Title: Facing Forward
Author: ZombieJazz
Fandom: SVU
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law&Order: Special Victims Unit and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Jack, Benji and Emmy have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.
Summary: Brian Cassidy and Olivia Benson attempt to cope with his past abuse while trying to maintain their relationship and raise their family. This set of chapters is set in the aftermath of the S20E16 (Facing Demons). The story is also set in the Hello, Goodbye and Welcome Home AU.
Olivia glanced up from folding the laundry as she heard the front door open. She could almost feel Brian taking in how quiet the place was as he shucked off his boots in that way she hated. The one that she usually nattered at him about if they were coming in the door the same time – especially if the kids were in tow and watching his example of kicking the toes of their boots against the wall, leaving scuff marks and then letting them land cluttered where they may.
But she'd been biting her tongue about it this week or so. Like she'd been biting her tongue about a lot of things as she tried to let them all cool down and find a way through this. A way through when they'd been wandering through some state of this for a long time – apparently their entire relationship and friendship and partnership. But she'd been too blind or too wrapped up in the kids or her job or just her own shit – to see it. To be there for him.
So it wasn't just a cool down period. It was trying to learn how to warm up to each other again. In a new way. A different way. How to turn the months and months – the better part of a year and a half – of tension that had been building up between them and straining their relationship and their family.
The tension that she'd again slogged off as parenting and family life. And the job. And trying to find some kind of balance and any kind of time. The slow recognition that when she did find time – or force herself to make time – it was usually reserved for herself. Not for him. Not for their relationship. And the other quiet recognition that those few and far between hours that did emerge as time of her own, they'd usually been of Brian's making. Him watching the kids. Taking them out somewhere. Telling her to go out for a run or a meal or a massage. Telling her to take time for herself, always just shrugging that massages, brunches, hairdressers, organized group work-out classes and museums or art galleries weren't his thing. He'd watch the kids. He'd take them to the park or a movie or bowling or to do that week's grocery run instead. He could handle it. And he always did.
She told herself that it was just what family life looked like. What raising little kids was about. That it was normal for the relationship aspect of any of it – them as a couple – to be pushed farther and farther to the side. It was just the way it was. And any tension within that she written off as utter exhaustion and frustration rooted in the expanding realization that they had far from the perfect kids or the perfect family in any way, shape or form. That it was never going to get any easier. The kids were just going to get bigger and bigger kids yielded bigger problems.
And her and Brian were getting older. His mom was. Cragen and Eileen were. Munch. Even though they had their supports and their network – it was different.
Middle age crisis. Job crisis. Crisis with the kids. Managing a young adult's quarter-life crisis and heart-break and trying to help him figure out how to find a job and function and live as a man on his own two feet in whatever society was today. Trying to figure out how to do any and all of that – to explain it - for a ten-year-old boy and a five-year-old girl who were growing up in a world and country and society that regularly scared her anymore in more ways than just what she saw on the job ever did.
There were lots of reasons for the months of tension and strain in their house. That's what she'd told herself.
And maybe that had been part of the tension and the drifting and the strain. But it was clear know it was only part of it. A small part of it.
And Olivia was trying so hard to not turn it into her own guilt and self-blame – into a thing about her. But she felt all of that. She didn't know how she hadn't let herself see what was going on. To see the signs in Brian. To clue into where they were coming from. What they were growing out of.
She was having to try just as hard to not go a 'Liv' on him, as she'd been warned against. As he'd stabbed her in the heart with that comment even though he hadn't meant to hurt her that way but he'd been hurting at the time and he'd lashed out. Because he'd spent more than thirty years trying to hide and manage all of this on his own. And he'd become accustom to people not seeing it even when he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. Even when all the signs were right there in front of you if you just fucking stopped and looked. And she hadn't. Not in that way. When she should've seen it twenty years ago and she should've more than seen the signs now.
