Resilience
Jezyk
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd never let them out. Seriously. They'd be busy.
Spoilers: This is a post-ep for Undercover, one of millions eventually, I'll bet. But I can't get it out of my head, and I can't deny my shippy tendencies.
Part One
Odafin Tutuola had survived his career in the NYPD by living according to a simple rule. He didn't see things that weren't his to see. He didn't stick his nose where it didn't belong. He didn't mind anybody's business but his own. And he didn't make friends.
He'd learned that rule the hard way, watching his partner and best friend take a bullet with his name on it. It was the end of his career in narcotics, which was just as well because he was tired of not seeing dirty cops and crooked deals.
After that, he kept to himself, which wasn't too hard since his family was long gone and he worked all the time anyway. He'd struggled a bit when he'd first joined Special Victims, not with the cases as most did, but with his partner. John Munch was the biggest busybody of all time and didn't think there was a single thing that was off limits to discuss, ponder, or provoke.
One of Munch's favorite topics, when he wasn't ranting and raving about government conspiracies, was the relationship between their coworkers. At first, they'd been Benson and Stabler, kept purposefully at arm's length. He'd tune out while Munch rambled on about whatever he thought he saw between them, or more often, what he didn't see that he was convinced existed anyway.
Over the years, though, he'd adapted to Munch's verbose style of detachment and he'd learned he could count on Elliot unquestioningly and he'd come to have a great deal of respect for Olivia. So much respect that he found himself atypically wanting to protect her. Although he'd never allow himself to consider that any of Munch's gossip might be accurate, he knew his desire to take care of her paled in comparison to Elliot's.
And, in his own opinion which he kept completely under wraps, the fact that they'd never given in to the obvious chemistry between them only made him respect them more.
Therefore, he'd been happy to be assigned as Olivia's backup when she went undercover at Sealview. He'd even told Elliot he'd keep him up to date without waiting for the threat of violence that Fin knew would have been forthcoming.
And he couldn't count the number of people who ought to be thankful that it was he, and not Elliot, who'd opened that door in time to pull Harris off Olivia. Because Harris would be dead. Because Elliot would be on trial for murder. Because Olivia would undoubtedly be overwhelmed with the guilt of knowing her partner had murdered someone for her honor.
Olivia had handled herself well, considering the circumstances. She'd pulled herself together and didn't fall apart. But Fin suspected that her tough exterior was hiding the shreds of the woman who'd been so brutally attacked. He'd heard her screams. Horrible, gut-wrenching screams of terror and helplessness and pain. He didn't know much about Olivia, not really as she wasn't one to talk about herself, but he knew simply from the hideous sound of her cries that she'd been faced with her absolute worst fear.
And as much as Fin preferred to keep his nose out of other people's lives, he couldn't, wouldn't, let that fucker destroy her.
He'd waited until Olivia left her desk, her post for the previous two days, where he suspected she was even sleeping. Not that he could blame her, since his own nights had been filled with frightening images and the sound her screams. Fin looked at Elliot, his stare unnoticed as Elliot's own eyes were locked on Olivia's retreating form. Elliot was obviously worried, but he didn't press. Which was where Fin saw the problem. She needed to be pressed. She needed to open up.
He stood up, assuring himself that he was doing the right thing, and leaned on Elliot's desk. "Hey."
Elliot's face revealed a flicker of disappointment, as though Fin's interruption cost him one second of keeping watch over Olivia. "Yeah, what's up?"
Fin sighed, realizing that his habit of staying out of things left him unprepared to get into them when he needed to. Straightforward had always worked for him in the past, so he went with that. "You should talk to her."
With a startled look, Elliot dropped the paper he was holding. "What do you mean?" His voice was cool, his eyes hot. He was angry, that quickly, that suddenly. Fin had been her backup and there was something clearly wrong with her and therefore, Fin had betrayed them both.
He didn't defend himself because there was nothing he could say. He should have found the key faster. He should have gone looking for her sooner. He should have ignored the need for the TB test altogether. "She needs to talk about it."
The tightening of Elliot's jaw was visible as he glared up at Fin. "What does she need to talk about?"
"It was rough on her. It wasn't pretty." He stepped back a little, thinking he might have a fighting chance of dodging a blow.
