy!
-
Sometimes he knows he’s lost her. In the unconventional sense; she walks past his desk and smiles politely, but he still goes home and thinks about her, thinks about taking the car and lying, walking up to her door and telling her everything about the truth. This happens. Kathy does ask him to clean his ring anymore.
“You’ve got to sign some things on your desk,” she says one morning, early just as she’s getting ready to leave and head out with Fin. Her nose wrinkles because Fin smells like cigarettes again and Elliot’s got court sometime after ten. They both hate these days. Olivia doesn’t talk about it.
“Got it,” he still says. He smirks at Fin who still narrows his eyes and walks to pass them. Olivia slides into her jacket. Elliot hands her his coffee. “Talk to you later then too.”
She nods. Leaning against his desk, he watches her go.
“When’s the last time you cleaned this car?”
They have another late night, hours after court. Her eyes are closed. Olivia’s voice is kind of funny. He picks a pitch and runs with it, turning in his seat to look at her. God is dead, Maureen told him once, the first year she came home from college.
Tonight it feels like the same sort of thing. He forgot to call Kathy too.
“Thursday. The kids offered,” he says and blinks. Her hair spills sideways over the headrest and glows, just slightly, with the streetlamp. He reaches over and taps her shoulder. “Father’s day come early Kathy told me,” he says too, his thumb presses into her jacket and he pushes her hair back. It’s getting longer again.
Her eyes don’t open though. Her eyes usually do. They work in an odd way still, Elliot thinks. There are small touches; he’s always made that choice.
But when he shifts back in his seat, his hands frame the steering wheel. He studies his fingers as they curl around the rim and then looks out into the street. It’s too quiet. The dashboard says it’s a little after two in the morning. Behind the car, there is the sound of heels clicking.
“This guy’s been in there forever.”
He tries not to mutter. Olivia snorts. It’s the city. The two of them have lives these days.
“S’why it’s called a stakeout.”
This guy’s called a string of girls, he doesn’t say. Olivia knows. They both know too well. There is the case file in the back. It’s tucked under Olivia’s notes and Olivia’s bag. The captain is their first call in case something tries to go wrong.
He turns and looks at her again.
“You okay?” he asks and can’t help it.
Her eyes open. She stares straight ahead, into the red-green haze of the stoplight. It’s the only one on the block that seems like it’s working. Around the corner, there is deli and he’s trying to remember if that’s the one he kept getting sandwiches for Kathy years ago, when it was Kathleen’s turn to be born.
Olivia says nothing though and he turns back to watching her. His gun is digging into hip. Tonight’s a bad night. He picked up Olivia sometime after seven. She had water in her hand and didn’t offer him any. He left the rest of his kids at home with their homework. It shouldn’t be anything new.
“Fine,” she says. It’s the distance thing again and he’s really trying to get better at reading her. He should be the best. He is the best. The problem is that she’s always been better at telling him things.
The late cases used to be easy for them.
“No. No, you’re not.”
She looks at him and frowns. Her hand pulls out an old subway pass from between them. The kids, he thinks. He never remembers. He used to pick them up all the time and now, he’s finding that he lacks the same sort of patience that his kids had with him when they were young.
He’s kind of tired thinking that way anyway and it’s the sort of thing that he should’ve grown up and past. His kids aren’t kids anymore. His wife isn’t his wife anymore. And Olivia never seems to fit in between any of this like he’s used to; she’s always ahead and without any kind of reach.
“You’re not fine,” he still observes and watches her frown again. Her mouth is creased with faint lines and he tries not to want to reach out and touch him. It’s more of the same, really, wanting what’s always been there.
“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m fine and great,” she says too. “And don’t want to talk about this with you, not right now. I’m not ready to,” she finishes, mid-ramble and rubs her eyes.
“The kid?”
She says nothing.
“The captain said something to me,” he says slowly. “In passing.”
“In passing,” she repeats.
It’s a lie and they both know it. She looks at him and then looks away. He keeps staring and waits. Everybody knows that he’d rather hear news from her and he figures that since she never talked about it, it was done and there was nothing to talk about. He’s gotten too used to not asking too.
She seems to slump in her seat. He reaches out and curls a hand around her arm. She snorts and then laughs, shaking her head.