But he didn't want her To not do her 'shtick' that she'd been accused of repeatedly already. He didn't want to hear it. That's what he said. What he meant was he didn't want to be treated like a victim – even though he was. But it was only now – as an adult middle aged man raising two kids, with a young man in their lives who looked up to him – that he was starting to even wrap his head around trying to cope with that designation. A label he didn't want. The definitions around it and misconceptions and misunderstandings and stigma that he had dodged from for decades and had lost more pieces of himself than that man had taken from that little boy in that car's backseat.
So maybe what he really meant – what he wanted and needed – was specifically for her to not to turn him into a victim. Especially not one of her victims. Another conversation that had turned into raised voices he'd clearly expressed that he wasn't 'one of her victims and he wasn't going to be'. He'd yelled at her – while he twisted and turned and held his hand to his forehead and pressed what was left of his thumb into his eyes – that he wasn't going to let her make this about her either. That he didn't want to hear how she felt about any of it right now. Or what she was going through. He didn't care. And then he'd held back a sob – poorly – before he said he couldn't stand her 'looking at him differently' and he'd pushed away from her and then out of the house. To a bar through the way he smelled when he finally managed to drag himself home – after she'd called his usual watering holes and made sure Ray cut him off and got him in an Uber home.
But that was then. And this was now. Days and days later. And they were still trying. Trying again. Well either of them did very well at pretending that nothing happened or was happening. She was sick of the pretending. It hadn't worked for them. It wasn't working for them. It wasn't going to work for them. Not as a couple or as parents. Not with two little kids at home who had already more than picked up on the strain between her and Brian for months and were acutely aware that Mommy and Daddy were falling apart right now. And it was making Emily and Benji fall apart too. Their attitudes and behavior were reflecting the tension and tantrums they were watching bubble over in their peripheral vision.
"Hell-yo," she heard Brian call out from down in the hall.
She smiled thinly at that. It was a very small Brian silliness for the kids. Emmy's mangled 'yello' for so long turning into a 'hello', 'yello' exchange between the two and eventually settling into the 'hello, yo' as Benji got in on the action of ambushing Brian nearly as soon as he came in the door on the few and far between days it was actually her who managed to grab the kids from school or after-school care and be home with them first.
But that night it wasn't the yelled up the stairs greeting that usually came with his arrival. There was a quietness to it – a flat statement - like he might've almost been hopeful he had the house to himself for a bit.
"I'm here," she provided.
There wasn't a response. Such little response she almost felt him still down there – like he was considering the door and maybe making a run for it. That that would be easier than being stuck at home with her alone for any length of time. Like he was walking into an ambush and he was working at fight or flight. Opening that door and leaving or pulling his gun before coming into the room. Or just doing some quiet recon to decide if the kids were really there or not. If they were really alone. And how he felt about that. But eventually she heard him start up the stairs. She saw him appear and give her – and the folding – a cursory scan.
"Where the kiddos at?" he muttered at her, his duffle slipping off his shoulder and landing on the ground with a thud that betrayed he wasn't just toting around a change of clothes in it. Though, she was going to tell herself that it was his work computer and some files for his trip, his service weapon in a lock box – not that he was carrying several days of personal belongings around with him for if he did decide he needed to run away from all this – from them – more than he already was. Not that he'd dragged that duffle packed to work because he'd left that morning thinking that he'd crash on John's couch again. Though that hadn't worked out the way he'd wanted in his first attempt at escaping her – this – because Munch had tried to talk to him, to give him a sounding board, too.
Olivia rubbed at her eyebrow and shook out the shirt she was holding. He was clearly uninterested in helping and wasn't even that interested in what her answer might be. He trudged toward the kitchen.
"I picked up some beer for you," she offered to his back.
She got a muted glance at that. It was as close as she was going to get to surprise or appreciation right now. But if he was going to be drinking these days – and he was – she'd prefer it be beer than the hard stuff he was getting into at the watering holes he was finding himself in after they got the kids to bed each night.
"There's Dr. Pepper too," she provided. "For your trip."
That got a grunt – one that contained more surprise. And she allowed her own small look of surprise as he came back to the doorway, leaning his shoulder against it while he popped the tab and took a slow swig. Apparently soda was enough of a rarity in their home that it took a preferred position above beer – at least this particular night. But she'd take that. A small victory and maybe some progress.
