SVU: Different Stars (Olivia/Dean) PG
So. Here is a fic. It is the non-abstract, not-so-angsty version of what I want to happen if SVU doesn't make Elliot/Olivia happen. Well... what I would have wanted to happen right after season 8 anyway.
For pataka02 and annienau08 and run_atreyu and all the others who think that if Liv can't be with El she deserves a good guy like Dean.
Different Stars
liv/dean porter, liv/el ust, pg, post-season 8, during Liv's suspension
+ + +
She wakes on Monday morning and her window is full of sunlight. She has a moment of panic before she remembers she turned off her alarm last night. She doesn't have to go to work this morning. Or any other morning over the next few weeks actually.
Suspended.
That sinking feeling settles in her gut again. She wishes it wouldn't. They didn't have to suspend her. They had every right to fire her. She sent Simon money, communicated with him when he was a fugitive. She's lucky her entire career didn't go down in flames.
She lies in bed and listens to the cars driving by outside. Their tires sound slick on the pavement. The sun is warm in patches across her bed. Winter is losing its strength.
It's weird not being there. Not yawning over the coffee. Not smelling the musty paper file smell, the cheap cologne of cops and criminals. Not heading out with Elliot into the cold winter wind, in step and lost to everything but each other. To their work.
He probably knows her fate, and she knows he bailed Kathleen out of jail the same afternoon she went in. She hasn't talked to him since the day of her hearing. He's been busy. Worried.
She sighs.
It's odd, this twisted path they walk. They criss-cross each other’s lives, in and out and in again, and sometimes it's a weight on their shoulders. There's a line in the sand drawn between them, and some days they charge across it without a thought. The next they stand on opposite sides and stare at each other without moving. And then she runs as far as the leash will let her.
Someone yells down on the street. There's a laugh.
She slides out of bed and into the shower. She dresses and eats a bowl of cereal over her sink. Game shows are on TV, and the sounds of The Price is Right brings back flashes of her mother and her house and late mornings during summer vacation when she had nothing to do but exist. When she was old enough she left the house early and came back late, avoiding her mother as much as possible. It worked impossibly well, but left her feeling homeless, lost and dislocated. She feels the same way now with work. With Elliot.
Benson, one of her teachers told her in high school. You have to keep moving forward. If someone tries to hold you back, you have to keep rolling. It was a lesson about never giving up, and cliché as it is... it works for her.
She has no idea what's really going on between she and Elliot anymore. They're so enmeshed, so co-dependent, so... resistant now to each other. Sometimes they move. They roll, they evolve, and sometimes they stand still. She feels paralyzed in a bad way. Something has to give. To move. Roll. Soon.
She thinks the day they finally pull away from each other, finally untangle, they're going to pull open wounds they never knew they had. And those scars will hum and shiver whenever they come in contact again, no matter how old they get. It’s an ache.
Right after the Showcase Showdown someone knocks on her door. She eyes it warily for a moment, not in the mood for polltakers, salesmen or Jehovah's Witnesses delivering the Word.
It's Dean Porter.
"Hey," he says, and his smile is a little sheepish.
She blinks at him. "What are you doing here?"
He looks slightly nervous and he glances down, his straight, dark hair sliding down across forehead. "Thought maybe you'd be as bored as I am."
She lifts her brows at that. "Did they suspend you?"
He was a witness against her (and for her) at her hearing, but the FBI had their own process. Their own rules.
He shrugs and stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. "No, but they strongly suggested that I use some vacation time and take a week to 'adjust my priorities'."
She grimaces. "Ouch."
He presses his lips together in a grim smile.
She leans resignedly against the doorjamb and gazes at him. "You know, I never thanked you for... everything."
His eyes flicker over her and then away. "You thanked me," he says, quietly.
"Thank you again."
He meets her gaze and gives another shrug. His eyes are gentle. "I don't have so many friends that I can afford to throw them away."
She doesn't know what to say to that, so she smiles and steps back from her door, wordlessly inviting him in. "You could have brought me one of those donuts you love so much," she teases.
He raises one brow as he walks past her. "I thought you hated donuts."
She shuts the door behind him as he turns to face her. "I love donuts. I hate that you can apparently eat them everyday and never gain a pound."
"I have a fast metabolism."
"And I hate that."
