For those of you who might follow my blog, this is the infamous "SVU trash fic". I meant it to be a quick, porny one-shot, but instead it's 40k words and growing. It's trash, tho. I wanna be clear on that point. That's why I'm stealing my OC from my SoA shit. It's self-indulgent and (hopefully) fun, and honestly shouldn't fanfic be exactly that?

Enjoy, and don't think too hard. :)

Chapter 1: The Date

She only agreed to the date in the first place because his mother was such a nice lady.

Lucia Barba had assured Olivia Gable that her son, Rafael, was perfect for her. Single, successful, handsome, smart…the praise went on and on. Seeing his picture on Lucia's phone, Olivia had to admit he had a certain something. Nice smile, nice eyes, a little gray at the temples: all things Olivia liked.

"He's a bit older than you," Lucia had said. "Eleven years, not much, but if that bothers you…"

The age difference wasn't the problem. As Olivia sat across from him, a table of Thai food between them, she wondered how on earth a woman as kind and genuine as Lucia had given birth to and raised a man as insufferable as this one.

He was stiff and rude, dismissive of her attempts at conversation and constantly on his damn BlackBerry. A BlackBerry! It was 2017, for God's sake. Who the hell had a BlackBerry anymore?

When she asked about his job as an ADA, he told her it was "complex." Like she was some idiot who couldn't possibly understand the most basic aspects of the law.

"My mother says you work at an art gallery?" he said when the conversation hit a lull.

She bristled. "Own, actually. I own the gallery. Jameson on Franklin?"

His eyes flicked up as he searched his memory. "Never heard of it," he finally decided.

"We've been written up in the Sunday Times, the New Yorker, New York magazine…" She trailed off, afraid she might sound braggadocios, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention. "And an artist whose career I helped launch will be featured in a MOMA exhibit next month."

"Interesting," he said, tapping a button on his phone.

"Maybe Google it," she said between gritted teeth.

After that her answers became brief, almost blunt, and the evening went swiftly downhill. She had no time for arrogant jerks who couldn't even pretend to be interested in her life's work.

He reached for the check, but she stopped him. "Let's split it," she said.

"That's fine," he replied with a brief, chilly smile.

They each handed the waiter their cards and sat ignoring each other while they waited for him to return. She played with the mint. The straw in her jasmine iced tea. Anything to avoid looking at him. Not that it would have mattered: he, of course, was on that stupid phone.

Finally their server dropped the check off again. She noticed he tipped well, above twenty percent. That was in his favor, but it was too little, too late. She signed her name and stood, grabbing her coat.

"Well, Mr. Barba, I'll be sure to tell your mother that we had a lovely meal," she said as they left the restaurant.

"I apologize for her, Ms. Gable. She means well, but I can't get it through her head that I don't want to be fixed up."

"Mmm," she remarked, mildly. "You could've fooled me. I thought you were thrilled to be here." She lifted her hand to hail a cab and missed his annoyed expression.

"I was doing a favor for my mother," he said. "She seems to think we're perfect for each other."

A taxi pulled to the curb and she grabbed the door handle. "Can't win 'em all, Mr. Barba. Goodnight." She climbed in and the yellow car rejoined the flow of traffic. Barba watched it go with a scowl.

What an impossible woman. Flighty and sarcastic, a truly awful combination. What was his mother thinking?

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. He checked it and sighed. Dinner's over, Mami. You were wrong: we have nothing in common, he texted.

Don't be silly, mijo! Did you talk about the theatre? Or art?

No, we didn't get to that. Thank you for the thought, but it just didn't work out.

In Queens Lucia Barba sighed. Stubborn boy. He always had been. Olivia was stubborn, too, which was part of what made them so right for each other. She would just have to work a little harder. A date had probably been a bad idea. They needed to connect organically, in their natural habitats. She smiled and typed.

Ah well. At least I tried. Still coming for dinner Sunday?

Of course, Mami. Always. See you then.

Olivia had left for her disastrous "date" with Lucia's son at 7:30. Two hours later, she was back home, and glad for it. Her building was only a few blocks from the restaurant. The cab wasn't really necessary, but it's as important to make an impactful exit as it is to make a good entrance: she needed the car for the mise-en-scène.

Her phone rang as she typed in her building's front door code. She laughed and answered it. "Oh god it was a disaster!" she said without preamble.

"What? Really?" Sara, her best friend, said. "He was so cute!"

"Cute? Are you kidding? No, he was an ass." The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. "He was on his phone the whole time, and he barely listened to a word I said. Finally I just stopped answering more than word or two."

Olivia could hear Sara's sarcasm. "Sounds like you tried really hard to make it work."

"Oh, why should I?" she said.

The creaky elevator binged her floor, and Olivia spared a second to thank the elevator gods that she'd made it upstairs alive. It was a daily ritual, and she lived in fear of the one time she forgot and plummeted to her death on her next journey in the old, shaky metal deathtrap.

"He's a lawyer, Sara! Since when is a lawyer my type?"

"A cute Cuban lawyer with sexy hands? I don't know. Since always?"

She rolled her eyes and stuck her key in her door's lock. "How do you know what his hands look like? Have you been internet stalking again?"

"Maybe. A little. I had to check the guy out. Make sure he was worthy of my very best friend in the whole wide world."