"The kids," he put to her again.
She considered him and the statement, not cluing in that it was a question more so than a statement of any kind. That it wasn't about him stating he'd only picked the pop because he didn't like to drink in front of the kids. She'd give him that he'd been good about that so far. He always had been. The kids might've seen him hung-over but they'd never seen him drunk. She hoped they never would, though with how things were right now it was likely only a matter of time before his stumbled entrance roused one of them. But he'd know that too. He'd stay away if he was self-aware to realize how wasted he was. Because for all the flaws and faults Brian did have – he was a good Daddy. He was ever cognizant and viligant about that role and title and the responsibilities it carried. And even for the flaws and faults he did have, he strived tireless to keep the worst of them hidden from their kids. The kids got his endless patience, not his short fuse. Again, so far.
But her contemplation of his statement – not the question in his tone – must've played across her face.
"Where are they?" he provided more directly.
"Oh," she shook her head realizing she hadn't answered his previous question. But she just went back to the laundry, as he wandered over to the opposite – far - end of the couch and slouched down into the cushions. "Jack took them to a movie. Winter break kick-off treat."
"Better not be a good one," Brian mumbled again.
He leaned forward for a moment. And for a moment Olivia actually thought he was going to snag up the pile of socks she'd been collecting on the coffee table and start matching them for her. But instead he glanced around, lifting up some of the laundry and then gazing at the end table before stuffing his hand between the cracks in the cushion on either side of him until he made another small growl and shook his head, flashing the remote at her and his annoyance over all the places it ended up. And never in the place he left it. For as messy as Brian - was in every way – he was very specific about their home theater set up and where all the remotes and controllers and wires and paraphernalia was supposed to be left on the ready and set when not in use.
"Lego Movie," she allowed. "I think."
"Mmm …," he provided vague acknowledgement. "Dodged that bullet."
She gave him a small smile for the effort. There was truth to it. Neither of them loved the kids' cartoons of the current generation. Brian's assessment of the first Lego Movie had been something along the lines of: 'If that wasn't just complete sensory overload, it was a real bad acid trip.'
But she didn't know if he caught the little smile that time. Or he cared that he did make her smile. That he did make her laugh. And for everything that was out of sync with them – had been out of sync with them for so long – they did have that. Their friendship. And it had always counted. In likely more ways than she'd known or understood. For both of them.
The TV got flicked on, though muted, as he flipped to one of his sports channels and stared passively at it.
"Fucking spring training already," he mumbled.
"Don't watch it if it's going to upset you," she said.
The short fuse – at least with her these days – ignited and his eyes bounded to her. "Why'd it upset me?"
But she just locked sight lines with him. She wasn't going to fight with him about it. She wasn't going to be gouged into a fight about it. And he knew that too – even though he knew how to push her buttons. Just like she could push and flick his.
He knew damn well why it might upset him. The same reason – that she'd never clued into – that he'd have sports on the television all fucking year but never in the summer months and never baseball. Why he always turned down tickets to the Mets when Cragen had them on offer and never went with them when he did take the kids. Why he had argued tooth-and-nail about not wanting to sign Benji up for Little League or his little Emmy up for T-Ball – but their weekends were packed with hockey and floor hockey and football and flag football and soccer and swimming lessons. Just not fucking baseball.
The same reason he'd nearly blown a gusset with her when Stone had played some catch with Benji and fooled around teaching both the kids how to hold and swing a bat to hit a ball. How Benji had been so excited about getting to go to school and tell his classmates that he'd gotten to toss around a ball with a real MLB player - like that was going to somehow improve his reputation and social standing. But Brian had just lost it. She thought he was going to hit Peter when he'd arrived in the park and found Stone helping Benji adjust his grip on the bat and improve his stance.