He smothers a grin. "Actually... I was thinking we could go out and get some coffee. It's finally getting warm again."
After the moment they shared in the street last week, this invitation sounds remarkably date-like, and she hesitates. She's got enough on her plate right now without starting something new.
Her reluctance must show on her face, because he sighs. "C'mon, Olivia," he says, softly. "It's just coffee."
She gives him a pointed, disbelieving look. "You just want to be buddies. Really?"
He stares at her for a moment, jaw muscles working, and then, "Look, I know you've got a lot of... issues. The suspension, Simon..." He pauses and takes a breath. "I know there's... other things going on that I don't understand."
Her breath catches a bit in her throat, and she swallows, staring back at him. "Things? What things?"
He looks distinctly uncomfortable now, but he steels himself. "Like... I don't know... your partner."
She doesn't even know how to react to that. She's feels a little lost. "Dean..." she starts, feeling a nervous chuckle rising inside of her.
He holds a placating hand up. "You don't have to explain. It's complicated, I know."
She gazes at him, confused.
"We... talked a bit, when we were waiting for you outside the River Park station."
Ah. Well, then, she thinks.
He sees her expression. “Not that he said anything… like that. I mean…” He sighs. "He cares about you a lot."
"I know," she states without hesitation, and she doesn't give him an inch. This is not something she wants to discuss with him. She can't even discuss it with Elliot, and they've always been straight with one another.
He watches her for a minute and then nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay." He looks away.
"It's not you," she finally says. "It's me. I'm not really up for dating anyone right now. It's just... it's not you."
He shrugs. "Fair enough." He tilts his head back a little and looks at her through lowered lashes. It makes him look more like the arrogant agent she met in Oregon. "You can still come out for coffee. It's not like I proposed."
He sounds like that arrogant agent again too. She feels a smile behind her lips.
His mouth turns down wryly. "What are you gonna do, watch soap operas all day long?"
She snorts and glances at the television and the sunny neatness of the room. It feels strange to be home during the day. She's used to the sun through the squad room windows, and the windshield of the car, not to the way it shines through her blinds and lands on her carpet, winking dust motes drifting through.
"I could use coffee," she says, and he smiles.
She grabs her coat.
They move.
+ + +
He's right. The day is warm. Warmer then it's been for a while. The snow is melting and running through the streets, and the air has that new smell, just short of green, long of mold. There's a bite to the breeze, but the sun warms her skin. She breathes in deep, feeling the cold in her lungs, and she squints against the sun. It feels good. New.
They walk and she leads the way. There's a small coffee shop that Fin takes her to when they're paired up, and it has the best dark blend she's ever had. Beside her, Dean occasionally glances her way, and she's aware of his interest in a roundabout way. He's not hiding it, but trying not to come on strong, and she appreciates that. He's seen enough to know the fucked up slant of her life.
"How's Elliot's daughter?" he asks as they walk.
She glances at him. "Good, I think. Home. She'll have a court date, but I think they'll go easy on her."
"Good," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "Simon?"
She smiles. She can't quite help it. Having a brother is still new to her. "Still settling back in. Got a new job." She smiles absently. "He calls me."
"Something good came out of all of it."
She nods and she can't stop smiling. She and Simon barely know each other, but they can learn. They're just starting, just had their beginning. The important thing is that they're rolling, evolving, not standing still anymore.
"You have family here?" she asks.
"A sister," he answers. He throws her an amused glance. "She's in New Hampshire. Husband, kids, dog. The white picket fence."
Olivia grins and nods.
She steals glances at him as he talks. His black hair glints in the sun and blows into his eyes, and she finds her gaze repeatedly running along the Roman curve of his nose. He has the distinctive good looks of a man who might age well, but she catches loneliness from him when she pays attention. It gathers in the corners of his eyes and then rolls off of him in long, slow moving waves. Instead of swamping her, it soothes. Cops are cops, and there's serenity in shared experiences that's always been able to reassure her.
+ + +
The coffee shop is almost empty in late morning. There's a short carry out line, but no one's sitting. They have the room to themselves.
She smirks as Dean gives the donuts a longing glance and then lifts her brows when he pours a white torrent of sugar into his coffee. "Jesus, Dean, do you still have your real teeth?"
He tosses her a wry, faint smile. "It gives me energy."
"It's going to give you diabetes."
"I'm in perfect health," he grumbles as she sips and he stirs.