Elliot jumped to his feet, his fury obvious in the way the veins jumped out from his neck. "What happened in that basement?"
"I got there in time. She's ok." Fin stepped back again. "But she needs to talk to someone." He didn't need to say another word.
Elliot was already taking the steps two at a time, bounding across the room and down the hall. He'd been so scared, so terrified, the whole time Olivia had been undercover. He couldn't imagine he'd have been more frightened if one of his kids had been in there instead. He'd been helpless too, relying on Fin's assurance that Olivia would be kept safe.
It had been painfully obvious to everyone that Olivia was anything but fine when she returned. He'd asked, wanting her to confide in him. She'd refused, lied that she was ok. He hadn't pushed. He'd pushed in the past and it had never gotten him anywhere. So he'd decided to wait, figuring she'd open up like she usually did when something was bothering her.
But if Fin had bothered to speak up, to pry into her well-being, Elliot couldn't wait. He couldn't ignore the fact that Fin knew what had happened and revealed that it had been upsetting enough that Olivia would need to talk about it. Elliot really didn't like the way Fin had said it, that he'd gotten there in time. In time for what, exactly? She'd been there to catch a drug dealer, a rapist, a murderer. It hurt him to think about what she thought she'd have to face if Fin hadn't gotten there.
He tried the crib first, then the locker room. Both were empty, but the unhooked padlock on her locker told him exactly where she was.
He shoved through the door and stepped across the hall into the small gym. His eyes found her instantly, her figure the only thing moving in the room. Her hands were pummeling the punching bag, flesh slapping mercilessly against the leather over and over. He knew she was hurting herself, could tell from the way her wrists bent as she hit the bag, could see in the weak punches that she'd already burned through most of her energy. He wanted to stop her, to keep her from hurting herself. But he couldn't move. He was frozen to the spot from the sight of her.
She'd changed from her normal work clothes into shorts and a tank top and normally, Elliot would have begrudgingly admitted the sight of his well-built partner in tight, skimpy clothes would stop him in his tracks. But it wasn't her beauty or even his base physical attraction to her that held him rooted.
It was the dark, mottled spots marring her skin. She couldn't hide the mark on her face, but he'd had no idea about the others. Her shoulders, her neck, her forearms, the backs of her legs, all of her that he could see, and likely the rest of her that he couldn't, was covered in bruises. Some were a deep purple, some a fading yellow, but all of them revealed the way she'd been abused. There were cuts too, red slices in her tan skin.
He didn't want to think of her being hurt like that, being helpless, but he needed to know what she'd been through. Because she needed to talk about it. Because he needed to help her through it.
It was the quiet whimper that gave him the strength to walk again. He crossed the room, stepping up behind her as he usually did. But rather than the way she normally responded, by glancing back and smiling or at least acknowledging his presence, she continued hitting the bag, her fists barely able to slap against the leather, her strength gone, her knuckles leaving a trail of blood where they hit.
"Liv, come on, you're hurting yourself." He walked around her, standing behind the swinging bag, holding it still.
Her face was screwed into a hard scowl. "I'm fine."
His chuckle was low and entirely humorless. "The fuck you are."
Her eyes left the bag only long enough to meet his, her face not softening at all. "If you're here to heckle me, you can find your way out." She renewed her attack on the bag, trying to stifle the groans of pain as each hand made contact.
Although the bag had been swinging from her earlier attempts, there was no force in her punches. Elliot leaned on the bag, hoping she'd meet his stare again. Her arms kept moving, doling out continual punishment on herself. He sighed, wondering how he was supposed to get her to open up when she was more closed off than ever. He started to think Fin had been wrong.
But Olivia's hands froze in midair, her eyes blinking rapidly as though to hold back tears. "I don't need a ride. Is that all you wanted?"
He smiled. "I wasn't offering you a ride."
She stared at him, confusion all over her face. "Then what do you want?"
Elliot looked down, her abrasiveness assuring him that talking was the last thing she wanted or needed. Fin had been wrong. Elliot himself had been wrong. His partner was a lot like himself and he knew there were plenty of times when what he really and truly needed was to kick the shit out of an inanimate object.