Her and Brian had had it out later about it. But Brian had spun it into an entirely different argument – one that she'd been so taken back by and offended by that she'd missed the reasoning behind all of it again. Accusations about the way she looked at Peter and talked to him and was letting him into their personal, private, family life. Digging back farther about Tucker. Accusations and innuendo that she just didn't know where it was coming from. It was so far out of left field and just seeping with insecurities. It was just a complete side swipe that had turned into an even bigger blow up as she got defensive and thrown names and cases from work – and past admitted and un-admitted digressions his way. It'd ultimately resulted in him leaving and sleeping somewhere else that night. More tension between them while keeping up the cloak about the why of any and all of it. And she'd let him do that.
But not tonight. She wasn't going to be gouged into an argument about it. To let him spin and deflect. To pull the wool over her eyes. Or for them to have a blow up about nothing when they had a whole lot of somethings they could be having it out about. That they could be working on – like grown-ups. Like people who cared about each other. Who loved each other.
"Rangers are playing tonight," he just muttered at her, though and shifted his eyes back to the television. Stopping what he might've been trying to push.
But the remote bounced on his knee. She knew he wasn't watching at pre-game commentary – or even watching the scores scroll across the bottom of the screen. She wondered how many months – or years – he'd pretended to stare at those scores while his mind wandered other places. And she'd labelled as just his unwinding mechanism. She'd thought that was what it was. And maybe it was. But it also wasn't.
But Olivia let him look. Let him simmer until he calmed and he finally did sit forward on the couch and grab at some of the laundry in the heaping baskets in front of her. It boggled her mind how many clothes Emmy, Benji and Brian went through in any given week. It was impossible to keep up and their hampers always seemed more overflowing than anything she accumulated.
"Thank you …," she said. She was trying to say that more lately too. Because she'd realized she likely hadn't enough – or pretty much ever – in their relationship. But she wasn't sure Brian liked her saying it that much. Or that it was helping anything.
"You must've run out of there today," he said as he helped with the folding and still pretended to look at the scores of whatever teams were playing down in the Grapefruit league that afternoon.
She shrugged a bit. "Early dismissal for the kids, Jack taking them for a few hours, way things have been lately, just thought I'd try to take advantage of that time. So we aren't running around in circles tomorrow."
Brian allowed a little nod and sound of acknowledge at that.
"I might skip his game tomorrow morning," she provided. "Get a few more errands done."
"Sure," he said. "Know how you feel about sitting in an arena."
There was tone to it – even if there was truth to it. But she didn't bite – even as he tossed the shirt he'd just folded into the basket that had clearly been designated as Benji's. But she did lean forward, though, and grabbed it out of there.
Brain gave her a disapproving look – a challenge - like she was going to criticize his folding technique. Like that was all he expected from her. Disapproval or commentary that he didn't want to hear. But she just set it in a pile next to her, placing her hand over top of it.
"I'm keeping some things out to put in his bag," she said and then held Brian's shirt that she'd just folded. "Are you going to want to take this one?"
He gave a shrug and grabbed the next thing out of the hamper of heaped clean clothes. "Yea, sure."
She gave a little nod and set it up behind her on the top ledge of the couch where she'd been collecting some clothing that she knew were his favorites – and she knew his favorites, the oversized, rumpled, black, layered and usually hooded clothing that he hid in in his off-hours that she likely should've seen as another sign. But he'd likely want his usual – his comfortable – for this excursion that he was taking with Benji. The work trip that wasn't really a necessary work trip that was conveniently scheduled on their boy's winter break.
"Do you know if the hotel you're staying in has a pool?" Olivia asked – trying for passive. "You should guys should pack your suits."
"Ah, yea," he allowed again. "Don't know. I'll check it out."
They folded.
"I was going to put the last of Emmy's baby stuff into a bag," she said. "You can see if Lindsay wants it."
He gave her a sideways look. A long one – like the concept of letting go of the last of the baby stuff they had kicking around in boxes was more than he could handle then. Like it was harder for him than it had been for her to realize that beyond a few treasured items it really didn't make sense to hang onto the clothes, toys and crib blankets too much longer.
"Don't want to just lend it to Rollins," he finally said. Asked. Stated?
Olivia shrugged. "She's got lots of little girl stuff already. And the clothes would still be too big for the baby."
"So give it to her just in time for baby number three," he mumbled.