They talk a bit. About the weather (early spring), their jobs (he hates his supervisor), their cases.
She's just starting to really relax and enjoy herself when he gives her a piercing gaze and says, "I like you, Olivia."
It's obvious what he means, and she feels the protests stumbling up her throat. "I thought you found me annoying," she argues.
He gives her a wry look. "I do." One corner of his mouth curves upward. "Apparently I also find that attractive."
She licks her lips nervously and stares at him for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. There's a fluttering in her stomach that she can't quite interpret. Something between fright and an aching want. She feels a bond with him. She does. They've been through some shit together, and he's had her back. She trusts him now. Mostly. Certainly he's attractive, it's just...
"Okay," he says, voice firm. gaze pinning her in her chair. "Okay, look. I'm just going to lay this out there for you." He sets his cup down and threads his fingers together on top of the table, like it's a business meeting. "I like you. I'd like to know you better. I'd like to spend some time with you and see what happens. But I'm not going to press it, okay? I know you've got a lot of shit to deal with right now, and if you just want to be friends, well, that's fine. Like I said, I don't have so many friends that I'm going to throw one away, you know?"
She blinks at him, but he simply waits her out, his dark eyes earnest.
And it's kind of a relief, to be honest. It's kind of relief to have it all out there. To not have to play any games or guess what's going on. To not have to wonder if the feeling is there, or if it's gone, or if it was never hers to begin with and maybe it was all just the job anyway.
She clears her throat.
"Aren't you gone on operations six months out of the year?" she asks, frowning.
He considers her a moment and then sighs. "I actually thought that might be on the positive side of the list. You could chalk it up as less pressure."
She can't argue that. She snorts and takes a sip of her coffee. "You have no idea what you're getting into."
"I know it'll take some effort, Olivia," he says, quietly. "I'm willing if you are."
She looks up at him then, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes hold hers steadily, and suddenly she sees past the law enforcement officer to the man. To something that she's been wanting for a long time but that she's never quite been able to make work. It makes her mouth run dry. "I don't know," she says, softly.
He smiles, faintly. "Well, until you do... I'll keep it low-key."
She lifts one corner of her mouth. "Okay."
He smiles wider at that, and she feels warm.
"Hey!" he exclaims, a teasing glint in his eyes now. "Let's do the tourist thing today. How 'bout it?"
"What?"
"Come on," he urges. "It's a beautiful day and we've got nothing but time. Times Square? Slice of pizza?"
"What are you, nuts? You want to spend the day in a crowd? Get mugged maybe?"
"Sure, why not? It'll keep you in touch with the people."
"Oh, for..." She rolls her eyes, but his enthusiasm is infectious. And the next few weeks of her suspension are stretched out in front of her like a dry desert. She considers him a moment. "You're buying," she states, motioning toward him with her coffee cup.
"You got it." He grins.
"Well, look at this," a voice says from behind her. "Girl didn't get suspended, she's got a Fed on the side!"
She'd know Fin's voice anywhere, and she turns in her chair to grin at him. Fin flashes his teeth, and reaches out to squeeze her shoulder, and then she sees Elliot a few steps behind him.
"Elliot," she says, surprised. She shouldn't be. Her absence would, of course, mean that Cragen would put him with someone else.
Elliot grins at her, and then his gaze slides to Dean. "Don't tell me you're working a case, Liv. Cragen'll shit a brick."
"No," she says, to both of them. "I'm not. We're just having coffee."
El's smile fades a bit, his jaw growing tight with his effort to keep it from disappearing completely, and she realizes what it must look like to him. The words to correct his assumption are rising in her mind, and she tamps them back down. A year ago she would have let them out, but now?
"Stabler. Tutuola." Dean nods at both of them. They nod back. Elliot looks at her.
She feels distinctly uncomfortable, like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't. It's irritating. She has no reason to feel that way.
"You better be coming back soon, Liv," Fin says, eyes holding that warning glare she knows so well. "I don't know how much more of your partner I can take."
Liv smirks and glances at Elliot. He gives a half-hearted shrug.
"Munch ain't no picnic either," Fin says. He jerks his head toward Elliot. "But I don't know how you put up with this shit all the time."
"He's an acquired taste," she tells Fin. Elliot grimaces a bit, as close to rolling his eyes as he ever gets, and she smiles.
