Fic: One Day (five times gone) Elliot/Olivia (SVU) R
Law and Order: Special Victims Unit
One Day (five times gone)
olivia/elliot, fin and munch, rated r for language
summary: everyone knows how close they are
++++
one
It’s a tight fit. The niche isn’t big enough for two people, and it’s made of concrete. She tries to ignore the smell of urine. Parking garages always smell of piss.
She can feel Elliot’s chest rising and falling against her back, and when he leans slightly sideways to peer around the corner, his hand rests briefly on her hip, trying to keep her steady.
She tries to force her heartbeat back to normal. The guy they’re waiting for should be by any second. She’s allowed a bit of hypertension, right?
“The fuck is this guy?” Elliot mutters under his breath, and he sounds pissed.
She completely ignores the way his breath hits her cheek and stirs her hair. She turns her head to glance at him, as much as the position will allow. “Relax.”
He exhales with a frustrated and quiet growl.
It was a rough morning, and they’re still ten different kinds of pissed at each other from an argument the day before. Same shit, different week.
And it doesn’t matter, because she can be so sick of him that she can barely stand the sound of his voice, but she’ll still notice the way he smells and the hard play of muscle under her hand when she grabs his arm. She’ll still almost panic when she suddenly realizes she can’t see him from the corner of her eye.
She wonders if he feels the same. Even when she’s driving him crazy.
Figures he probably doesn’t. He doesn’t need to. He can go home and live his life. Her life is now, and it never ends.
It’s silent and he’s still, and she can hear him breathing.
Suddenly his hand brushes hers, his mouth lowering to her ear. “Hey,” he says, quietly.
She’s instantly alert, nearly coming up on her toes listening for the target.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “About yesterday.”
For a moment she’s blind and deaf to anything except this niche.
She turns her head slightly and his nose bumps her temple. “Me too,” she says, and her own voice sounds odd to her.
“Okay,” he says, after a moment. And she pretends she can’t feel how he sighs silently in relief.
++++
two
Benson’s on the radio shouting about shots fired, and it’s the third time this week. By the time they figure out her location and glance up, Stabler is gone. They start after him, hard, because it never becomes old news when one of them is in the line of fire.
Barely a minute later Benson is back on the radio declaring an all clear. Perpetrator subdued. Like he had a fucking chance anyway.
They start to pull up, but Elliot’s half a block ahead of them, running like an Olympic sprinter and showing no signs of slowing.
Next to John, Fin waves his hands and stops, bending over at the waist and blowing out panting breaths. “Mother fucker is fast, man.”
John feels like his lungs might explode. Too many secret cigarettes at lunch. “You’re saying fuckers of mothers are good runners, is that it?”
Fin gives him that look that says he might laugh or he might shoot Munch, he hasn’t decided yet.
John shrugs. “Mother fucker loves her, what can you do?” He sees Fin’s expression and shrugs again. “I mean in a partner- ish sort of way.”
Fin drops him a wry look. “Like the way you love me?”
“More or less.” Munch smirks.
“Yeah, I’d say a little more,” Fin mutters. And then, “Mother fucker.”
“Hey,” John says, glancing around and trying to smooth his hair back in place. “Our ride is here!”
Fin looks up, and John is pointing at a city bus about to pull in to a nearby stop.
“Munch!” Fin protests.
John wipes sweat from his forehead. “Fuck this shit. I’m too old to be running for the goal line. It’s 5 blocks away, and that beast has air-conditioning.”
He starts toward the bus stop, and after a moment Fin follows. “Man, this shit is embarrassing.”
John slings him a brief glance as the bus stops in front of them. “More embarrassing than arriving at the scene with my vomit all over your jacket?”
Fin sighs.
++++
three
There’s a mime outside that’s pretending to pull on a rope.
They stare at him absently, but the thought strikes them at the same time.
“When the hell’s the last time you saw a mime out here on the street?” Olivia asks.
Elliot just frowns. It’s hot in the car and the air-conditioner has seen better days. It can’t keep up while they’re parked in the direct sunlight, and it’s doing nothing pleasant to his mood. “Either crazy or up to no good,” he declares.
The mime sees them and pretends like he’s filming them. He’s right in their line of sight toward Fin.
Olivia starts a silent countdown to destruction in her head. 9… 8… 7… 6…
Elliot makes an irritated noise and rolls down the window.
