Fallen
Jezyk
Spoilers: Set after "Screwed" prior to any events of Season Nine
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the show. Lyrics quoted without permission.
Warning: Strong language throughout.
Specially dedicated to Amy, for being the best beta ever, because who knew betas were so hard to find. I so owe you one. J
AN: Fear not, this is NOT a songfic.
Chapter One
Part I
"It's one misstep, one slip, before you know it, and there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed
Though I've tried, I've fallen, I have sunk so low, I messed up, better I should know"
– Sarah McLachlan, Fallen
"Jesus, Olivia, what the fuck am I supposed to do?" The ceramic mug hit the table with a dull thud, punctuating his sentence as though his choice of language was at all ambiguous.
Her eyes darted up warily, only briefly finding his before returning to pick out random patterns on the speckled surface of the table. She said nothing as she stirred the coffee he knew she had no intention of drinking. He'd ordered it out of habit, the way he had for years when their connection was so easy and comfortable, and she hadn't stopped him, as if perhaps she too missed their old selves. The closest thing to an answer he received was the vaguest shifting of her shoulders that could have been a shrug but more likely could be attributed to the friction between her leather coat and the vinyl booth.
He wondered why she was there when it was so clear that she'd prefer to be having a root canal. If it had been a few years earlier, he would have asked, confronted her about her attitude, demanded to know what was so important that she needed to be preoccupied while his life was upside down. But it wasn't a few years ago and a confrontation would likely end with Olivia disappearing for a week and refusing to answer her phone. He'd honestly rather be there, enduring her unspoken displeasure at being with him, than alone. Frankly, he was glad she'd agreed to his suggestion for coffee despite the late hour and the long day they'd had.
He ignored her silence and continued. He needed to let it out before he wound up screaming at Kathy. Kathy would make his life hell for it. Not that Olivia couldn't make his life hell if she wanted. She never bothered because it would make her life hell too. Bored or not, Olivia was sitting there, at least putting out the effort to listen, which was better than nothing. "Maureen is twenty-two. When I was her age, I had her already. My kids are old enough to have kids and here I am, starting over again." Stirring the coffee a little more violently than he should have caused a tidal wave of brown liquid to spill over the edge.
Olivia jumped to immediately wipe up the puddle with her napkin. Elliot hadn't even thought she was paying that much attention to him.
But as he watched her, he realized she'd probably only done so because some of the coffee had splashed onto her phone. Her attention was focused on cleaning the electronic device, painstakingly wiping off the keys, using her nail to dig around each one. She inspected her nail closely, smearing bits of makeup and grease and hair and who knew what else on another napkin. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so intent on anything; she'd certainly never been so focused on him.
"Liv?"
She shook the phone gently. Bits of dust and fuzz shook loose, much to her horror. Elliot suspected she would have the phone laminated by the morning. There was no indication that she'd heard her name.
"Look, Liv, George Clooney just walked in."
Evidently worried about the phone and uninterested in the star she'd once referred to as God's gift to women, Olivia furrowed her brow and lay the phone face down on a napkin. She began gently tapping the back, her fingers massaging the phone like it was a baby she was trying to burp.
It appeared to Elliot that she couldn't care less what was going on around her when she picked it up for another inspection. The corners of her lips turned up in a half smile at her work. She pressed a button and the phone happily beeped its agreement with her assessment.
He could feel pressure increasing in his head as he stared. He wondered if she'd notice if he threw his coffee in her face. Probably not, he decided, provided her precious phone wasn't affected. The damn phone, the one she'd once used primarily for work and, by extension, him was particularly irritating to him. Probably because the phone was that much more interesting than he was. Either that or because Simon and Porter were always calling her, seeming to constantly need the help or attention or time that Olivia was all too happy to give them. Elliot knew it was cruel that he much preferred it when Olivia had no one besides him, but it was true. It wasn't that he wanted her to be lonely; it was that he liked to be the most important person in someone's life. It had always been an ego boost and now that he was middle-aged and needed it the most, it was gone.
As soon as she'd finished cleaning the phone, she immediately became fascinated with the display. A growl rose in his throat.
"Are you even listening to me?" He'd specifically told himself not to challenge her, but his resolve weakened in the face of her obvious lack of interest in his crisis.
"Hmm?" Her eyes slowly lifted a bit, not enough to leave her phone. She was half listening and after a moment, his words clicked. Her eyes met his fully again. "Yes, I'm listening." It was instinct to deny it. She seemed to know her pause revealed her lie because she set the phone back on the table, distancing it considerably from Elliot's coffee just in case of another mishap. "I don't know what to say. I mean, you're back with Kathy, aren't you? Shouldn't you talk to your wife?"
He saw something flash in her eyes as she spoke the words, something painful and unexpected, something so palpable to him that he imagined it must have been devastating to her. For a moment her eyes widened. "Liv?" He leaned forward, pushing his abandoned coffee away with his forearm as he reached for her hand. All of his annoyance with her behavior disappeared instantly. Worrying about his partner pushed his problems to the back burner. "What? What's wrong?"