“You would,” she says.
His mouth shifts briefly. His fingers dig lightly into her arm. He looks across the street and up a few windows. It’s still. In the next hour, they’ve been hoping for one stupid mistake. He wants to get home for breakfast.
We talk about things, she used to say to him. He used to be the one that goes and passes right through her. He was the one that was better at that.
“The kid …” Olivia trails off and turns to look at him. Her arm twists in his hand and she sighs loudly. “Died, day after court. Complications in surgery. I made the decision that I thought might be the best thing to do. It’s why I took that day off. Didn’t want to talk about it.”
He nods.
“It was for the best,” she says too.
Elliot starts to move his thumb against her jacket. It’s the leather, he thinks. He likes the leather. He likes the reassurance too. He watches her and she watches him back.
“You think she’ll come back?” he asks, and it’s only to fill the conversation. Talk but not talk all the way; he’s not okay with this. “We don’t know where she went. She could.”
“The mom?”
They never call the girl by the name. They never call the dead by name. The living ones come and go with their thank yous. Elliot likes to leave it that way. It’s easier to move through the files. It’s his way of being able to come home at night and think about his wife as his wife, his kids as his kids, and everything else that comes along with it.
Olivia - he doesn’t know anymore. The apartment is different. He can’t really remember the last time they had a beer for the sake of having a beer. He has kids, he keeps telling himself. A baby, his son; Kathy seems to understand or accept, neither of which is something that they talk about either. It is two separate lives, but living at a minimum.
But he doesn’t know how to ask Olivia either, or want to ask her - asking her means reopening old habits and old habits means that he walks away from the promises that he did make to himself. He is a good cop. He is a family man. He is a good Catholic who likes Sundays and prays to god. Olivia knows all of this.
“The mom,” he repeats.
She shakes her head. Her gaze is on his hand. She reaches for him and he watches, quiet as her fingers slide over the back of his hand. One by one, and slowly, she starts to pry his fingers away from her arm.
He catches her wrist. She stares at him. His fingers pull at her skin. Her eyes narrow and Elliot licks his lips. Her mouth parts.
“The mom,” he repeats again. She meets his gaze. “I just -”
She cuts him off, jerking back hard. His hand drops. Her elbow touches the window and she hisses, looking away. She doesn’t answer and he’s thinking that maybe, maybe this might’ve been better for Munch and Fin, Fin and Munch and the ease.
“She was protecting her kid.”
Olivia says it and says it quietly, as if to make sure that he knows that she’s not going to talk about it. Her voice is hard and cool, the familiarity stemming from a few stumbles of his personal life into hers. She’s always been better at keeping things from home away from the job.
But then she murmurs: “She was just a kid too,” and it’s Olivia, Olivia telling him something without any sort of weight or consequence. It’s there and it’s sad, sad and tired, sad and lonely; Olivia looks younger instead of older and he’s thinking about her and kids. His mouth dries and he can taste lunch and coffee, or was it coffee and lunch. He used to think about her this way too.
“They usually are,” he mutters.
And maybe this is what is, that they’re getting older and wiser and tired. He studies the street again. He watches the cars again too. There is the sound of laughter and a few kids scatter past their car. Olivia tenses. Elliot curls a hand around the gun at his hip.
No one comes out the building door. The academy teaches you to suspect. He looks at Olivia again. He sighs.
“Another hour more?”
Olivia closes her eyes again. “Yeah,” she says.
In the morning there is another body. The guy is not the guy.
Elliot stands as Olivia kneels by the little girl. She stares straight at the two of them. Her mouth is split open by the back of a hammer. They found the hammer by the door, on their way in with the lab guys.
“Just a kid,” Olivia murmurs.
He watches her hand, her fingers as they touch the child’s jaw and push her hair back away from her eyes. The child’s hair is too blonde and too stained. Elliot says nothing.
There is nobody watching. The cameras are going off in the other room, outside and in the hallway. He doesn’t think this could be my kid because his kids are too old and there are different things now for him to be worried about. So he reaches for Olivia.
He touches her shoulder. Slowly, she leans back. Sometimes he’s wrong too.
give a man a hammer and he’ll need some nails. give a man a house and he’ll need the directions. general season 11 spoilers. 1,807 words.
notes: for mediapass, who requested ‘subway rides’ for the alphabet meme or something rather. enjoy!