Damn. Five seconds off.
“Hey!” Elliot yells. “Police investigation. Move it somewhere else!”
The mime scowls and yells something back about his constitutional rights and The Man infringing on them.
“Beat it!” Elliot yells.
Olivia quirks an eyebrow, but the mime is now miming a turn crank that slowly raises his middle finger. Elliot glares, and it must be his ‘I’m The Man But I Will Totally Beat You With Your Own Shoe, You Little Fuckwad’ glare, because the mime suddenly looks nervous. She’s glad, because if Elliot has to get out of the car then shit’s going down and they don’t have time for this.
Elliot fakes a lunge at the door and the mime runs.
Olivia snorts.
Elliot glances at her. “What?”
She grins. “Beat it?” she repeats, far too amused. “What, are you Dick Tracy now?”
“What? It worked, didn’t it?” There's a slight East Coast twang there and he sounds like one of Tony Soprano’s capos. She just laughs at him. He tilts his head back and glances in the rear-view mirror, sliding a hand over his thinning hair. “I wouldn’t mind the hat though…”
“Just don’t call me a dame, or I will kick your ass.”
He smirks.
Through the windshield, Fin appears and waves them in.
“There’s Fin,” Olivia says, opening her door. “Come on, Dick.”
“Alright, alright,” Elliot grumbles in his ‘Take It Easy, For Fuck’s Sake’ voice, and he follows her down the sidewalk. “You’re a tough dame, Liv.”
He’d duck the punch, so she mimes the turn-crank at him.
++++
four
She’s gone before he can even get out of the car.
All he sees is her running form disappearing around the corner in pursuit. By the time he turns the same corner he can’t see them anymore.
“Olivia!” he tries her radio.
She replies, but he can barely understand her. She’s breathing hard and he can tell she’s still running, and he thinks she’s over a block on 50th so he starts that way, pissed, because she knows better. Willing to forgive, because he’d have done the same. The woman they’re chasing pressed her kid’s face to the stove. No quarter.
The radio starts to crackle with static. Olivia yells, and all he can make out is his name and her tone. Then there’s a loud, sharp pop that makes his blood run cold. “Olivia? You okay?”
He’s met with white noise.
“Olivia!” He shouts it into the radio and runs toward 50th, but he has no idea where to go. His heart is pounding like a jackhammer.
He’s standing on 50th just yelling her name when the radio finally crackles back to life. “Elliot, it’s all clear. I got her.”
“What the hell happened? I heard a shot.”
Crackle. “No shots fired. She hid in a park bathroom. I lost the radio in the fight and the place must have blocked the signal.”
The park? That’s three blocks east. “I thought you’d been shot!” He rages a little.
“I’m sorry, Elliot! Jesus…” She sounds irritated.
He turns back toward the car. “Stay there. I’ll be there in ten.”
She copies.
He grits his teeth as he jogs back to the car, every swear word he knows running silently along his tongue. His anger is simmering just beneath his skin, and it makes him feel jumpy. It’s been a long week. A tough week. And this didn’t make it better.
It isn’t until he’s back at the car, hand reaching for the door handle that he suddenly goes down to his heels. He curls in, lowering his forehead onto his fists, eyes squeezing shut.
“Fuck, Liv.”
He takes a moment.
++++
five
“Hey!” he protests as she spears a piece of chicken from his salad.
She ignores him and slides it into her mouth.
He parries her next attempt. “Olivia, if you want double chicken then order double chicken.”
“I don’t want double chicken. I just want to steal a few pieces of yours.”
He sighs. “And yet if you steal mine, then you have double chicken and I only have regular chicken. You see how that goes?”
She rolls her eyes. “You want some of my bean sprouts?”
He blinks at her. “Oh yeah… That’s a fair trade.”
“So, how much longer do you think?”
He shrugs. “Few hours. Court never runs late on Fridays. I heard this judge has a weekend place in the Hamptons.”
She nods thoughtfully.
“Beer afterwards?” he asks.
She shrugs. “If we win.”
It’s his turn to nod thoughtfully. “Right.”
They stare at each other, sobered by the thought of the case.
“Actually,” she says. “If we lose… maybe we’ll have two.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”
She sighs.
“Here,” he says, and he lifts his plate to push some chicken onto hers. “I ordered too much.”
