Thanks to lauridsen09 who was kind enough not to pull any punches.
If, after ten plus years dealing with his hissy fits, hit overzealous interrogation methods, his anger management problems, it had become just a bit too much... she certainly wasn't giving any indication of that now. In the corner of the room, Olivia stood, arms crossed tightly over her chest, doing her best to appear the pillar of stoicism.
When he threw a chair across the room, the only indication that she had seen it pass her field of vision was the way her face twitched. No, she wasn't okay with it, but, what the fuck, right?
They were far beyond the point where they could rightly handle each other, instead choosing to allow the other to spiral erratically out of control. The rate it was going now, Olivia figured, they'd both be completely gone by the end of the year. But how much easier this was; Elliot unraveled a hair more and she just sighed to herself, allowing the concrete wall at her back to dig in. 'Get comfortable,' she told herself, 'this is an endless sort of rage.'
There was a fire in his eyes that was slow-burning and intense that, when she had first met him, had frightened her to the core. In his gaze, there was something that was just west of being unhinged, something that couldn't be tamed. When it flared, it took hold of him and he went with it. Before, when their partnership had been more fluid, before they'd allowed themselves to be consumed, she'd been the one to attempt to tame it, reel it in before it got out of control, that rage. Now it simply signaled that she should stay out of the way and let it run its course, and so she did.
A string of profanities slid from his mouth, vicious things that stung her ears but she didn't flinch, just paced to the right and fell against the grated window. Elliot went on, degrading the suspect; hands spread across the cool metal of the interrogation table as he leaned into the frightened man. "You split her fucking head open and left her there to die."
Momentarily, the imagery floated through her mind, but it went as fast as it had come. The tendons in the back of his neck stood out with the strain from his jaw and receded just as easily, his skin smoothing over the veins easily. He was heated, so much so that Olivia often wondered if human combustion was actually possible; if it was, he would some day achieve it. She was almost certain if she laid her hand against him, it would singe.
She sunk her hands into her pockets and found herself sighing again. How resigned he made her feel, how much he was able to drain from her by doing so little. Elliot made her knock-down, drag-out tired, watching him unhinge every day, knowing that he was past the point of saving; she was powerless to stop it. There was the knowledge that it wasn't just her; their coworkers, their superiors didn't seem to be commenting much lately. It was as though they were just waiting for rock bottom, that he was going to reach it eventually and they'd all given up.
Elliot's foot kicked at the suspect's chair and the man shouted, surprised; well, he was the only one. "We have you on camera leaving the store with the victim," she chimed in, sounding more bored than anything else. They both knew the man was guilty, the cards were stacked against him, he just needed to be broken. She wasn't in the spirit to play bad cop to his worse cop; there was just no energy for it.
As she bit her lip, Olivia glanced down at the floor, "It's just a matter of time." And it was pretty bad that she couldn't decide what she was talking about.
Elliot glanced up at her, his eyes still ablaze, his mouth twisted in a sadistic grin she wanted to believe she'd never seen before; quickly, she averted her gaze to the floor, listened as he shuffled back and started in on the man again. Parry, parry, thrust, repeat. It was a dance she'd see him perfect-had helped him to perfect-over the years; now all of the old idiosyncrasies that she'd come to rely on were gone, replaced with something hateful, something bottomless.
With something like disgust, Elliot turned his attention back to the man-now sweating-in front of him. "Listen, you dumb fuck, this isn't going to end, I'm going to be on your ass-"
'Until you break', he'd say five, ten years ago. But now, it was without regret or hesitation that he said, "Every second of every day; I'll be breathing down your neck, Thurmont." She knew it was true; he'd forgo sleep, food, family time, just to get this perp; he'd do it all without asking for her help, without letting his partner in on the action. Elliot had become a singular, a mercenary whose allegiance had become distorted. When Elliot pulled back, she wondered if he was even human anymore, but couldn't care enough to step in, "Every second. Every day."
Documents were strewn about the table and she glanced down at them, listening to Thurmont's harsh breathing, smelling Elliot's sweat and animosity.
There was really nothing else to go on; the guy just clammed up and so it was a relief for her when Cragen sent Alex in to break it up. Thurmont was escorted back to lockup and she only lingered in the room long enough to right the chair that Elliot had tossed before she was out like a bullet. Olivia's hands were still in her pockets and she was grateful as she was digging her nails into her thighs to keep from trying to reason anything out.
She was past that; they were past that. There was only so much a person, a partnership could take.
"I can get him some lorazapem; think it'd help?" Munch cracked as he passed her desk but she paid him no mind. There was no time to bother. She no longer stayed at the squad past absolutely necessary; if she could get out, breathe free of the atmosphere, the desperation, the inhumanity, maybe she could salvage some of herself. Some of them.
She took the stairs to the locker room two at a time and pretended she didn't feel Elliot following her; they were two independent entities now, not a duo, not partners. She shouldn't have been able to feel him.
Once she reached her locker, she rested her head against the cool facade, taking it for what it was; if she could have slammed her head against it a few times it might have helped a bit more. But her fingers moved of their own accord, turned the lock combination from muscle memory and lifted her head when she heard it click open.
"Too much?" he asked, startling her, though she knew that he'd sneak up on her eventually. Not in the proverbial way, in the very literal sense. No sense beating around the bush, everything was literal in her life lately. By choice.
There was no desire in her to turn around and so she didn't, just pulled the door open and searched inside for her belongings. Her hands rapped off the metal and it produced dull thunking noises that drowned out his breathing; she didn't need to hear him now.
"He'll crack," Olivia responded and she could feel his eyes boring into her back, more of that endless heat.
Maybe she expected his voice to linger on that anger he'd brought with such force earlier, or maybe she just didn't think it should be this hard. Maybe she didn't care, really. But of course she did because when he said, "You didn't answer my question," it made her feel guilty, made her breath catch in her throat.
"Yeah." And with that she slammed the locker door shut, too hard, probably, but what the fuck, right? It was just much easier to lick her lips and dress herself for whatever the New York evening held for her. There was just no room for him in her head tonight, especially when he was like this.
And in that moment it was so hard, the constant noise even when he was quiet. It was beyond the scope of one person to fix. His mood swings, the anger he justified by defining it as righteous. How quickly he'd managed to slip away while she could only watch.
"Elliot, you should see someone." Olivia shrugged on her jacket and almost-angrily pulled the hair from the collar. The words tasted acidic in her mouth, felt like they were foreign, like it was a sin to speak them.
The air was heavy; he swallowed, leaned against his locker, looked at the floor. He looked uneasy, maybe a little embarrassed, still, she didn't want to analyze it. In that second she watched him cool, felt some of the tension drain from him. But not all of it, not even close. "I'm seeing you."
"Yeah," she answered, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. Olivia leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Not until you see someone." Leaning away, she gazed up at him and nodded, solidifying what he could have taken as a suggestion as a truth.
None of it had become too much for her, not yet anyway. Somehow, she'd managed to steel her mind and hadn't been consumed.
Yet.
Olivia placed her hand on his arm as though to let him know that no, it wasn't over and no, he wasn't just going to get better. As she moved away, her fingers ran down his arm, lingering for a moment before pulling away. She left him like that, alone in the locker room to weigh his options.
She stood tall as she exited the squad, carrying her own burden on her shoulders. Olivia could handle it, put it to the side for a few hours until she returned in the morning. She'd learned to deal.
But he was about to break.