Her dismay disappeared as quickly as it had come. She shook her head and tried to smile. "I'm fine." She slid toward the edge of the booth before glancing at him. "Are we ready?" The question was simple and under any other circumstances Elliot would have blithely agreed. Instead, worry and fear and anxiety cemented his feet to the floor. His hand pulled back to close around his mug.
"Can I finish my coffee?" There were only about two lukewarm sips left since the flood had endangered her phone and he fervently hoped that had escaped her notice. Because what hadn't escaped his notice was that, despite her denial, Olivia clearly knew exactly what to say regarding his predicament. He didn't know if it was something he didn't want to hear or something she didn't want to say, but she definitely had something to say. He was as sure of that as he was of his own name.
It unnerved him deeply. Olivia was never afraid of saying anything, not to him. She'd been painfully tactless on more than one occasion and it was absolutely terrifying there was anything she deemed so inexcusable or so unforgivable that she checked herself. And that same something apparently also made her desperately want to get away from him.
Her eyes lighted briefly on his cup before closing, suggesting she was well aware there was little coffee left to drink. Her back sagged against the seat in defeat. "Sure." When her eyes opened again, they were clear. There was a resolve written on her face, but he couldn't quite read it. He just knew it was there. It scared him tremendously when her eyes found his again, even more so when she spoke.
She smiled at him, yet no emotion whatsoever reflected in her eyes. "I'm sure it'll be ok. You're a great father, El. You'll do it again." She looked down at her mug, letting her index finger slide back and forth over a chip in the stained beige ceramic that matched his. "You don't need me to tell you that." The lack of feeling and personality in her voice made him have to work to swallow.
He watched her for a long time, taking in the self-conscious changes that had only just become apparent. Her shoulders hunched forward, her arms pulled close to her sides, her eyes downcast, her perpetually bouncing leg which eagerly announced her unease to all the world. It was a stabbing pain in his gut that made him realize he was the source of her discomfort. He could feel his face twisting, contorting like some kind of circus act as the guilt rose up. There was something going on with her, that she couldn't or wouldn't tell him, that made his droning on about his personal life seem terribly thoughtless. His partner of nearly a decade was hiding something big from him. She didn't trust him. He felt like shit and, had she looked up, his face would have conveyed the message in no uncertain terms. His own gaze dropped while he berated himself for being self-centered.
The busboy chose that moment to stroll by their table, claiming both of their cups in an overzealous fit and throwing them in his gray plastic bin. The waitress appeared from nowhere and scolded him, apologized profusely to them after explaining that the boy was new, both to the job and the country, and brought them two new cups of steaming coffee, that time in mismatched mugs. Blue for Olivia, green for Elliot. He expected Olivia was going to start staring at her phone again since her replacement mug didn't appear to have any flaws for her to fixate on.
Elliot was glad for the refill and immediately reached for the sugar. Olivia, who he knew probably still had no intention of drinking her coffee, instinctively reached for the sugar as well. Their hands collided, knocking the jar onto its side. The contact was accidental and fleeting and monumental. Both jerked back as though burned. Olivia withdrew her hands, hiding them in her lap under the table where Elliot couldn't see the way her short nails dug into the denim of her jeans. Her shoulders curled even further forward, looking like she would have been in the fetal position if not for the table blocking her legs. Elliot's hand retreated to his mug, paying no mind to the burning sensation, as he wondered if he had the strength to shatter the mug one-handed. With the tension in his grasp, he suspected he was about to find out.
The jar of sugar rocked back and forth at an ever slowing rate, the sound of which rang out loudly in the piercing silence.
"So when are you moving home?" Her voice was almost normal and for a moment Elliot dared to wonder why the ridiculous mistake of brushing hands, a mistake they'd certainly made at least once in their partnership, could throw both of them into such a state of imbalance.
He buried that thought and reached for the sugar once again. His eyes refused to meet hers; they were locked on the jar and the tiny piece of metal that swung open when he tipped the jar over his coffee. He noticed that it remained locked open even after the jar was righted, the product of years of sugar build up around the tiny hinge. It irritated him that even the damn sugar didn't work the way it was supposed to anymore, just like every single other thing in his life. Setting the jar down with far more force than necessary, he was pleased to see the top flip back into place with a quiet squeak. If only other things could be fixed so easily.
He picked up his spoon and stirred, pretending the activity required all of his concentration. The plan was for him to move on Saturday. It was Thursday. Kathy had been so excited at the prospect of his return that she'd managed to rope all four kids into helping. Most of his things were already boxed, except for a few toiletries and clothing that would be left until the last minute. He'd sold almost all the furniture he'd been forced to buy so recently that he was still making payments on the store card he'd gotten in order to afford it in the first place. The only thing left was the couch, which he'd been sleeping and eating on for days. But he couldn't look at Olivia right then. He couldn't tell her either.
If he were being honest, he didn't want to tell her. But he wasn't being honest. Not with himself. Not with his wife. And most certainly, not with Olivia.
Or he wouldn't have been alone with her in a coffee shop in the middle of the night.