"Your wallet, Stabler," Fin says, holding his hand out.
Elliot makes a grumbling noise, but he pulls his wallet out and slaps a twenty-dollar bill down in Fin's hand. "Regular for me," he says.
Fin glances at her and Dean. "You up for seconds? Stabler's buying."
Dean holds his hands up in refusal, and Olivia shakes her head. "Nah, we're on our way out."
Fin smiles at her and then heads toward the counter. Dean glances at her and then Elliot and then pushes to his feet. "Uh, I'm going to hit the, uh..." He motions toward the men's room. "Before we leave."
He goes, and a charged silence drops around her and Elliot. In a way that only happens when their outside lives intrude and become visible. A way that reminds them they aren't married to each other. She looks up at him. His blue-eyed gaze makes her stomach do a slow flip. It also makes her ache, in a bad way. A way she just doesn't want to feel anymore. They evolve, but they can't move. Haven't been able to in a while. When they roll they only do so in a lateral motion. They can hurt themselves or they can hurt the people they love. There's only two options at this moment in time, and there's no question which one they have to take.
"How's Kathleen?" she asks, quietly, ignoring the sparks.
"Scared," he says. "But she'll be okay. You know."
She does. She nods.
"Gonna be a long three weeks," he says, in that soft, low voice.
"Could have been worse."
He nods at that, knowingly. Glances toward the men's room. "He's a good guy?"
She sighs. "I think so. He went to the mat for me with Simon. He didn't have to do that."
Elliot gazes at her with an unreadable expression, but there's a slant to his mouth that makes her think he's aching a bit. And maybe it'll always be that way. Both of them aching a bit over the other.
He gives her that vulnerable smile. The one that makes her forget every moment of rage he's ever had. "Good," he says, and that ache comes right to the surface so she can see it with startling clarity. It makes her ache too. And want to close her eyes. But then it’s gone, and El is just El, smirking at her.
She sees Dean walking toward them, so she stands and pulls her coat on. She smiles at Elliot. "Three weeks," she says.
He nods and she feels the warmth in his eyes. He drifts a bit toward Fin.
She feels Dean's fingers curl gently around her elbow. His voice slides delicately across her ear. "Ready to roll?" he asks.
Ready to roll?
She nods and walks with him. She's ready.
+ + +
For pataka02 and annienau08 and run_atreyu and all the others who think that if Liv can't be with El she deserves a good guy like Dean.
Different Stars
liv/dean porter, liv/el ust, pg, post-season 8, during Liv's suspension
+ + +
She wakes on Monday morning and her window is full of sunlight. She has a moment of panic before she remembers she turned off her alarm last night. She doesn't have to go to work this morning. Or any other morning over the next few weeks actually.
Suspended.
That sinking feeling settles in her gut again. She wishes it wouldn't. They didn't have to suspend her. They had every right to fire her. She sent Simon money, communicated with him when he was a fugitive. She's lucky her entire career didn't go down in flames.
She lies in bed and listens to the cars driving by outside. Their tires sound slick on the pavement. The sun is warm in patches across her bed. Winter is losing its strength.
It's weird not being there. Not yawning over the coffee. Not smelling the musty paper file smell, the cheap cologne of cops and criminals. Not heading out with Elliot into the cold winter wind, in step and lost to everything but each other. To their work.
He probably knows her fate, and she knows he bailed Kathleen out of jail the same afternoon she went in. She hasn't talked to him since the day of her hearing. He's been busy. Worried.
She sighs.
It's odd, this twisted path they walk. They criss-cross each other’s lives, in and out and in again, and sometimes it's a weight on their shoulders. There's a line in the sand drawn between them, and some days they charge across it without a thought. The next they stand on opposite sides and stare at each other without moving. And then she runs as far as the leash will let her.
Someone yells down on the street. There's a laugh.
She slides out of bed and into the shower. She dresses and eats a bowl of cereal over her sink. Game shows are on TV, and the sounds of The Price is Right brings back flashes of her mother and her house and late mornings during summer vacation when she had nothing to do but exist. When she was old enough she left the house early and came back late, avoiding her mother as much as possible. It worked impossibly well, but left her feeling homeless, lost and dislocated. She feels the same way now with work. With Elliot.