-
Sometimes he knows he’s lost her. In the unconventional sense; she walks past his desk and smiles politely, but he still goes home and thinks about her, thinks about taking the car and lying, walking up to her door and telling her everything about the truth. This happens. Kathy does ask him to clean his ring anymore.
“You’ve got to sign some things on your desk,” she says one morning, early just as she’s getting ready to leave and head out with Fin. Her nose wrinkles because Fin smells like cigarettes again and Elliot’s got court sometime after ten. They both hate these days. Olivia doesn’t talk about it.
“Got it,” he still says. He smirks at Fin who still narrows his eyes and walks to pass them. Olivia slides into her jacket. Elliot hands her his coffee. “Talk to you later then too.”
She nods. Leaning against his desk, he watches her go.
“When’s the last time you cleaned this car?”
They have another late night, hours after court. Her eyes are closed. Olivia’s voice is kind of funny. He picks a pitch and runs with it, turning in his seat to look at her. God is dead, Maureen told him once, the first year she came home from college.
Tonight it feels like the same sort of thing. He forgot to call Kathy too.
“Thursday. The kids offered,” he says and blinks. Her hair spills sideways over the headrest and glows, just slightly, with the streetlamp. He reaches over and taps her shoulder. “Father’s day come early Kathy told me,” he says too, his thumb presses into her jacket and he pushes her hair back. It’s getting longer again.
Her eyes don’t open though. Her eyes usually do. They work in an odd way still, Elliot thinks. There are small touches; he’s always made that choice.
But when he shifts back in his seat, his hands frame the steering wheel. He studies his fingers as they curl around the rim and then looks out into the street. It’s too quiet. The dashboard says it’s a little after two in the morning. Behind the car, there is the sound of heels clicking.
“This guy’s been in there forever.”
He tries not to mutter. Olivia snorts. It’s the city. The two of them have lives these days.
“S’why it’s called a stakeout.”
This guy’s called a string of girls, he doesn’t say. Olivia knows. They both know too well. There is the case file in the back. It’s tucked under Olivia’s notes and Olivia’s bag. The captain is their first call in case something tries to go wrong.
He turns and looks at her again.
“You okay?” he asks and can’t help it.
Her eyes open. She stares straight ahead, into the red-green haze of the stoplight. It’s the only one on the block that seems like it’s working. Around the corner, there is deli and he’s trying to remember if that’s the one he kept getting sandwiches for Kathy years ago, when it was Kathleen’s turn to be born.
Olivia says nothing though and he turns back to watching her. His gun is digging into hip. Tonight’s a bad night. He picked up Olivia sometime after seven. She had water in her hand and didn’t offer him any. He left the rest of his kids at home with their homework. It shouldn’t be anything new.
“Fine,” she says. It’s the distance thing again and he’s really trying to get better at reading her. He should be the best. He is the best. The problem is that she’s always been better at telling him things.
The late cases used to be easy for them.
“No. No, you’re not.”
She looks at him and frowns. Her hand pulls out an old subway pass from between them. The kids, he thinks. He never remembers. He used to pick them up all the time and now, he’s finding that he lacks the same sort of patience that his kids had with him when they were young.
He’s kind of tired thinking that way anyway and it’s the sort of thing that he should’ve grown up and past. His kids aren’t kids anymore. His wife isn’t his wife anymore. And Olivia never seems to fit in between any of this like he’s used to; she’s always ahead and without any kind of reach.
“You’re not fine,” he still observes and watches her frown again. Her mouth is creased with faint lines and he tries not to want to reach out and touch him. It’s more of the same, really, wanting what’s always been there.
“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m fine and great,” she says too. “And don’t want to talk about this with you, not right now. I’m not ready to,” she finishes, mid-ramble and rubs her eyes.
“The kid?”
She says nothing.
“The captain said something to me,” he says slowly. “In passing.”
“In passing,” she repeats.
It’s a lie and they both know it. She looks at him and then looks away. He keeps staring and waits. Everybody knows that he’d rather hear news from her and he figures that since she never talked about it, it was done and there was nothing to talk about. He’s gotten too used to not asking too.
