The refrigerator door was propped open by her hip, the light escaping into the kitchen. For most people, refrigerators were stocked on this day with containers full of leftover turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, and other holiday favorites. For Olivia Benson, the refrigerator contained some half empty bottles of salad dressing, a container of skim milk, an open can of black olives, and other food that was probably well on its way to expired. After blankly staring at the shelves, she slammed the door shut with her hip and walked away.
In the living room there was a blanket hanging half off the chair and one draped haphazardly across the back of the couch. She flopped back onto the couch and curled an arm around a pillow. The flicker of the television was the only light in the apartment. The scenes of a holiday movie played on the screen, as they did in countless other homes. On Thanksgiving night, it was as much a tradition for people to be sprawled out in front of the television as it was for them to have stuffed themselves all day. Other people were still bustling around, likely at the end of a day spent hopping from one family function to another.
The day had been low-key for Olivia, as it always was. When you don't have a place to go on Thanksgiving, it's hard to get caught up in the stress of the holiday. She didn't have to worry about preparing a 20-pound turkey while making sure her apartment was clean before guests arrived. She didn't have to worry about baking a pie or making a side dish or two to bring to someone's house. She didn't have to worry about the things everyone else was concerned about that day. She also didn't get to experience the sense of togetherness that typified the day.
She knew that she was the only one worrying about Mia Latimer, about not being able to prevent her death. While others were giving thanks for their families, their friends, and all the blessings bestowed upon them, she was wallowing in the events of the week, the events of the last year, and all of the lost chances. She could feel herself being pulled in a constant downward spiral. She hated the feeling of not being able to do anything for herself. When she had finally realized that this wasn't going to go away on its own and that she couldn't will it away by herself, she started seeing a therapist. The sexual assault, being turned down for adoption, her sham of a relationship with Kurt and the breakup, the strain of the job. They all weighed down on her and made it that much harder to pull herself out of the spiral.
So on Thanksgiving she sat by herself in an empty apartment. She didn't see how the day was different from any other. She lay around, unable to sleep; she periodically checked the refrigerator and cupboards, barely picking at anything. Her eyelids were heavy and her stomach was churning. Pulling the blanket over herself, she let her eyes close.
Her body was tense. A flash of blood; the gleam of the knife; a beam of light shining in her eyes; a zipper being undone. The images assaulted her when she let her eyes stay closed for long. But it was the knock at the door that caused her to gasp and sit up. She caught her breath before getting up.
She shouldn't have been surprised to see him, yet she was. With plastic containers cradled in his arms, he was leaning against the doorway.
"I thought you might like some leftovers, and maybe some company," he told her.
"Elliot," she started. You didn't have to come all the way out here. You didn't have to bring me leftovers. You didn't have to leave your family to check on me. She opted to silently take a step back and let him in.
He made his way to the kitchen to stash away the leftovers. He grimaced at the sight of her refrigerator, hoping that she was eating a lot of take out, but knowing in the back of his mind that she just wasn't eating. It was one of the reasons why he stopped by. Maybe having some home-cooked food ready to heat and serve would tempt her.
Really, he wanted more than to just make sure that she had something to eat. He knew that she had been struggling, and he knew that things kept piling on instead of getting easier. After her latest case, he was worried that she was going to break. His reasons were mostly selfish: he wanted her back. It pained him to see her this way.
When he walked into the living room she was hovering in front of the couch. He sat down and put his arm across the back of the couch. After hesitating for a second, she sat down next to him. She leaned back, her neck resting on his arm.
"Liv?"
Opening her eyes, she found herself curled against him, one arm sprawled over his chest. She cleared her throat and started to move away from him. His arm tightened around her shoulder.
"I didn't want to wake you, but you were …" he stalled, trying to think of a word other than moaning, "talking. You were talking in your sleep."
"What?" Sleep? "What was I saying?"
Elliot. "I couldn't really make it out," he lied.
She shifted closer to him, the sleep still heavy on her eyelids.
"I don't even think I thanked you for stopping by. Then I go and fall asleep on you."
"It's alright," he told her.
Her face was turned toward him and when he looked over, he caught her eye.
"El," she paused. "Thanks."
It turned out that she did have something to be thankful for this year. Some people may have spent their day with dozens of friends and relatives, but this one visitor was more than enough for Olivia. She had never had a traditional sense of family anyway.
End Note: This turned out different than the way I originally imagined it. I had all intentions of them getting together, but it seemed right to leave it at Liv realizing she has Elliot as her family. Whether that's as a friend or more, I don't think it matters in the moment.