Benson, one of her teachers told her in high school. You have to keep moving forward. If someone tries to hold you back, you have to keep rolling. It was a lesson about never giving up, and cliché as it is... it works for her.
She has no idea what's really going on between she and Elliot anymore. They're so enmeshed, so co-dependent, so... resistant now to each other. Sometimes they move. They roll, they evolve, and sometimes they stand still. She feels paralyzed in a bad way. Something has to give. To move. Roll. Soon.
She thinks the day they finally pull away from each other, finally untangle, they're going to pull open wounds they never knew they had. And those scars will hum and shiver whenever they come in contact again, no matter how old they get. It’s an ache.
Right after the Showcase Showdown someone knocks on her door. She eyes it warily for a moment, not in the mood for polltakers, salesmen or Jehovah's Witnesses delivering the Word.
It's Dean Porter.
"Hey," he says, and his smile is a little sheepish.
She blinks at him. "What are you doing here?"
He looks slightly nervous and he glances down, his straight, dark hair sliding down across forehead. "Thought maybe you'd be as bored as I am."
She lifts her brows at that. "Did they suspend you?"
He was a witness against her (and for her) at her hearing, but the FBI had their own process. Their own rules.
He shrugs and stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. "No, but they strongly suggested that I use some vacation time and take a week to 'adjust my priorities'."
She grimaces. "Ouch."
He presses his lips together in a grim smile.
She leans resignedly against the doorjamb and gazes at him. "You know, I never thanked you for... everything."
His eyes flicker over her and then away. "You thanked me," he says, quietly.
"Thank you again."
He meets her gaze and gives another shrug. His eyes are gentle. "I don't have so many friends that I can afford to throw them away."
She doesn't know what to say to that, so she smiles and steps back from her door, wordlessly inviting him in. "You could have brought me one of those donuts you love so much," she teases.
He raises one brow as he walks past her. "I thought you hated donuts."
She shuts the door behind him as he turns to face her. "I love donuts. I hate that you can apparently eat them everyday and never gain a pound."
"I have a fast metabolism."
"And I hate that."
He smothers a grin. "Actually... I was thinking we could go out and get some coffee. It's finally getting warm again."
After the moment they shared in the street last week, this invitation sounds remarkably date-like, and she hesitates. She's got enough on her plate right now without starting something new.
Her reluctance must show on her face, because he sighs. "C'mon, Olivia," he says, softly. "It's just coffee."
She gives him a pointed, disbelieving look. "You just want to be buddies. Really?"
He stares at her for a moment, jaw muscles working, and then, "Look, I know you've got a lot of... issues. The suspension, Simon..." He pauses and takes a breath. "I know there's... other things going on that I don't understand."
Her breath catches a bit in her throat, and she swallows, staring back at him. "Things? What things?"
He looks distinctly uncomfortable now, but he steels himself. "Like... I don't know... your partner."
She doesn't even know how to react to that. She's feels a little lost. "Dean..." she starts, feeling a nervous chuckle rising inside of her.
He holds a placating hand up. "You don't have to explain. It's complicated, I know."
She gazes at him, confused.
"We... talked a bit, when we were waiting for you outside the River Park station."
Ah. Well, then, she thinks.
He sees her expression. “Not that he said anything… like that. I mean…” He sighs. "He cares about you a lot."
"I know," she states without hesitation, and she doesn't give him an inch. This is not something she wants to discuss with him. She can't even discuss it with Elliot, and they've always been straight with one another.
He watches her for a minute and then nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay." He looks away.
"It's not you," she finally says. "It's me. I'm not really up for dating anyone right now. It's just... it's not you."
He shrugs. "Fair enough." He tilts his head back a little and looks at her through lowered lashes. It makes him look more like the arrogant agent she met in Oregon. "You can still come out for coffee. It's not like I proposed."
He sounds like that arrogant agent again too. She feels a smile behind her lips.
His mouth turns down wryly. "What are you gonna do, watch soap operas all day long?"
She snorts and glances at the television and the sunny neatness of the room. It feels strange to be home during the day. She's used to the sun through the squad room windows, and the windshield of the car, not to the way it shines through her blinds and lands on her carpet, winking dust motes drifting through.
"I could use coffee," she says, and he smiles.
She grabs her coat.
They move.
