fan fic post: Law and Order: SVU - What Matters (post ep for Spooked)
Title: What Matters
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: Law and Order: SVU
Pairing: Olivia/Elliot (hints), Olivia/Porter (hints)
Rating: Teen
Timeframe: Post “Spooked”
Disclaimer: If Law and Order BELONGED to me, you think I’d be writing fic? So no. Dick Wolf and his crew own it all, I am just taking Elliot, Olivia, Fin, and others, out to play. Now, if Mr. Wolf is looking for someone to write his L&O novel tie-ins … I’m totally there. Just sayin.
Summary: If she wanted her government to truly act and abide by the rules laid out by the justice department, she’d have lost her badge long ago. How many perps had she roughed up to get an answer she wanted? How many young killers had she tried to get easier sentences “because of their circumstances”? How many times had she swept Elliot’s actions under the rug?
In the dim, flickering candle light of her apartment, the music danced with the light. She leaned against the wall, the words of the song flowing over her as the wine slid slowly down her throat.
What a clusterfuck. And what was she doing with her time, with her badge, with her life if days of her time could be erased simply with a phone call from the state department. Two young kids, kids who were making stupid decisions, but young kids, their lives blown completely apart and their killers walked under the power and the protection of a government that professed to be about one thing while acting no different than all the other governments they claimed to abhor.
What the hell was she kidding? If she wanted her government to truly act and abide by the rules laid out by the justice department, she’d have lost her badge long ago. How many perps had she roughed up to get an answer she wanted? How many young killers had she tried to get easier sentences “because of their circumstances”? How many times had she swept Elliot’s actions under the rug?
She just hated that this time, the tables turned against her. This time, someone she’d trusted with her life, trusted with rules she’d broken, had used her. Would he have actually taken her to bed to keep her from knowing the truth? If Elliot hadn’t been in her bedroom, listening; if it had just been a night in and a glass of wine, would she have finally given into her desires and fallen into bed with Porter? While she slept after, would he have ransacked her apartment and her files, looking for evidence she had uncovered?
Our feelings don’t matter.
In her job, feelings were everything. Feelings kept you breathing. Feelings let you connect to the victim. Feelings meant you weren’t some programmed robot who walked the line between cop and criminal.
So was it true then? That cops really were just criminals with badges?
Olivia sighed and ran a hand over her face. Nothing of the last few days of work would appear in her files. Even her time card would reflect administrative desk time. The overtime, the invasion of her bedroom by the tech guys (she didn’t mind Elliot’s presence), the knowledge that in the end, she didn’t matter. She was a grunt and the feds ruled the world.
She’d never been more ready to walk away.
The familiar rapping on the door warned her he was outside and she sighed, moving to open it, but he beat her to it and unlocked the bolts himself. “Hey,” Elliot whispered before she could get a word out, “I had a feeling you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“You should be at home, El.” She didn’t fight it. Didn’t fight him. Whatever dance they were currently doing with each other didn’t matter tonight. She didn’t want to confront him about his jealousy over Porter. She didn’t want to hear tell of his latest round of problems with Kathy. She wanted him to hold her and tell her that what they did mattered. They did help to protect the citizens of New York.
Suddenly, she laughed.
“What?” Elliot was already in her kitchen, pouring a glass of wine for himself.
“You realize something …?”
“Go on.”
“If Terri is the example of the CIA’s skill set right now, we’re in a whole heap of trouble.”
The comment hung between them for a long minute before they both dissolved into giggles. Stress-relieving, tension abating giggles. Olivia set her wine down and leaned against the counter, trying to maintain some sense of equilibrium. Elliot just laughed. And laughed. And laughed. It felt good to hear him laugh again and she moved forward and leaned her cheek against his solid arm. He moved, his body still shaking with amusement, and wrapped her up tightly. Immediately she knew what he meant. It was just them, together, against the world.
“Good came out of this.”
“What’s that?”
“They are so desperate to cover up these murders that our records are completely unblemished for all the mistakes we made.”