She smiles slowly at him and then glances down. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
~e~
*snorez*
One Day (five times gone)
olivia/elliot, fin and munch, rated r for language
summary: everyone knows how close they are
++++
one
It’s a tight fit. The niche isn’t big enough for two people, and it’s made of concrete. She tries to ignore the smell of urine. Parking garages always smell of piss.
She can feel Elliot’s chest rising and falling against her back, and when he leans slightly sideways to peer around the corner, his hand rests briefly on her hip, trying to keep her steady.
She tries to force her heartbeat back to normal. The guy they’re waiting for should be by any second. She’s allowed a bit of hypertension, right?
“The fuck is this guy?” Elliot mutters under his breath, and he sounds pissed.
She completely ignores the way his breath hits her cheek and stirs her hair. She turns her head to glance at him, as much as the position will allow. “Relax.”
He exhales with a frustrated and quiet growl.
It was a rough morning, and they’re still ten different kinds of pissed at each other from an argument the day before. Same shit, different week.
And it doesn’t matter, because she can be so sick of him that she can barely stand the sound of his voice, but she’ll still notice the way he smells and the hard play of muscle under her hand when she grabs his arm. She’ll still almost panic when she suddenly realizes she can’t see him from the corner of her eye.
She wonders if he feels the same. Even when she’s driving him crazy.
Figures he probably doesn’t. He doesn’t need to. He can go home and live his life. Her life is now, and it never ends.
It’s silent and he’s still, and she can hear him breathing.
Suddenly his hand brushes hers, his mouth lowering to her ear. “Hey,” he says, quietly.
She’s instantly alert, nearly coming up on her toes listening for the target.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “About yesterday.”
For a moment she’s blind and deaf to anything except this niche.
She turns her head slightly and his nose bumps her temple. “Me too,” she says, and her own voice sounds odd to her.
“Okay,” he says, after a moment. And she pretends she can’t feel how he sighs silently in relief.
++++
two
Benson’s on the radio shouting about shots fired, and it’s the third time this week. By the time they figure out her location and glance up, Stabler is gone. They start after him, hard, because it never becomes old news when one of them is in the line of fire.
Barely a minute later Benson is back on the radio declaring an all clear. Perpetrator subdued. Like he had a fucking chance anyway.
They start to pull up, but Elliot’s half a block ahead of them, running like an Olympic sprinter and showing no signs of slowing.
Next to John, Fin waves his hands and stops, bending over at the waist and blowing out panting breaths. “Mother fucker is fast, man.”
John feels like his lungs might explode. Too many secret cigarettes at lunch. “You’re saying fuckers of mothers are good runners, is that it?”
Fin gives him that look that says he might laugh or he might shoot Munch, he hasn’t decided yet.
John shrugs. “Mother fucker loves her, what can you do?” He sees Fin’s expression and shrugs again. “I mean in a partner- ish sort of way.”
Fin drops him a wry look. “Like the way you love me?”
“More or less.” Munch smirks.
“Yeah, I’d say a little more,” Fin mutters. And then, “Mother fucker.”
“Hey,” John says, glancing around and trying to smooth his hair back in place. “Our ride is here!”
Fin looks up, and John is pointing at a city bus about to pull in to a nearby stop.
“Munch!” Fin protests.
John wipes sweat from his forehead. “Fuck this shit. I’m too old to be running for the goal line. It’s 5 blocks away, and that beast has air-conditioning.”
He starts toward the bus stop, and after a moment Fin follows. “Man, this shit is embarrassing.”
John slings him a brief glance as the bus stops in front of them. “More embarrassing than arriving at the scene with my vomit all over your jacket?”
Fin sighs.
++++
three
There’s a mime outside that’s pretending to pull on a rope.
They stare at him absently, but the thought strikes them at the same time.
“When the hell’s the last time you saw a mime out here on the street?” Olivia asks.
Elliot just frowns. It’s hot in the car and the air-conditioner has seen better days. It can’t keep up while they’re parked in the direct sunlight, and it’s doing nothing pleasant to his mood. “Either crazy or up to no good,” he declares.
The mime sees them and pretends like he’s filming them. He’s right in their line of sight toward Fin.
Olivia starts a silent countdown to destruction in her head. 9… 8… 7… 6…
Elliot makes an irritated noise and rolls down the window.
Damn. Five seconds off.
