Post by liliae1987 on Feb 5, 2010 10:42:25 GMT -5
Title: When All Is Said And Done
Author: Liliae1987
Permission to archive: given
Genre: Drama/Friendship
Pairing/Characters: Olivia Benson, Elliot Stabler (NOT romantic)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Nights were different." After returning from Sealview, Olivia is left alone with her thoughts. Elliot wants to be supportive, but there are some things which are hard to say.
Warnings: Contains references to sexual assault and minor descriptions.
Notes: This is set after the Season 9 episode ‘Undercover’. It takes place right after Harris has been arrested for good. I thought the scene at her desk before was well-done and I can see why she would be reluctant to talk to Elliot about this, but at the same time...I missed it. As Neil Baer once said, Elliot often embodies the rage, and it seems to me that they complement each other to a point where they often don’t need to use many words. This short fiction will consist of two parts.
Nights were different. There was no doubt about it. During the day, things could be tucked away, kept in a separate folder, rationalized. But when darkness came, so did...well, darkness. That basic human fear of not being able to see, and the unbearable hours of silence. What did you come home to? The job had been done, Harris was on the other side of the iron grate this time, all reports had been written, case closed. Case closed.
Olivia was sitting on the couch in her dimly lit apartment, her legs tucked up on the sofa. She was just fine. Her living room had been tidied. Her kitchen had been cleaned, although there wasn’t much to clean, considering she hardly cooked. Her sheets had been changed. Her laundry was in the washing machine she’d invested in –a small luxury in a New York City apartment- spinning, which always caused the floor around it to vibrate. The entire place was looking like it usually did – comfortable, but somewhat empty. She really should get a plant. There was some fresh Chinese take-out in her fridge, but she didn’t feel like eating. She was tired, but she didn’t feel like sleeping. She had flipped through the various TV channels, too, but found it hard to focus on some medical drama. So it had been discarded, along with a magazine she had bought a week or so ago, an impulse purchase. She was far too exhausted to read, and couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. The only thing in her hands now were some bills, which she was sorting by priority. More or less.
She was angry with Cragen for sending her home early today. Of course he was right, this was the usual procedure after an undercover assignment, and he had already kept her on the job for the entire Harris arrest, and had let her check up on Ashley again. But that look he had given her, that concern, the request she speak to Huang, telling her to ‘take a couple of days off’... This was not what she needed. She needed to do something. A glance at the clock on her wall told her it was 9.36pm. She didn’t want to go to bed.
She jumped as her washing machine stopped spinning abruptly, and started to fill with water again. Damn it, Olivia. It’s only a washing machine. She bent down to pick up a sheet of paper which had slipped from her lap, wincing at the sharp pain in her abdomen. It still hurt where his baton had hit her. Every inch of it, all over. And suddenly, with her head down, she was there again, in the basement, on the mattress, against the wall, chained to the door. ‘I’m gonna take my time with you.’ She flew on the mattress with her arms behind her. ‘You must like it rough.’ His erection grinding into her from behind, his breath on her neck. His hands on her head, bringing it closer. The smell of him, putrid and sweaty, so close to her face. ‘Shut up, b****!’
She felt dizzy as she sat back up. Her palms were sweating, her breath flat and racing. Breathe, deeply. Stay grounded. Stay. Notice the colours in the room. She knew the routine for working with victims under acute stress. But she was fine now. She was a detective after all, and in her years with SVU, she’d seen the most horrific things. She hadn’t really been raped, either, so there was no reason why she shouldn’t be able to cope with this. Worse things happened to people. She was a detective, with physical training, and she was supposed to be in control.
Still, things were different at night. She was alone. She wished her mother were alive so she could talk to her. But what would her mother have to offer? Drinking was not going to be her coping method. In a way, Elliot was the only close person she had left. Go figure. She worried sometimes that their friendship would get in the way of their job, that she felt too attached, that he was spending too much time away from his family. And really, after working shifts together on a day-to-day basis, you needed some time apart.
She couldn’t tell him about the basement. He had asked, of course, but in the hope of hearing her say everything was all right. In the hope of being able to go home and hold his little boy without having all that ugliness follow him, as she knew it did. As it did for her. They could talk about anything, but there were things that didn’t need to be said, and then there were things that were hard to say out loud when they referred to you personally. She wanted to remain his partner, someone who had your back, not a victim. If she became a victim, he would look at her differently, speak to her in his gentle crime victim voice, and constantly ask her if she was okay. They wouldn’t be equals anymore, and he would feel obliged to watch out for her. She didn’t want that. She just wanted things to be normal. But what did she always tell her crime victims? ‘Things will never go back to the way they were.’ That, and ‘talk about it’. She hoped she was wrong.
Olivia was startled again by the sound of the buzzer. When you speak of the devil...or ‘think’, in this case. She uncurled her legs and got up carefully, approaching her control panel. The red light flashed. She pressed the button. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey Liv, it’s me. Elliot.’ That really needed explaining. ‘Can I come up?’