Olivia chuckled, but the amusement was gone. She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled, taking in the scent of him. Of his sweat and his musk and the lingering aroma of his aftershave. Once, years ago, before a new baby and a restart on a marriage she knew wasn’t going to last, that smell had permeated her bed sheets, her pillow, and the t-shirt she’d stolen from him. But in this moment, she reveled in the haven of it’s presence. She sighed, content. “Were you okay in there tonight?”
“What, in your bedroom while I listened to you lock lips with a man I knew was no good for you and who I knew you’d still take to bed with you? Olivia, I wanted to kill him.”
“Elliot,” she reached up and cupped his cheek, “you have to get over this jealous streak.”
But he shook his head and she knew how he felt. Every time she looked at that ring on his finger or saw him playing with a son she still, in her deepest, darkest fantasies, wished was hers, she had to bite back the rising bile of jealous anger that was not directed at Kathy so much as her own failures to find a life for herself.
Damaged goods. Elliot always tried to reassure her that it wasn’t the case for her, but it was. She came from damaged genes.
“You hungry?” She asked, pulling out of his arms before he could cross the line they were so quickly erasing between them.
“Yeah.” His rough voice grated against her and she thought again of him pacing in her bedroom, of the new sheets on her mattress, ones she’d put on when she learned Porter was in town. What exactly had she been hoping for? Elliot stood behind her now, his hands on her waist, his chin resting on her hair. “Olivia?”
She knew what he was asking.
“I would have,” she whispered, leaning back into him. “In a heart beat.”
His fingers tightened on her waist but she felt him nod, felt him accept what he needed to hear. She would have gone to bed with Porter. She didn’t belong to Elliot. She wasn’t his. Not now. Not anymore. Pulling away, and feeling cold when his hands were no longer on her, she opened the fridge and pulled out the appetizers she’d put together incase it took longer than anticipated for them to pull Porter’s records. Elliot chuckled and she was sure she heard something about “chick food” but it didn’t stop him from popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.
“Do you ever think what we do actually matters?”
Elliot looked at her for a long time, surprise registering in his eyes. “Not for us,” he said finally. “It’s one more rapist put away, one more molester taken down. But for the victims it matters. You know better than anyone how much that piece of mind matters.”
“But what if we actually had let a rapist go free tonight?”
“We let two murderers go free and both of them work for the same justice department we do. We cut deals every day to make sure the best justice is done for the parties involved. We do our best. It’s all we can do.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Right now,” he stepped forward again, his eyes dark. His hands reached for her hips and he again pulled her closer, “I think that you escaped what could have been real heartache tonight.”
She trembled. “What do you mean?”
“Because,” his lips hovered inches from hers, “our feelings do matter, Liv. They do.” And he kissed her and she leaned into him, hating her choices but needing him. Needing the way he tugged her t-shirt over her head and the way his rough hands were somehow smooth against her breasts. She needed the way he set her on the counter and made love to her with his mouth and how he chose moments to press against her so she could feel how hard he was, even through his jeans. She hated herself. Hated herself for needing him, for falling for him, and for not being in love with him. He was her partner, her occasional lover, and a man who was better than this. Gathering her courage, she pushed him away.
“Go home, Elliot.”
“Liv …”
“Go home.”
“Why?”
She slid off the counter and reached for her discarded shirt. Tugging it over her head she turned to him and shrugged. “Because our feelings matter and I won’t let the place we’ve come to get mucked up because we’re both hurting.”
They stared at each other, the sexual tension hanging between them. Finally, he chuckled and reached for her, his hands on her hips, his fingers hooked through her belt loops. “There are times when I hate you when you’re right.” His lips dropped to hers again before he pushed away and moved to the door. “Get some sleep, Liv.”
“You too, El.”
She waited until she was sure he was down the hall before walking over and locking the door again. Her hands stilled on the bolts and she sighed, trembling with want. Her feelings did matter, but so did his and Kathy’s. It was too easy to let herself be the other woman she’d always sworn she wasn’t.
Moving slowly across the apartment, she made her way to the bed and collapsed down, hugging her pillow close.