Unsure of himself, his gaze dropped. Unintentionally, his eyes found her stomach, the thin line of skin peeking out from under the hem of her shirt. It wasn't a sight he hadn't seen before; he'd long since grown used to the occasional peek of the tan line at her middle. He wasn't used to a swirl of purple and black. His mouth fell open, his eyes seeking hers.
"Jesus, what happened?"
In the most out of character move he'd ever seen from Olivia, she self-consciously tugged at the hem of her shirt to hide her body. "I was in prison, Elliot, not charm school."
His gaze returned to her, taking in the bruises that covered the front of her shoulders and arms as well. The discolored, swollen skin continued below her shorts, the bright colored splotches standing out dramatically from her normal skin color. He nodded at her hands, at the streaks of blood that were stretching down her fingers while her arms hung loosely at her sides.
"You're in no shape to be working out. If anyone else got a look at you, they'd put you in a hospital." Something told him that under her shirt and shorts, there was more damage, probably worse, outward signs of internal injuries that she would never admit to so long as she remained conscious.
Her lips twisted around, her eyes darted across his face, her brain searched for a response. Her voice was low, unnatural, failing to hide her emotions. "What I need to do is suck it up." She turned to the bag, the pause making her forget for a moment about the damage to her hands. Her fist slammed hard into the bag, causing it and Elliot, to sway the slightest bit. But Elliot barely noticed the motion when she cried out in pain, cradling one hand in the other.
"Olivia, stop it. You're not going to fix anything by hurting yourself." Even though he knew she had a lot of anger and frustration she needed to work out, he also knew that working it out by breaking her hand wasn't going to solve anything. And as he well knew, the hand would break long before the emotions were spent.
His statement fueled her anger again and she threw another hard punch with the same hand, following it with a full body slam that threw Elliot off balance and caused her to cry in pain again.
He raised his voice, something he hated to do with Olivia in light of her relationship with her mother. She didn't like to be yelled at, but he thought it was the only way to get her attention. "Damn it, Olivia, stop it! Knock it the fuck off!"
Rather than stopping her, the shout spurred her on, and she continued to bash her fists against the bloody bag. "No pain, no gain, Elliot."
"What are you trying to gain? You want to be out of work with two broken hands for months?" He held her eyes for a second, trying to appeal to her logically, although it was clear that logic wasn't exactly working. "After a broken hand, you'll have to requalify, Liv. They'll take your gun until you do. You really feel like that shit?"
Her punches were intermingled with slaps as apparently even her will would bend to severe pain. "You're a Marine. You telling me basic training was all fun and games? You should understand this."
He stepped to the side, hoping that she'd turn to face him and thus be distracted from beating her hands to pulp. "What are you talking about? I don't understand this. I don't even know what this is!"
She gave no warning as she dared to throw one punch in his direction. She was exhausted and tired and his superior strength allowed him to deflect her fist easily. He kept her wrist in his grasp to prevent a second attack.
She looked down at his hand circled around her wrist and let out a whine. "This is the thing you've always hated about me, right? I'm a girl. I'm weak. I'm no good in a fight." She yanked away from him, slamming her fist into the unforgiving bag again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for letting you down all these years. I'll get stronger. I'll pull my own weight from now on."
The pain in her voice as she continued to abuse her body hurt him. But what shook him to the core was the absolute fervor in her words. She truly believed that she was weak, that she slowed him down. The job wasn't all about physical strength. And Olivia more than pulled her own weight.
"Olivia, that's bullshit. There's nothing wrong with you." He stepped forward, trying to get between her and the bag.
She shifted around, continuing to pummel her fists into the bag. "Don't sugar coat it, Elliot. I'm not strong enough." Her face twisted around, letting a sob escape involuntarily. "I can't even defend myself." She threw herself at the bag, bashing her fists against it in a deluge of blows. "How can I protect anyone else when I can't even protect myself? I'm pathetic."
Things were finally clicking, her obsessive attempt to crush all the bones in her hands, her reluctance to talk about it. He not only understood what she was doing; he understood why. She was blaming herself, assuming responsibility for Harris' actions. Like all the rape victims they worked with. He swallowed hard, choking on the bile that rose up at the thought of Olivia being abused like that. But Fin had said she was ok, that he'd gotten there in time.
And then it made even more sense. Fin had been able to reach her before Harris raped her. Fin had protected her. Because Olivia hadn't been able to save herself. And she fucking hated herself for it.