Archive of Our Own ^beta

Olivia stared at the ceiling, letting the brunette draw circles limply along her stomach, around her breasts, and occasionally graze over a nipple, not to tease but rather remind her, like an inside joke, of the last few hours spent tangled together in the bedsheets of her too-small bed.

She sighed, shut her eyes, and opened them again. The ceiling fan made lazy circles around its base.

“Olivia.”

Olivia shut her eyes again, letting images of the past week swim through her vision. The terrified face of Marta Stevens, Anya’s bandaged hand, the frantic, desperate look in her eye as she grabbed Elliot’s coat with a bloodied grasp and whispered in his ear. The sweet, devilishly unmistakable face of the little boy.

“Olivia.”

“What?” She asked finally, rolling over to look at the woman in her bed.

“You’re in outer space. What’s troubling you?” Abbie asked, hand migrating to cup the back of her head, long, sturdy fingers gripping firmly at the hairs on the back of her neck. Olivia inhaled at the sudden pressure. Abbie grinned, delighted at her effect, revealing the wicked half-smile of a lawyer, or perhaps a cat pawing needlessly at an already trapped mouse. Olivia made a mental note to never let another lawyer into her bed.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

“I think you did exceptionally,” Abbie teased, and Olivia scowled, rolling back to stare at the ceiling again. Abbie’s hands returned to their previous duty of drawing shapes on Olivia’s skin.

“I don’t mean… this,” She posited, “I mean the job. The Special Victims Unit.”

Marta’s well manicured hands, a voice, indistinguishably male or female, asking for Victor Spicer.

“Getting cold feet?” Abbie asked.

“No,” Olivia supplied immediately. “No.”

The hands on her skin stalled. Olivia immediately missed the contact, and then scolded herself for needing it so badly.

“Then what is it?” Abbie pushed on with blasted lawyerly insistence. Olivia grappled with the thought, words dancing just out of reach on the tip of her tongue.

“I… I don’t know,” she finally replied. She could feel Abbie staring at her, burning to ask another probing question. But, she waited for Olivia to collect her thoughts. Olivia watched the ceiling fan make another lazy loop.

“Cragen threatened to take me off the case this week.”

“The Tanzic murder?” Abbie asked.

“Yeah,” Olivia affirmed.

“But, he didn’t,” Abbie pressed on. Olivia sighed.

“No. I… I don’t know if I can help it. We don’t get to pick the vic. I know that. It feels like everyone has been telling me that. But I came here to put men like Tanzic behind bars. Not… prosecute the poor women that finally did something about it.”

Abbie’s hand returned to her previous ministrations, perhaps with a bit more insistence. Olivia’s skin prickled at the sensation, sending an inviting shiver down her spine. It grounded her. Reminded her of how they ended up here.

“Man two,” Abbie supplied.

“Man two,” Olivia echoed.

“18 months in a psychiatric facility,” Abbie continued. Olivia bit her lip.

“With the right judge,” She supplemented, worrying a line across her forehead. The hand that was currently tracing her collarbone raised and ran itself over her forehead, smoothing out the crease.

“I’ll get her the right judge. Don’t you worry about that. You did your job, and I’ll do mine,” Abbie reasoned, cupping the side of her face and drawing her head sideways to lock eyes. Olivia shivered at the intensity of her gaze.

“It’s like I care too much,” Olivia said, “I get too… involved. I knew Marta did it. I knew she did. And I didn’t arrest her at first, I just couldn’t bring myself to.”

“Bastard got what he deserved,” Abbie said, thumb lightly caressing Olivia’s cheekbone.

“I agree with you. That’s the trouble,” Olivia huffed. Abbie hummed, noncommittal.

After a moment, she spoke. “But, you’re right. Steven Tanzic was a monster who will never hurt anyone ever again, and the woman who helped send him to hell where he belongs will, if all goes to plan, spend a year and a half in a psychiatric hospital. They’re both doing time. You did your job.”

Olivia sighed, and tried to roll back over. Abbie caught her and held her there, locking her in eye to eye, inches apart. She was suddenly reminded of how they ended up here.

“You’re thinking too much about it,” Abbie said. “You’re cut out for this. I see it in you.”

Olivia let the affirmation wash over her. She studied the other woman, studied her strong jaw and dark hair curling ruthlessly around her pale neck. Her eyes traced the cleft in her chin, the rounding shape of plump, pink lips, her straight, sharp nose, the dark, carefully manicured eyebrows and deep brown eyes. Abbie Carmichael watched her make her assessment, pink lips curling into a dangerous smile.

“Something caught your eye?” She prodded. Olivia fought the urge to scoff.

“Don’t be coy,” She scolded, which only made Abbie’s smile deepen, carving deep lines into her cheeks.

“Really, detective? That’s all you can say to me?” She teased. This time, Olivia did scoff, and Abbie used the distraction to close the distance between them, capturing Olivia’s lips in a kiss.

Kissing Abbie was unlike anything Olivia had ever done. It was ferocious, every second suddenly more intense than the last. It knocked the wind out of her, left her gasping for air. She gasped when the brunette nipped at her lip, and felt her smile into the kiss at her reaction. When they broke, it felt like Olivia was gasping for air.

“Do you do this often?” She finally asked.

“What? Sleep with colleagues? Or women?” Abbie asked, face close to Olivia’s. She could feel the ADA’s breath ghosting across her nose.

“Yes. Both. Either, really,” Olivia replied.

“With immediate colleagues, I try to avoid it,” Abbie admitted.

“You’re not a fan of lawyers, either?” Olivia teased. Abbie grinned.

“You’re the one who let me in here, remember that,” She said, before continuing a moment later, choosing her words carefully. “My… predilections are not especially well known, either. Career suicide, practically, or at the very least media scrutiny. But we all have needs.”

“Abbie,” Olivia began, suddenly anxious.

“What? I find a way to manage, as I’m sure you do.”

“Abbie,” Olivia repeated.

“Olivia,” she affirmed.

“I’m not… I’ve never-” She began, unsure of what to say, and Abbie’s lips formed a surprised o shape.

“You can’t be serious,” She cut in, “You’ve never… this was… god damn.”

In any other situation, Olivia would laugh at rendering the ADA speechless.

“I’ve been with men,” She said, suddenly defensive. “Plenty of men.”

“No women?” Abbie asked, still shocked. Her hand lay limply tangled in Olivia’s hair.

“Never anything serious,” Olivia supplied, still sensitive at the implication, “I’ve messed around, I guess, experimented. Very juvenile. I’m not a lesbian,” she insisted, an anxious feeling twisting in her gut.

Her high school best friend crying in her lap after her boyfriend dumped her. Two of her sorority sisters, passing a bottle between themselves in a dimly lit dorm room. Hands wandering in the dark. Little moments flashed before her eyes. Fumbling for bra clasps the night before, then making eye contact the next morning like nothing ever passed between them. Secrets, buried behind locked doors, in the folds of books and ripped out journal pages.

Abbie laughed, lines around her dark eyes crinkling, and Olivia suddenly felt very embarrassed.

“Call it whatever you want, Olivia. I’d be a liar if I said I thought you didn’t enjoy this.” For effect, she swiped her thumb across Olivia’s lower lip. Olivia fought the urge to take the digit into her mouth and suck.

“I guess I do,” The admission twisted guiltily in her stomach.

“Sometimes it’s easier not to think about it,” Abbie mused, thumb still playing with Olivia’s bottom lip insistently. Again, Olivia felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Help me forget?” She asked, playful again. Abbie smiled, a wicked smile, thumb dipping between Olivia’s lips at last.

“With pleasure.”