"Being rude about Amanda to try to hurt me isn't going to help anything, Cass," she said flatly.
Brian's gaze sat on her for another long beat. "I don't think I'll see Lindsay," he said and went back to folding.
Olivia looked at him for her own beat. She processed that. More people he was hiding from. "If Erin's not having visitors over yet, you could just drop it at the District with Jay. Or Voight."
"She's likely got lots of stuff for her kids," he mumbled. "Doesn't need our old used crap."
Olivia watched him a moment longer and then went back to her folding too. "Hank's boy might be able to watch Benj while you're at your 'meetings'," she said, barely trying to contain her tone about the meetings out of her voice. She knew they weren't enough of a 'meeting' that it necessitated him driving halfway across the country to take them.
"Think he'd do better sitting in some empty board room than being left with some strange kid," Brian said.
Olivia shook her head at that. And bit her tongue again. She let them fold. Let them simmer. Let them calm. If that's what they were even doing.
"Had Ben's teacher on the line again today," he said quietly.
"I saw your text," she allowed.
"You didn't have much of a reaction."
She shrugged. "Doesn't seem like anything I say about it is helping anyone," she managed. So much so that even Benji's teacher had clued in that it was better to try to reach Brian first. Another epic fail in parenting and increasing pressure, stress, strain and tension in their family – that had allowed them to hide and mask even more of what was going on underneath it all. To distract and focus on other things. But it was chicken and egg. Sometimes – right now – she didn't know what came first. How any and all of interconnected. What to do about any of it. "I guess I'm hoping that maybe with the change of scenery he'll open up to you a bit more."
He gazed at her at that. His folding stopped, though she continued. She knew when he'd presented that he was going on this 'work trip' that he'd expected her to put up a fuss. That maybe he even wanted her to put up a bigger fuss when he'd said he'd make the trip on the kid's Winter Break week – that he'd take Benji. Like he wanted her to say something that he could pin on an accusation that now she didn't trust him with the kids. With their little boy who was growing up too quickly. Who was too grown up before he was even theirs and the implications of that were becoming more and more apparent as he did get older.
But all she'd said was that maybe that would be good for everybody. And maybe it would be. Maybe it wouldn't be. But maybe it would. Maybe it would be what everyone needed to try to regroup some more. For them to take tentative next steps. But she still thought that Brian was waiting for her to try to talk him out of this trip. To tell him that he could have this 'meeting' via Skype. That he could send one of his subordinates. That he didn't need to take Benji at least. That she'd already signed the kids up for day camp for the week and they weren't going to get much of a refund with the cancellation policy and wouldn't get their money's worth if Benji was only there for a couple days at the end of the week. That Benji wanted to go to the camp – that it'd be good for him. But she wasn't saying any of that – even if she believed most of it. She was biting her tongue.
"He say anything about it?"
"I haven't seen him yet," she said. "Jack picked them up."
Brian nodded and put one of his tshirts back up behind her head with the rest of his travel picks.
"Think we should talk private school again," he said. She still wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question. Either way, Olivia wasn't sure it was the time to talk about this. Or that it was the solution to anything going on with Benji.
"We can't afford private school, Bri," she said and his eyes settled on her. There was this hurt, pleading desperation to them. But that look moved across them regularly these past weeks. "They're both going to be looking at college around the time One PP will be trying to push us out the door. We can't do tuition now and help with tuition then."
"Yea," he allowed. Because that was where this conversation had lead previously. And Olivia didn't know where else he wanted it to lead now. Where else they could realistically take it. "So what's the plan?"
She shook her head and shrugged all at the same time. "Try to get him into a middle school that's a better fit, I hope."
Brian made a little noise and she looked at him again. He gave her a little frown. "I meant tonight. We meeting them somewhere for chow?"
"Oh," she said. Because sometimes – all the time anymore – their communication just seemed so off. Thinking and talking on different wave lengths. Just not connecting. "Umm. I asked Jack to take them out for dinner. I thought it'd just give us some time."