Author: Liliae1987
Permission to archive: given
Genre: Drama/Friendship
Pairing/Characters: Olivia Benson, Elliot Stabler (NOT romantic)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Nights were different." After returning from Sealview, Olivia is left alone with her thoughts. Elliot wants to be supportive, but there are some things which are hard to say.
Warnings: Contains references to sexual assault and minor descriptions.
Notes: This is set after the Season 9 episode ‘Undercover’. It takes place right after Harris has been arrested for good. I thought the scene at her desk before was well-done and I can see why she would be reluctant to talk to Elliot about this, but at the same time...I missed it. As Neil Baer once said, Elliot often embodies the rage, and it seems to me that they complement each other to a point where they often don’t need to use many words. This short fiction will consist of two parts.
When All Is Said and Done
Nights were different. There was no doubt about it. During the day, things could be tucked away, kept in a separate folder, rationalized. But when darkness came, so did...well, darkness. That basic human fear of not being able to see, and the unbearable hours of silence. What did you come home to? The job had been done, Harris was on the other side of the iron grate this time, all reports had been written, case closed. Case closed.
Olivia was sitting on the couch in her dimly lit apartment, her legs tucked up on the sofa. She was just fine. Her living room had been tidied. Her kitchen had been cleaned, although there wasn’t much to clean, considering she hardly cooked. Her sheets had been changed. Her laundry was in the washing machine she’d invested in –a small luxury in a New York City apartment- spinning, which always caused the floor around it to vibrate. The entire place was looking like it usually did – comfortable, but somewhat empty. She really should get a plant. There was some fresh Chinese take-out in her fridge, but she didn’t feel like eating. She was tired, but she didn’t feel like sleeping. She had flipped through the various TV channels, too, but found it hard to focus on some medical drama. So it had been discarded, along with a magazine she had bought a week or so ago, an impulse purchase. She was far too exhausted to read, and couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. The only thing in her hands now were some bills, which she was sorting by priority. More or less.
She was angry with Cragen for sending her home early today. Of course he was right, this was the usual procedure after an undercover assignment, and he had already kept her on the job for the entire Harris arrest, and had let her check up on Ashley again. But that look he had given her, that concern, the request she speak to Huang, telling her to ‘take a couple of days off’... This was not what she needed. She needed to do something. A glance at the clock on her wall told her it was 9.36pm. She didn’t want to go to bed.
She jumped as her washing machine stopped spinning abruptly, and started to fill with water again. Damn it, Olivia. It’s only a washing machine. She bent down to pick up a sheet of paper which had slipped from her lap, wincing at the sharp pain in her abdomen. It still hurt where his baton had hit her. Every inch of it, all over. And suddenly, with her head down, she was there again, in the basement, on the mattress, against the wall, chained to the door. ‘I’m gonna take my time with you.’ She flew on the mattress with her arms behind her. ‘You must like it rough.’ His erection grinding into her from behind, his breath on her neck. His hands on her head, bringing it closer. The smell of him, putrid and sweaty, so close to her face. ‘Shut up, b****!’
She felt dizzy as she sat back up. Her palms were sweating, her breath flat and racing. Breathe, deeply. Stay grounded. Stay. Notice the colours in the room. She knew the routine for working with victims under acute stress. But she was fine now. She was a detective after all, and in her years with SVU, she’d seen the most horrific things. She hadn’t really been raped, either, so there was no reason why she shouldn’t be able to cope with this. Worse things happened to people. She was a detective, with physical training, and she was supposed to be in control.
Still, things were different at night. She was alone. She wished her mother were alive so she could talk to her. But what would her mother have to offer? Drinking was not going to be her coping method. In a way, Elliot was the only close person she had left. Go figure. She worried sometimes that their friendship would get in the way of their job, that she felt too attached, that he was spending too much time away from his family. And really, after working shifts together on a day-to-day basis, you needed some time apart.
She couldn’t tell him about the basement. He had asked, of course, but in the hope of hearing her say everything was all right. In the hope of being able to go home and hold his little boy without having all that ugliness follow him, as she knew it did. As it did for her. They could talk about anything, but there were things that didn’t need to be said, and then there were things that were hard to say out loud when they referred to you personally. She wanted to remain his partner, someone who had your back, not a victim. If she became a victim, he would look at her differently, speak to her in his gentle crime victim voice, and constantly ask her if she was okay. They wouldn’t be equals anymore, and he would feel obliged to watch out for her. She didn’t want that. She just wanted things to be normal. But what did she always tell her crime victims? ‘Things will never go back to the way they were.’ That, and ‘talk about it’. She hoped she was wrong.
Olivia was startled again by the sound of the buzzer. When you speak of the devil...or ‘think’, in this case. She uncurled her legs and got up carefully, approaching her control panel. The red light flashed. She pressed the button. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey Liv, it’s me. Elliot.’ That really needed explaining. ‘Can I come up?’