+ + +
He's right. The day is warm. Warmer then it's been for a while. The snow is melting and running through the streets, and the air has that new smell, just short of green, long of mold. There's a bite to the breeze, but the sun warms her skin. She breathes in deep, feeling the cold in her lungs, and she squints against the sun. It feels good. New.
They walk and she leads the way. There's a small coffee shop that Fin takes her to when they're paired up, and it has the best dark blend she's ever had. Beside her, Dean occasionally glances her way, and she's aware of his interest in a roundabout way. He's not hiding it, but trying not to come on strong, and she appreciates that. He's seen enough to know the fucked up slant of her life.
"How's Elliot's daughter?" he asks as they walk.
She glances at him. "Good, I think. Home. She'll have a court date, but I think they'll go easy on her."
"Good," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "Simon?"
She smiles. She can't quite help it. Having a brother is still new to her. "Still settling back in. Got a new job." She smiles absently. "He calls me."
"Something good came out of all of it."
She nods and she can't stop smiling. She and Simon barely know each other, but they can learn. They're just starting, just had their beginning. The important thing is that they're rolling, evolving, not standing still anymore.
"You have family here?" she asks.
"A sister," he answers. He throws her an amused glance. "She's in New Hampshire. Husband, kids, dog. The white picket fence."
Olivia grins and nods.
She steals glances at him as he talks. His black hair glints in the sun and blows into his eyes, and she finds her gaze repeatedly running along the Roman curve of his nose. He has the distinctive good looks of a man who might age well, but she catches loneliness from him when she pays attention. It gathers in the corners of his eyes and then rolls off of him in long, slow moving waves. Instead of swamping her, it soothes. Cops are cops, and there's serenity in shared experiences that's always been able to reassure her.
+ + +
The coffee shop is almost empty in late morning. There's a short carry out line, but no one's sitting. They have the room to themselves.
She smirks as Dean gives the donuts a longing glance and then lifts her brows when he pours a white torrent of sugar into his coffee. "Jesus, Dean, do you still have your real teeth?"
He tosses her a wry, faint smile. "It gives me energy."
"It's going to give you diabetes."
"I'm in perfect health," he grumbles as she sips and he stirs.
They talk a bit. About the weather (early spring), their jobs (he hates his supervisor), their cases.
She's just starting to really relax and enjoy herself when he gives her a piercing gaze and says, "I like you, Olivia."
It's obvious what he means, and she feels the protests stumbling up her throat. "I thought you found me annoying," she argues.
He gives her a wry look. "I do." One corner of his mouth curves upward. "Apparently I also find that attractive."
She licks her lips nervously and stares at him for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. There's a fluttering in her stomach that she can't quite interpret. Something between fright and an aching want. She feels a bond with him. She does. They've been through some shit together, and he's had her back. She trusts him now. Mostly. Certainly he's attractive, it's just...
"Okay," he says, voice firm. gaze pinning her in her chair. "Okay, look. I'm just going to lay this out there for you." He sets his cup down and threads his fingers together on top of the table, like it's a business meeting. "I like you. I'd like to know you better. I'd like to spend some time with you and see what happens. But I'm not going to press it, okay? I know you've got a lot of shit to deal with right now, and if you just want to be friends, well, that's fine. Like I said, I don't have so many friends that I'm going to throw one away, you know?"
She blinks at him, but he simply waits her out, his dark eyes earnest.
And it's kind of a relief, to be honest. It's kind of relief to have it all out there. To not have to play any games or guess what's going on. To not have to wonder if the feeling is there, or if it's gone, or if it was never hers to begin with and maybe it was all just the job anyway.
She clears her throat.
"Aren't you gone on operations six months out of the year?" she asks, frowning.
He considers her a moment and then sighs. "I actually thought that might be on the positive side of the list. You could chalk it up as less pressure."
She can't argue that. She snorts and takes a sip of her coffee. "You have no idea what you're getting into."
"I know it'll take some effort, Olivia," he says, quietly. "I'm willing if you are."
She looks up at him then, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes hold hers steadily, and suddenly she sees past the law enforcement officer to the man. To something that she's been wanting for a long time but that she's never quite been able to make work. It makes her mouth run dry. "I don't know," she says, softly.
He smiles, faintly. "Well, until you do... I'll keep it low-key."
She lifts one corner of her mouth. "Okay."
He smiles wider at that, and she feels warm.