He stared at her. There was this discomfort to it. "Believe it or not, I actually like 'family date night'," he said with tone that only betrayed how much he disliked the cutesy label their Friday evenings together had been given.
"I know," she allowed. "But I thought we could have something vaguely resembling an actual date night. It's been a long time since we've done that."
He just shook his head. "It's been a long time since we've done a lot of things, Liv," he mumbled.
And she stared at him. He tried to ignore her despite his tone that had betrayed him there too.
Olivia set her hand on his knee and he looked down at it. The uncertainty sat there again too. A discomfort. One again that she should've seen and understood a long, long time ago. But any of it – all of it – she'd wrapped it up in other issues. And Brian had hid some of it well behind his bravado. And his commitment to … her pleasure in the bedroom … rather than … his.
And she'd bought it. She'd bought it twenty years ago and she'd let herself appreciate it without giving it too much thought these past years. She worried more about her own issues and boundaries and past and baggage. Her worries about him were wrapped up in his line of duty injuries and his heart. Wrapped up in their own middle age and their fatigue as parents of young children both working stressful jobs that exposed them to crimes and victims that left you not wanting to think about sex and struggling to see the pleasurable side of any of it.
But now that she knew she felt like a curtain had been pulled back that exposed and answered all sorts of questions that she hadn't realized she should've been asking – or having. Clarity. This whole new light. This ah-ha moment that explained things she hadn't – but should've – known needed greater explanation.
And it had her looking back on their relationship. In the bedroom. Now and twenty years ago. In a way she knew Brian didn't want her to. But was more wrapped up in cursing herself for her blindness and her assumptions.
She'd always assumed Brian had been with a lot of women. And maybe he had – but it was a string of one-night stands if it was.
Olivia knew this was the longest relationship he'd ever had. It was the longest relationship she'd ever had too. But she kept going back foolishly to that first time – to what she'd labelled as immature, puppy love in him. When it'd been her who'd been too immature to see and understand what was going on there.
She wondered now how many people Brian had been with before then. His language and actions around their tryst back then – now, looking back on it, thinking about it – betrayed that it likely hadn't been many at all. And she'd been cruel to him. Cruel in her ability to see and recognize that. And part of her wondered how much that had then shaped how he approached women and relationships in his 30s. How much it shaped who and what and how they were now. The whys around him coming back to her and fighting for this relationship that she hadn't exactly made easy.
"Well, we can work on that a bit to with the alone time," she offered.
His eyes remained on her hand – on his knee - like he was considering it. Processing something about it or the offer or their present and his past. But he couldn't accept it. Wouldn't let himself. She knew he was scared – on a lot of levels now more than ever before. His eyes drifted back to the television, while he blindly continued to fold.
She let her hand fall away. "Or we could go to that new seafood boil place you've been talking about."
"The one you've said is paying obscene prices to hand feed and then clean up the kids while we don't eat the food that's not meant to be eaten in a restaurant anyway," he provided flatly.
"We don't have the kids tonight, Brian," she put back to him.
"Rangers are playing," he said. Again.
She sank back a bit and rubbed her eyebrow at that rebuttal. The one meant to put her – the situation – exactly in their place.
"OK," she exhaled. "You want to order in some Thai?"
He shrugged – didn't look at her. "Will be dropping enough cash on random shit this month with the kids' fucking Winter Break. There's leftovers. Or make a sandwich or something."
"Brian, I think we can afford to go out for a meal together," she pressed at him. "You want to watch the game – we can go to Hometown. OK? Have your beer, get your ribs, watch the Rangers and Sabres."
She got a look. The muted surprise that she knew who was playing. That she was actually paying attention – to the sport obsession or just to the headlines scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
"You hate ribs," he provided in complete monotone.
It was a deflect again. To try to get a reaction about whether or not she actually really hated ribs, which she didn't. She just didn't think it was a major food group in the way that Brian, Benji and Jack seemed to – and seemed to be working at convincing Emily the same thing. Her daughter wasn't going to be a girlie-girl with the boys and men she had in her life. Even when the tiara did go on her head, it was just as likely to be dressed up with BBQ sauce lipstick dripping from her chin.