"Yeah, well, you should've checked a little deeper, because—"

Olivia froze.

The phone was nestled between her neck and shoulder, and in her discomfiture she almost dropped it. She could hear Sara through the speaker calling her name. Recovering quickly, she brought it up again.

"Um, let me call you back," Olivia said.

"What's wrong? Something's wrong, I can tell."

"Just—it's fine. I'll call you back." She ended the call and fumbled behind her for the doorknob. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped it.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

First of all, where was Baloo? The big cat was always there to greet her, haughtily demanding food and attention and adoration, even as he pretended he just happened to be passing the front door area and oh look the human's home…

Sliding her hands into her coat pockets, Olivia did a brief tour of the apartment. There was a glass and a plate in the sink. The throw pillow on the couch was in the wrong place, and the afghan was wadded up, not folded neatly how she always left it. The TV remotes were on the table rather than in the box she stored them in.

She swallowed and pushed into the bedroom. Relief sagged her shoulders when she heard Baloo's indignant cries coming from the closet.

"Dumb dumb," she said as she opened the door. "How did you get in there?"

He sauntered out, clearly furious, and rubbed himself against her legs like he hadn't seen her in a month. She picked him up, murmuring soothing little nothings, and held him against her chest as she continued to take stock.

Her underwear drawer was open. The quilt on her bed was—oh god!

She stumbled backward out the bedroom door, nearly tripping in her haste. The cat clawed her and she dropped him to the floor with a thunk.

With shaking hands she fished her phone out of her pocket and dialed 911. She was proud of herself for getting it right on the first try. At the operator's prompt, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. "My, um—someone has been in my apartment."

"Is the intruder there now?"

"No, I don't think so. I haven't checked the bathroom yet, but my cat doesn't seem upset. Um, the—the intruder—went through my things, and he…" She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you there?"

"He masturbated on my bed," she finally whispered. "There's—semen. On my bed."

There was a brief pause, then, "All right, ma'am, the police are on their way. Do you have a neighbor you can sit with until they arrive?"

"Yes, I—yes. I live in six B, but I'll be in six A."

"Very good. I'll stay on the line with you to make sure your neighbor's at home."

Olivia took a moment to collect Baloo before she went next door to knock. There was the sound of music being muted, and then her neighbor, Alan Frost, opened the door. He took one look at Olivia's face and ushered her inside without a word.

"He's here. I'm okay."

"Okay, ma'am. The police will be there soon. Just stay put."

Olivia disconnected the call and collapsed onto Alan's couch. Baloo escaped and ran to greet the 100-pound Rottweiler curled on a pink flowered bed in the corner. They sniffed noses, Baloo hissed, and Tink wagged her stump of a tail.

"What happened?" Alan said. "What's wrong? You look like someone just kicked your dog and picked all your petunias."

"More like my underpants," Olivia said, trying not to laugh. If she laughed now she might not stop, and then she really would be crazy.

"Hmm. This calls for tea. With liquor. Don't move." He hurried to the kitchen and started banging things around. Olivia flinched with each bang. "Does this have something to do with The Date?" he called over the noise.

"No. The date was a disaster, but that's not why—someone broke into my place, Alan."

His head appeared around the wall, blue eyes comically wide. "What?! Ollie, WHAT?!" He rushed back to the couch (Alan never just walked anywhere) and dropped down beside her. "Honey, are you okay?"

"I wasn't home, thank goodness. It looks like he spent some time there. Made himself some food. Watched my TV. Locked my cat in the closet."

"Oh no!"

"Went through my panties."

"Super classy," Alan said, rolling his eyes.

"And jerked off on my bed."

"Oh my God! You're—oh shit you're serious! That is the nastiest—what is wrong with people?! Straight men, I swear to baby Jesus!"

Olivia let him react. He'd come back to earth soon. In the meantime it was better to just watch.

"You know, around eight or so Tinkerbell started pacing around. Whining a little. I thought maybe she had to go out, but we'd just gotten back from our run, so I told her to settle down." He shook his head, aghast. "Good Lord, it was probably him! You know she doesn't like unexpected guests."

The Rottweiler, hearing her name, lumbered over to join them. She rested her head on Olivia's lap as though sensing her distress and looked up at her with adoring brown eyes. Olivia smiled and stroked her smooth head. "You're a good girl, Princess Tinkerbell. I know you would've stopped that bad man if you could have."

"Listen, sweetie, you can stay here as long as you need to. Tink and I don't mind in the least."

Olivia shook her head. "As soon as the police say it's okay, I'm going back home. It's my place, and some nasty creeper isn't taking that away from me."

Not long after that there was a knock on the door: the cavalry had arrived. The unformed officers asked Olivia to take them inside and give them a tour of what had been disturbed. When they saw her missing underwear and the state of her bed, one of them stepped outside to make a call.

"What's wrong?" Olivia said. "I mean, besides the obvious."

"Nothing, ma'am," the remaining officer said. "We're just callin' in some backup. Standard procedure on somethin' like this. Now, let's go over it one more time. What time did you leave for your date?"

Thanks to my co-creator, Lynn. The original germ of the idea was mine (I think?), but she's been there every step of the way with ideas, inspiration, and assistance. Like a goddamn enabler.