"Hey!" he exclaims, a teasing glint in his eyes now. "Let's do the tourist thing today. How 'bout it?"
"What?"
"Come on," he urges. "It's a beautiful day and we've got nothing but time. Times Square? Slice of pizza?"
"What are you, nuts? You want to spend the day in a crowd? Get mugged maybe?"
"Sure, why not? It'll keep you in touch with the people."
"Oh, for..." She rolls her eyes, but his enthusiasm is infectious. And the next few weeks of her suspension are stretched out in front of her like a dry desert. She considers him a moment. "You're buying," she states, motioning toward him with her coffee cup.
"You got it." He grins.
"Well, look at this," a voice says from behind her. "Girl didn't get suspended, she's got a Fed on the side!"
She'd know Fin's voice anywhere, and she turns in her chair to grin at him. Fin flashes his teeth, and reaches out to squeeze her shoulder, and then she sees Elliot a few steps behind him.
"Elliot," she says, surprised. She shouldn't be. Her absence would, of course, mean that Cragen would put him with someone else.
Elliot grins at her, and then his gaze slides to Dean. "Don't tell me you're working a case, Liv. Cragen'll shit a brick."
"No," she says, to both of them. "I'm not. We're just having coffee."
El's smile fades a bit, his jaw growing tight with his effort to keep it from disappearing completely, and she realizes what it must look like to him. The words to correct his assumption are rising in her mind, and she tamps them back down. A year ago she would have let them out, but now?
"Stabler. Tutuola." Dean nods at both of them. They nod back. Elliot looks at her.
She feels distinctly uncomfortable, like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't. It's irritating. She has no reason to feel that way.
"You better be coming back soon, Liv," Fin says, eyes holding that warning glare she knows so well. "I don't know how much more of your partner I can take."
Liv smirks and glances at Elliot. He gives a half-hearted shrug.
"Munch ain't no picnic either," Fin says. He jerks his head toward Elliot. "But I don't know how you put up with this shit all the time."
"He's an acquired taste," she tells Fin. Elliot grimaces a bit, as close to rolling his eyes as he ever gets, and she smiles.
"Your wallet, Stabler," Fin says, holding his hand out.
Elliot makes a grumbling noise, but he pulls his wallet out and slaps a twenty-dollar bill down in Fin's hand. "Regular for me," he says.
Fin glances at her and Dean. "You up for seconds? Stabler's buying."
Dean holds his hands up in refusal, and Olivia shakes her head. "Nah, we're on our way out."
Fin smiles at her and then heads toward the counter. Dean glances at her and then Elliot and then pushes to his feet. "Uh, I'm going to hit the, uh..." He motions toward the men's room. "Before we leave."
He goes, and a charged silence drops around her and Elliot. In a way that only happens when their outside lives intrude and become visible. A way that reminds them they aren't married to each other. She looks up at him. His blue-eyed gaze makes her stomach do a slow flip. It also makes her ache, in a bad way. A way she just doesn't want to feel anymore. They evolve, but they can't move. Haven't been able to in a while. When they roll they only do so in a lateral motion. They can hurt themselves or they can hurt the people they love. There's only two options at this moment in time, and there's no question which one they have to take.
"How's Kathleen?" she asks, quietly, ignoring the sparks.
"Scared," he says. "But she'll be okay. You know."
She does. She nods.
"Gonna be a long three weeks," he says, in that soft, low voice.
"Could have been worse."
He nods at that, knowingly. Glances toward the men's room. "He's a good guy?"
She sighs. "I think so. He went to the mat for me with Simon. He didn't have to do that."
Elliot gazes at her with an unreadable expression, but there's a slant to his mouth that makes her think he's aching a bit. And maybe it'll always be that way. Both of them aching a bit over the other.
He gives her that vulnerable smile. The one that makes her forget every moment of rage he's ever had. "Good," he says, and that ache comes right to the surface so she can see it with startling clarity. It makes her ache too. And want to close her eyes. But then it’s gone, and El is just El, smirking at her.
She sees Dean walking toward them, so she stands and pulls her coat on. She smiles at Elliot. "Three weeks," she says.
He nods and she feels the warmth in his eyes. He drifts a bit toward Fin.
She feels Dean's fingers curl gently around her elbow. His voice slides delicately across her ear. "Ready to roll?" he asks.
Ready to roll?
She nods and walks with him. She's ready.
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