“Hey!” Elliot yells. “Police investigation. Move it somewhere else!”
The mime scowls and yells something back about his constitutional rights and The Man infringing on them.
“Beat it!” Elliot yells.
Olivia quirks an eyebrow, but the mime is now miming a turn crank that slowly raises his middle finger. Elliot glares, and it must be his ‘I’m The Man But I Will Totally Beat You With Your Own Shoe, You Little Fuckwad’ glare, because the mime suddenly looks nervous. She’s glad, because if Elliot has to get out of the car then shit’s going down and they don’t have time for this.
Elliot fakes a lunge at the door and the mime runs.
Olivia snorts.
Elliot glances at her. “What?”
She grins. “Beat it?” she repeats, far too amused. “What, are you Dick Tracy now?”
“What? It worked, didn’t it?” There's a slight East Coast twang there and he sounds like one of Tony Soprano’s capos. She just laughs at him. He tilts his head back and glances in the rear-view mirror, sliding a hand over his thinning hair. “I wouldn’t mind the hat though…”
“Just don’t call me a dame, or I will kick your ass.”
He smirks.
Through the windshield, Fin appears and waves them in.
“There’s Fin,” Olivia says, opening her door. “Come on, Dick.”
“Alright, alright,” Elliot grumbles in his ‘Take It Easy, For Fuck’s Sake’ voice, and he follows her down the sidewalk. “You’re a tough dame, Liv.”
He’d duck the punch, so she mimes the turn-crank at him.
++++
four
She’s gone before he can even get out of the car.
All he sees is her running form disappearing around the corner in pursuit. By the time he turns the same corner he can’t see them anymore.
“Olivia!” he tries her radio.
She replies, but he can barely understand her. She’s breathing hard and he can tell she’s still running, and he thinks she’s over a block on 50th so he starts that way, pissed, because she knows better. Willing to forgive, because he’d have done the same. The woman they’re chasing pressed her kid’s face to the stove. No quarter.
The radio starts to crackle with static. Olivia yells, and all he can make out is his name and her tone. Then there’s a loud, sharp pop that makes his blood run cold. “Olivia? You okay?”
He’s met with white noise.
“Olivia!” He shouts it into the radio and runs toward 50th, but he has no idea where to go. His heart is pounding like a jackhammer.
He’s standing on 50th just yelling her name when the radio finally crackles back to life. “Elliot, it’s all clear. I got her.”
“What the hell happened? I heard a shot.”
Crackle. “No shots fired. She hid in a park bathroom. I lost the radio in the fight and the place must have blocked the signal.”
The park? That’s three blocks east. “I thought you’d been shot!” He rages a little.
“I’m sorry, Elliot! Jesus…” She sounds irritated.
He turns back toward the car. “Stay there. I’ll be there in ten.”
She copies.
He grits his teeth as he jogs back to the car, every swear word he knows running silently along his tongue. His anger is simmering just beneath his skin, and it makes him feel jumpy. It’s been a long week. A tough week. And this didn’t make it better.
It isn’t until he’s back at the car, hand reaching for the door handle that he suddenly goes down to his heels. He curls in, lowering his forehead onto his fists, eyes squeezing shut.
“Fuck, Liv.”
He takes a moment.
++++
five
“Hey!” he protests as she spears a piece of chicken from his salad.
She ignores him and slides it into her mouth.
He parries her next attempt. “Olivia, if you want double chicken then order double chicken.”
“I don’t want double chicken. I just want to steal a few pieces of yours.”
He sighs. “And yet if you steal mine, then you have double chicken and I only have regular chicken. You see how that goes?”
She rolls her eyes. “You want some of my bean sprouts?”
He blinks at her. “Oh yeah… That’s a fair trade.”
“So, how much longer do you think?”
He shrugs. “Few hours. Court never runs late on Fridays. I heard this judge has a weekend place in the Hamptons.”
She nods thoughtfully.
“Beer afterwards?” he asks.
She shrugs. “If we win.”
It’s his turn to nod thoughtfully. “Right.”
They stare at each other, sobered by the thought of the case.
“Actually,” she says. “If we lose… maybe we’ll have two.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”
She sighs.
“Here,” he says, and he lifts his plate to push some chicken onto hers. “I ordered too much.”
She smiles slowly at him and then glances down. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
~e~
*snorez*