"And yet I'm trying," Olivia said.
He gave her a look. "What are you trying, Liv?"
She flopped her folding onto her lap and stared at him. "I'm listening, Bri. I heard you. You're right. We haven't been connecting as a couple. For too long. I haven't been making time or space for that. For you. For us. And I'm willing to – I'm ready to – work on that. So I'm trying. You've got to try too for this to work, Brian."
"I've tried," he muttered and folded more hastily.
"I know you've tried, Brian," she said. "I know you fought for this relationship and this family. And, I understand it might not feel fair but you're still going to need to meet me halfway right now. Again."
He just kept folding. It was a mess now. She was likely going to have to redo some of it when he did just leave it alone. She reached and tried to still his hands. He yanked his wrist away from her and sat there teetering on the edge of the couch, readying himself to run – again.
"Brian, look, I know I haven't made any of this relationship easy for you. I know that. And, these past couple weeks have made exceedingly clear that I am about the last person you want to talk to about anything. That I'm really that hard to talk to—"
His fists clenched on his knees. "Don't," he hissed out and his eyes danced anger at her. "Don't. This is not about you."
Olivia gazed at him. "This is not about me. This is about us," she said and circled her arm around the room, across the laundry. "All of us. And whatever we are – whatever this relationship is or isn't, Brian – we are a family. You are my family. And, for all the things I have questioned about us – as a couple – I have never, EVER, questioned you being a father to these two growing, wonderful, awful, screwed up, amazing little people we are raising in this house. Two kids who absolutely adore their Daddy. Who think he walks on water. And, as their mother, I cannot sit here knowing their Daddy is suffering."
"I don't need one of your pep talks," he mumbled under his breath.
"This is not a fucking pep talk, Brian," she spat at him. "I'm worried about you."
"I'm fine. I'm dealing with it."
"No. You aren't," she said and nudged closer to him on the couch, but it only made his fists clench tighter. "I'm afraid, Brian." He made him still just enough that she could feel it. "I'm afraid that I'm going to lose my best friend. That I already have. And that now he's going to run away from this – from us – when we made this together, Bri. And I can't even imagine doing this with anyone else."
He finally looked at her. Just looked. For a long time. They just stared at each other. She felt herself working to fight against her own tears. And she could see him putting in as much effort to stay stoic with her too.
They'd had so much back and forth these past weeks. These flares of tempers and anger and fear and regret. These moments where she wondered what the hell they were doing. These moments where she feared for him – what she'd find if he was left alone. If any given morning would be the last she saw him. If he'd runaway. If she should just pack up the kids and leave too. And then just wanting to hold him and hug him and cry with him. To try to figure out some way to make this better or easier for him. Not to fix him – but to help him hurt less. To try to make him more whole and less lost. To forgive him and for him to forgive her. To set aside all the guilt and anger and fear and brokenness they both had coursing through them.
"I'm going to shower first," he finally almost whispered. "Change." And he rose as she mutely mouthed 'OK'.
She watched him go. She watched the door close. And she listened. She waited. The long beats for the shower to start. Until it finally did. But she still waited – for the sound of the curtain pulling open and back into place. For the change in the spray as it was disrupted as it hit against his body. And it never came.
She sat a moment longer – two – but then rose too. She padded down the hall and stood at the door. She listened. And then she tested the knob. He hadn't locked it and she pushed it open. He jumped a bit as she did.
Brian stood in his briefs, fists clenched as he leaned his weight against the counter of the wash basin. His head hanging in front of the mirror as he stopped trying to keep tears in that were coming out of his eyes in a slow, steady trickle. Though, he reached and swiped at them as he saw her.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Don't be sorry," she said and closed the door behind her. He stared at it – at her.
And Olivia considered him for a long moment. He stared at her. That awkward, unsure, discomfort painting over him again. Like he'd suddenly become scared of her. Or scared of being with her. Or what she thought of him – or them – now that she knew.
He hadn't touched her since. And she'd been careful with his space and his boundaries.
"I'm going to get undressed," she finally let herself say. "Is that OK?"
