Challenge: She'll Never Be You. Evil drabble-turned ficlet.
Title: Realities Collide
Rating: Swearing.
Words: 652
Warnings: RPF, Mariska snark and metafictional goodness.
A/N: Stop encouraging me aleatory_6, you put evil ideas in my head ;)
(And buzzgirl19...you aren't entirely blameless.)
“Ok…I could have sworn…” Her pacing was making him nervous. When did she start wearing heels? “Where did I put it?”
“What? Put what?”
“No, I mean…her. Where is she?”
“Casey? She’s just talking to-”
“Damn it. Not Casey. Louisa.”
Elliot frowned. “Who?”
Maybe she’d actually begun dating again. For some reason, he’d thought she’d gone back to guys.
“This going to make Casey jealous?”
"God, whatever."
She hardly seemed herself these days. And she certainly wasn’t showing any of the signs of a woman in love. Or lust. Though, she was hardly the swooning romantic type, judging from some of the fights he’d accidentally walked in on between her and Alex.
She was searching through the papers on her desk, pulling out a rolodex he’d never seen before. He flipped through it, before she yanked it from him.
“You know these people…? Who’s Stephanie March?”
She gave him an irritated look, then rummaged through her bag. “Shit. We start in, like, half an hour. Look at me…” She was talking to the reflection in her pocket mirror.
“Look at you?”
“Where the fuck is Louisa?”
Elliot found a note, pinned to the back of her puffy brown jacket.
“We have your stylist for ransom….Pay us in hoyay and no-one gets hurt.” He raised his eyebrow. “Jesus. Who did you piss off?”
She snatched it off him. “Hoyay? Is that a new kind of cookie?”
He snorted. “Olivia…” Then he realized she really was that clueless. “Maureen…she explained it to me…Kathy says it’s just a phase.”
But Olivia’s face was crumpled up in a strangled sob. He sighed.
“How did you get a stylist?”
“What is this, a two-bit operation? Do they expect me to do everything myself?”
“Olivia…?’
“Damn it, Chris. This method-acting thing you’ve been doing is really starting to shit me….God, who'll do my hair…”
"What?"
Maybe the stress of the job was finally finishing her off. She trotted off to talk to a couple of strangers he hadn't noticed. When she came back, it was with a smug-looking man. She appeared close to tears.
“They say…they say I have to…”
The man smiled. “It isn’t worth an innocent woman’s life, is it Mariska? Come on.”
Elliot realized he was brandishing scissors. The man shrugged at him.
“The police say-”
Elliot smiled, uncertainly. “We are the police.”
“Ha, that’s a good one, Meloni.” The man pointed to the other-side of the squadroom, which looked strangely dismantled. They were approached by an officer he’d never seen before, and a man clutching a notebook and folder.
“Just getting them to verify it as a threat… But it’s best to be safe…when was the last time you saw your stylist?”
"You sure you didn't just fire her?" the other man snickered. "I would."
“Come on,” the hairdresser pushed the woman-who-looked-like-Olivia into a chair, gathering his equipment. “It’s just a few snips.”
Olivia sobbed as her hair was slowly trimmed down to the way Elliot remembered it had been, a few years before. All the while, the other man was making notes.
“…Not anything explicit, mind you. But they sound serious. Do you want them to come after you next? No.” He sighed. “Of course, you'll approve the final casting. Don’t worry, she’ll be blonde. I know it’s easier to play with your type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
Elliot snorted, and she shot him a look. “Not everyone is as free with this shit as you are, Chris.”
The hairdresser was done. Olivia ran an uncertain hand over her new length.
Elliot waited for her breathing to steady, before he threw her leather jacket over. “Olivia, quit the theatrics - we’re on the clock, remember?”
She blinked. “Right...” Blinked again. The men left without her even noticing. She swaggered over to her partner, sliding into her jacket smoothly. “Did someone mention something about a blonde?”
Rating: Swearing.
Words: 652
Warnings: RPF, Mariska snark and metafictional goodness.
A/N: Stop encouraging me aleatory_6, you put evil ideas in my head ;)
(And buzzgirl19...you aren't entirely blameless.)
“Ok…I could have sworn…” Her pacing was making him nervous. When did she start wearing heels? “Where did I put it?”
“What? Put what?”
“No, I mean…her. Where is she?”
“Casey? She’s just talking to-”
“Damn it. Not Casey. Louisa.”
Elliot frowned. “Who?”
Maybe she’d actually begun dating again. For some reason, he’d thought she’d gone back to guys.
“This going to make Casey jealous?”
"God, whatever."
She hardly seemed herself these days. And she certainly wasn’t showing any of the signs of a woman in love. Or lust. Though, she was hardly the swooning romantic type, judging from some of the fights he’d accidentally walked in on between her and Alex.
She was searching through the papers on her desk, pulling out a rolodex he’d never seen before. He flipped through it, before she yanked it from him.
“You know these people…? Who’s Stephanie March?”
She gave him an irritated look, then rummaged through her bag. “Shit. We start in, like, half an hour. Look at me…” She was talking to the reflection in her pocket mirror.
“Look at you?”
“Where the fuck is Louisa?”
Elliot found a note, pinned to the back of her puffy brown jacket.
“We have your stylist for ransom….Pay us in hoyay and no-one gets hurt.” He raised his eyebrow. “Jesus. Who did you piss off?”
She snatched it off him. “Hoyay? Is that a new kind of cookie?”
He snorted. “Olivia…” Then he realized she really was that clueless. “Maureen…she explained it to me…Kathy says it’s just a phase.”
But Olivia’s face was crumpled up in a strangled sob. He sighed.
“How did you get a stylist?”
“What is this, a two-bit operation? Do they expect me to do everything myself?”
“Olivia…?’
“Damn it, Chris. This method-acting thing you’ve been doing is really starting to shit me….God, who'll do my hair…”
"What?"
Maybe the stress of the job was finally finishing her off. She trotted off to talk to a couple of strangers he hadn't noticed. When she came back, it was with a smug-looking man. She appeared close to tears.
“They say…they say I have to…”
The man smiled. “It isn’t worth an innocent woman’s life, is it Mariska? Come on.”
Elliot realized he was brandishing scissors. The man shrugged at him.
“The police say-”
Elliot smiled, uncertainly. “We are the police.”
“Ha, that’s a good one, Meloni.” The man pointed to the other-side of the squadroom, which looked strangely dismantled. They were approached by an officer he’d never seen before, and a man clutching a notebook and folder.
“Just getting them to verify it as a threat… But it’s best to be safe…when was the last time you saw your stylist?”
"You sure you didn't just fire her?" the other man snickered. "I would."
“Come on,” the hairdresser pushed the woman-who-looked-like-Olivia into a chair, gathering his equipment. “It’s just a few snips.”
Olivia sobbed as her hair was slowly trimmed down to the way Elliot remembered it had been, a few years before. All the while, the other man was making notes.
“…Not anything explicit, mind you. But they sound serious. Do you want them to come after you next? No.” He sighed. “Of course, you'll approve the final casting. Don’t worry, she’ll be blonde. I know it’s easier to play with your type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
Elliot snorted, and she shot him a look. “Not everyone is as free with this shit as you are, Chris.”
The hairdresser was done. Olivia ran an uncertain hand over her new length.
Elliot waited for her breathing to steady, before he threw her leather jacket over. “Olivia, quit the theatrics - we’re on the clock, remember?”
She blinked. “Right...” Blinked again. The men left without her even noticing. She swaggered over to her partner, sliding into her jacket smoothly. “Did someone mention something about a blonde?”