If feelings mattered, where, really, did it put her?
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: Law and Order: SVU
Pairing: Olivia/Elliot (hints), Olivia/Porter (hints)
Rating: Teen
Timeframe: Post “Spooked”
Disclaimer: If Law and Order BELONGED to me, you think I’d be writing fic? So no. Dick Wolf and his crew own it all, I am just taking Elliot, Olivia, Fin, and others, out to play. Now, if Mr. Wolf is looking for someone to write his L&O novel tie-ins … I’m totally there. Just sayin.
Summary: If she wanted her government to truly act and abide by the rules laid out by the justice department, she’d have lost her badge long ago. How many perps had she roughed up to get an answer she wanted? How many young killers had she tried to get easier sentences “because of their circumstances”? How many times had she swept Elliot’s actions under the rug?
In the dim, flickering candle light of her apartment, the music danced with the light. She leaned against the wall, the words of the song flowing over her as the wine slid slowly down her throat.
What a clusterfuck. And what was she doing with her time, with her badge, with her life if days of her time could be erased simply with a phone call from the state department. Two young kids, kids who were making stupid decisions, but young kids, their lives blown completely apart and their killers walked under the power and the protection of a government that professed to be about one thing while acting no different than all the other governments they claimed to abhor.
What the hell was she kidding? If she wanted her government to truly act and abide by the rules laid out by the justice department, she’d have lost her badge long ago. How many perps had she roughed up to get an answer she wanted? How many young killers had she tried to get easier sentences “because of their circumstances”? How many times had she swept Elliot’s actions under the rug?
She just hated that this time, the tables turned against her. This time, someone she’d trusted with her life, trusted with rules she’d broken, had used her. Would he have actually taken her to bed to keep her from knowing the truth? If Elliot hadn’t been in her bedroom, listening; if it had just been a night in and a glass of wine, would she have finally given into her desires and fallen into bed with Porter? While she slept after, would he have ransacked her apartment and her files, looking for evidence she had uncovered?
Our feelings don’t matter.
In her job, feelings were everything. Feelings kept you breathing. Feelings let you connect to the victim. Feelings meant you weren’t some programmed robot who walked the line between cop and criminal.
So was it true then? That cops really were just criminals with badges?
Olivia sighed and ran a hand over her face. Nothing of the last few days of work would appear in her files. Even her time card would reflect administrative desk time. The overtime, the invasion of her bedroom by the tech guys (she didn’t mind Elliot’s presence), the knowledge that in the end, she didn’t matter. She was a grunt and the feds ruled the world.
She’d never been more ready to walk away.
The familiar rapping on the door warned her he was outside and she sighed, moving to open it, but he beat her to it and unlocked the bolts himself. “Hey,” Elliot whispered before she could get a word out, “I had a feeling you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“You should be at home, El.” She didn’t fight it. Didn’t fight him. Whatever dance they were currently doing with each other didn’t matter tonight. She didn’t want to confront him about his jealousy over Porter. She didn’t want to hear tell of his latest round of problems with Kathy. She wanted him to hold her and tell her that what they did mattered. They did help to protect the citizens of New York.
Suddenly, she laughed.
“What?” Elliot was already in her kitchen, pouring a glass of wine for himself.
“You realize something …?”
“Go on.”
“If Terri is the example of the CIA’s skill set right now, we’re in a whole heap of trouble.”
The comment hung between them for a long minute before they both dissolved into giggles. Stress-relieving, tension abating giggles. Olivia set her wine down and leaned against the counter, trying to maintain some sense of equilibrium. Elliot just laughed. And laughed. And laughed. It felt good to hear him laugh again and she moved forward and leaned her cheek against his solid arm. He moved, his body still shaking with amusement, and wrapped her up tightly. Immediately she knew what he meant. It was just them, together, against the world.
“Good came out of this.”
“What’s that?”
“They are so desperate to cover up these murders that our records are completely unblemished for all the mistakes we made.”