She seems to slump in her seat. He reaches out and curls a hand around her arm. She snorts and then laughs, shaking her head.
“You would,” she says.
His mouth shifts briefly. His fingers dig lightly into her arm. He looks across the street and up a few windows. It’s still. In the next hour, they’ve been hoping for one stupid mistake. He wants to get home for breakfast.
We talk about things, she used to say to him. He used to be the one that goes and passes right through her. He was the one that was better at that.
“The kid …” Olivia trails off and turns to look at him. Her arm twists in his hand and she sighs loudly. “Died, day after court. Complications in surgery. I made the decision that I thought might be the best thing to do. It’s why I took that day off. Didn’t want to talk about it.”
He nods.
“It was for the best,” she says too.
Elliot starts to move his thumb against her jacket. It’s the leather, he thinks. He likes the leather. He likes the reassurance too. He watches her and she watches him back.
“You think she’ll come back?” he asks, and it’s only to fill the conversation. Talk but not talk all the way; he’s not okay with this. “We don’t know where she went. She could.”
“The mom?”
They never call the girl by the name. They never call the dead by name. The living ones come and go with their thank yous. Elliot likes to leave it that way. It’s easier to move through the files. It’s his way of being able to come home at night and think about his wife as his wife, his kids as his kids, and everything else that comes along with it.
Olivia - he doesn’t know anymore. The apartment is different. He can’t really remember the last time they had a beer for the sake of having a beer. He has kids, he keeps telling himself. A baby, his son; Kathy seems to understand or accept, neither of which is something that they talk about either. It is two separate lives, but living at a minimum.
But he doesn’t know how to ask Olivia either, or want to ask her - asking her means reopening old habits and old habits means that he walks away from the promises that he did make to himself. He is a good cop. He is a family man. He is a good Catholic who likes Sundays and prays to god. Olivia knows all of this.
“The mom,” he repeats.
She shakes her head. Her gaze is on his hand. She reaches for him and he watches, quiet as her fingers slide over the back of his hand. One by one, and slowly, she starts to pry his fingers away from her arm.
He catches her wrist. She stares at him. His fingers pull at her skin. Her eyes narrow and Elliot licks his lips. Her mouth parts.
“The mom,” he repeats again. She meets his gaze. “I just -”
She cuts him off, jerking back hard. His hand drops. Her elbow touches the window and she hisses, looking away. She doesn’t answer and he’s thinking that maybe, maybe this might’ve been better for Munch and Fin, Fin and Munch and the ease.
“She was protecting her kid.”
Olivia says it and says it quietly, as if to make sure that he knows that she’s not going to talk about it. Her voice is hard and cool, the familiarity stemming from a few stumbles of his personal life into hers. She’s always been better at keeping things from home away from the job.
But then she murmurs: “She was just a kid too,” and it’s Olivia, Olivia telling him something without any sort of weight or consequence. It’s there and it’s sad, sad and tired, sad and lonely; Olivia looks younger instead of older and he’s thinking about her and kids. His mouth dries and he can taste lunch and coffee, or was it coffee and lunch. He used to think about her this way too.
“They usually are,” he mutters.
And maybe this is what is, that they’re getting older and wiser and tired. He studies the street again. He watches the cars again too. There is the sound of laughter and a few kids scatter past their car. Olivia tenses. Elliot curls a hand around the gun at his hip.
No one comes out the building door. The academy teaches you to suspect. He looks at Olivia again. He sighs.
“Another hour more?”
Olivia closes her eyes again. “Yeah,” she says.
In the morning there is another body. The guy is not the guy.
Elliot stands as Olivia kneels by the little girl. She stares straight at the two of them. Her mouth is split open by the back of a hammer. They found the hammer by the door, on their way in with the lab guys.
“Just a kid,” Olivia murmurs.
He watches her hand, her fingers as they touch the child’s jaw and push her hair back away from her eyes. The child’s hair is too blonde and too stained. Elliot says nothing.
There is nobody watching. The cameras are going off in the other room, outside and in the hallway. He doesn’t think this could be my kid because his kids are too old and there are different things now for him to be worried about. So he reaches for Olivia.
He touches her shoulder. Slowly, she leans back. Sometimes he’s wrong too.