He stood there. Like he didn't know how to answer. But he finally managed a, "Sure."
So she did what she'd said. Slowly while he watched. Though there wasn't anything sexy about it. It wasn't hurried. It wasn't slinky. It was just removing the jeans and sweater she'd changed into after getting home. The unhooking of her bra and the shimming down of her panties as she stepped out of them.
And he stared like he'd never seen her naked before. Though, there was some truth to that. Their sex life was almost always in the dark and under sheets. He'd been a long time since he'd seen her quite this exposed without a blanket or bathroom or tshirt covering her up moments later.
It'd been too long since they'd had sex even. It'd been months and months of one of them reaching the point where they very basely put to the other they needed to fuck. And that had been what it was – they just got off. It wasn't even sex. Let alone any kind of intimacy or romance. It wasn't making love. Or even just being together as a couple. They'd been two friends – roommates – with benefits who happened to be raising two little kids together.
It wasn't working. It hadn't been working. And it wasn't going to work now. They couldn't keep going like this. Especially not now.
She stepped closer to him – naked. Vulnerable and uncomfortable in her own way. And he finally sputtered out of his fixed stared. He shook his head and backed up a bit.
"I just," he said in an uncharacteristic moment of Brian Cassidy being loss for words. "I don't think—"
"Stop," she whispered at him and found his hand. She held it. He actually gripped it back – tightly. "We don't have to do anything. Just … let's work on being together, Brian. Let's take a fucking shower."
He gazed at her. "A fucking shower?" he teased. Only it wasn't a tease.
She cocked her head at him. "A shower," she allowed. "The other part – if we decide on that – at our age, let's save it for on dry, flat land."
He allowed a restrained laugh, quiet. And he looked down – down her front, breasts, abdomen but she knew he was just staring at his hand in hers. She rubbed her thumb over the top of his hand.
"I know none of this – all of it – likely isn't what either of us imagined. But I really do love you, Bri," she said. His soft eyes drifted to find hers. "And I hope somewhere in there you know – are able to make yourself accept – just how much I care about you. And value you. This whole family does."
"I know …," he mouthed softly.
"OK," she said and rubbed her thumb across the top of his hand a couple more times before reaching to touch his cheek with her free hand. He stared at her – awkward, hopeful and scared. She leaned in an found his mouth. It was slow. It lingered, though it stayed innocent. His eyes still as deep and mixed in his emotions and fears as she backed away from him. "Only thing that's changed is that I understand some of your boundaries a bit better," she whispered at him.
He made a little sound at that and his head bowed. She nudged a little closer and wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her chest against his and felt his beating heart there. And she held him until she felt some of the tension give and he let himself place his arms around her too.
"Incredible," she said into his chest.
"What?" he rattled.
She smiled thinly against his chest. "Our first time, that was your line." He made a little noise and she backed away from him just a bit, found his eyes again. "You're still pretty good at finding ways to make me feel incredible, Bri."
"Yea, in the limited moments I'm not royally pissing you off …"
"Twenty years, Bri," she allowed. "We both know how to push each other's buttons."
"Yea, no kidding …"
She smiled again against his chest and then stepped back a bit. She hooked her thumbs around the waist of his briefs and looked him in the eye. He didn't tell her to stop so she pressed them down a couple inches.
"So, push some of my buttons," she said. "Make me feel incredible."
He made a little noise again. An amusement creeping out from his fear. She wasn't going to push it – but she also knew if they let this fester to long, if he wouldn't let her show him that she was still comfortable with him, if he wouldn't find a way to let himself learn to be comfortable with their sex life now that this was in the open – it was just going to make it harder for them to find a way back from this. As a couple. It was going to be another wedge that drove them farther apart. They needed to make the time. Take the time. To find a way to communicate. To be together. Comfortably.
She nudged the briefs down another inch. "C'mon," she said. But just left it at that. She left him there – she made herself back away and reach for the shower curtain and step inside under the hot water.
And it look another long, lonely moment but then he was there with her. Awkwardly, unsurely, self-consciously – but all in. Together. For now.