Olivia chuckled, but the amusement was gone. She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled, taking in the scent of him. Of his sweat and his musk and the lingering aroma of his aftershave. Once, years ago, before a new baby and a restart on a marriage she knew wasn’t going to last, that smell had permeated her bed sheets, her pillow, and the t-shirt she’d stolen from him. But in this moment, she reveled in the haven of it’s presence. She sighed, content. “Were you okay in there tonight?”
“What, in your bedroom while I listened to you lock lips with a man I knew was no good for you and who I knew you’d still take to bed with you? Olivia, I wanted to kill him.”
“Elliot,” she reached up and cupped his cheek, “you have to get over this jealous streak.”
But he shook his head and she knew how he felt. Every time she looked at that ring on his finger or saw him playing with a son she still, in her deepest, darkest fantasies, wished was hers, she had to bite back the rising bile of jealous anger that was not directed at Kathy so much as her own failures to find a life for herself.
Damaged goods. Elliot always tried to reassure her that it wasn’t the case for her, but it was. She came from damaged genes.
“You hungry?” She asked, pulling out of his arms before he could cross the line they were so quickly erasing between them.
“Yeah.” His rough voice grated against her and she thought again of him pacing in her bedroom, of the new sheets on her mattress, ones she’d put on when she learned Porter was in town. What exactly had she been hoping for? Elliot stood behind her now, his hands on her waist, his chin resting on her hair. “Olivia?”
She knew what he was asking.
“I would have,” she whispered, leaning back into him. “In a heart beat.”
His fingers tightened on her waist but she felt him nod, felt him accept what he needed to hear. She would have gone to bed with Porter. She didn’t belong to Elliot. She wasn’t his. Not now. Not anymore. Pulling away, and feeling cold when his hands were no longer on her, she opened the fridge and pulled out the appetizers she’d put together incase it took longer than anticipated for them to pull Porter’s records. Elliot chuckled and she was sure she heard something about “chick food” but it didn’t stop him from popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.
“Do you ever think what we do actually matters?”
Elliot looked at her for a long time, surprise registering in his eyes. “Not for us,” he said finally. “It’s one more rapist put away, one more molester taken down. But for the victims it matters. You know better than anyone how much that piece of mind matters.”
“But what if we actually had let a rapist go free tonight?”
“We let two murderers go free and both of them work for the same justice department we do. We cut deals every day to make sure the best justice is done for the parties involved. We do our best. It’s all we can do.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Right now,” he stepped forward again, his eyes dark. His hands reached for her hips and he again pulled her closer, “I think that you escaped what could have been real heartache tonight.”
She trembled. “What do you mean?”
“Because,” his lips hovered inches from hers, “our feelings do matter, Liv. They do.” And he kissed her and she leaned into him, hating her choices but needing him. Needing the way he tugged her t-shirt over her head and the way his rough hands were somehow smooth against her breasts. She needed the way he set her on the counter and made love to her with his mouth and how he chose moments to press against her so she could feel how hard he was, even through his jeans. She hated herself. Hated herself for needing him, for falling for him, and for not being in love with him. He was her partner, her occasional lover, and a man who was better than this. Gathering her courage, she pushed him away.
“Go home, Elliot.”
“Liv …”
“Go home.”
“Why?”
She slid off the counter and reached for her discarded shirt. Tugging it over her head she turned to him and shrugged. “Because our feelings matter and I won’t let the place we’ve come to get mucked up because we’re both hurting.”
They stared at each other, the sexual tension hanging between them. Finally, he chuckled and reached for her, his hands on her hips, his fingers hooked through her belt loops. “There are times when I hate you when you’re right.” His lips dropped to hers again before he pushed away and moved to the door. “Get some sleep, Liv.”
“You too, El.”
She waited until she was sure he was down the hall before walking over and locking the door again. Her hands stilled on the bolts and she sighed, trembling with want. Her feelings did matter, but so did his and Kathy’s. It was too easy to let herself be the other woman she’d always sworn she wasn’t.
Moving slowly across the apartment, she made her way to the bed and collapsed down, hugging her pillow close.
If feelings mattered, where, really, did it put her?