A/N: It's all in the eyes, kid.
DISCLAIMER: I, sadly, don't own any part of the show or the characters. This is just how I believe they should be living.
The clock strikes two, and it isn't a mouse that runs down, it's a trail of tears. Hot. Empty.
She scoffs at herself and wipes them away with the heels of her hands and sniffs harshly, as if her running nose offends her.
Maybe it does.
She shakes her head and sniffs again, grabbing the large mug of hot chocolate off of the kitchen counter. She walks with it through her half-empty living room, stepping over partially packed boxes and piles of things she isn't even sure she still wants. With a heavy plop, she falls onto the couch and takes a long sip of her drink. As she swallows, she stares up at the ceiling and shakes her head, the only question in her mind is the one she's afraid to ask herself. "How did I get into this mess?" she hears herself whisper out loud to no one.
She exhales, long and hard, and takes another sip from her mug. She makes a face at the bitter warmth and sets it down on the end table. She spies the simple, plain, silver ring on her finger and for a moment, she's okay. Then she looks around her apartment, the fourth she's rented in eight years, and she licks her lips in a sort of last minute contemplative moment. She glances over at the only readable clock, the one on the cable box, and she feels her nose burn with the sting of tears again. Refusing to cry, she takes a shaky breath and wipes her palms on the sides of her red and grey checkered pajama pants.
She slides off of the couch and crawls toward the nearest heap of her things. She picks up everything, one by one, bit by bit, deciding what should stay and what needs to go, and when she gets to somewhere in the middle, her heart stops. She picks up the small picture frame with a sad smile and downturned eyes. She traces the delicate etching on the top and sides with a single fingertip, and then brushes the same digit lightly down the face of the man in the picture. "His eyes," she whispers. She bites her lip as her free hand moves without anyone asking it to, smoothing over her body until it rests almost protectively on her stomach. She nods and smiles brightly down at the picture in her hand, exhaling again as she gently places it in one of the few boxes she means to keep.
She moves back to the last few things to her left, lifting a baseball cap and a broken penlight into her hands, but before she can decide where to toss them, she hears the key turn in the lock and her doorknob jiggle. With halted breath and seriously trained eyes, she stares and waits. When the door swings open, his face and body coming into view, she lets herself breathe and shoots to her feet. "You're here," she says, regretting the lameness of it immediately.
He laughs and raises one eyebrow at her. "Of course! Where else am I supposed to be?" he asks, throwing his keys into a foam bowl on the foldable card table near the door. He kicks off his shoes before walking over to her, throwing his arms around her, and lifting her into the air. He swirls her around as he kisses her hard. It isn't until he sets her back down that he sees the redness in her eyes and the tracks of her tears. "What...what is it? What happened?"
She sniffles again, this time unable to stop the tears. "Nothing," she says with a trembling voice that scares her.
It scares him, too, and he sighs dejectedly as he sits on the couch. "You don't want to do this, do you?"
She sits next to him with wide eyes and reaches for his hands. Squeezing them, she shakes her head. "God! That's not it at all," she tells him. "I just..." and then something hits her. Hard. "He didn't tell you?"
"Who? Who didn't tell me what?" he asks. He brushes her hair back and kisses her lips softly. "Why were you crying?"
"I thought...I thought he told you, and that you weren't coming here tonight because you were upset, or mad, or hated me," she says far to fast. It was babbling, really, and she knows it.
He squints and shakes his head, confused. "Slow down, back up," he says to her. "I know I'm a little late, but...you left me there alone with two suspects and an angry father, and I know you said you had a doctor's appointment, but I thought you'd..." and he freezes. "The doctor! Oh, my God, what's wrong?"
She inhales slowly, deeply, and she looks into his eyes. In them, she can always see the truth. Even when she doesn't want to, even when it hurts, his eyes always tell her exact truth. They reveal when he's lying, to himself or anyone else. They communicate in an unspoken language that will never be understood by anyone but her. They speak for him when he doesn't want to say what he's thinking, or when he's trying to hide feelings or personal thoughts. They betray him, every single time, with one look from her.
She stifles a laugh as she thinks all of this, because she knows her eyes do the same fucking things, how he can tell almost instantly what she's thinking or feeling, what she needs to tell him, and without words she always does. It's all in the eyes. She takes another breath, deeper this time, and allows herself to really look at him. "Nothing's wrong," she tells him.
He narrows his eyes, not following, but then he notices something hidden beneath residual fear and lingering hurt, behind the love and passion in her eyes. His own light up with the same thing and he lets out a gasp that he's sure she can't hear. "You..." he swallows back hard. "You're...are you sure?"
She smiles and nods, new tears with a new reason building and pouring out.
The cry that erupts from him as he throws himself onto her has certainly woke up a few neighbors, but that's none of his concern at the moment. He kisses her with everything he has and his hands pull out of hers and find their way to her stomach, the part of her that, he knows now, is protecting their child.
She laughs as she hears him mumble something against her lips, and she pulls away in need of oxygen. "You have no idea..."
"Wait, who else knows?" he asks, popping his head up. "You said someone didn't tell me and...you actually thought I would be mad or upset about this?" He lets out a single huffing breath, shaking his head. He smiles at her and he bends to kiss her again, lightly. "Really?"
"No," she says softly. "No, I know...I know you better than that." She kisses him gently. "Hormones," she says with a coy bat of her lashes and a shrug.
He laughs and sits up, pulling her into his lap. "Who did you..."
"Cragen," she blurts out before he can finish. "I had to tell him, El, he had to know what the doctor said, why I needed to take the rest of the day off. He was gonna find out eventually, so I just...told him."
With a stoic face and a feeling he already knows the answer, he asks, "Did you tell him the baby is mine?"
Just as seriously, she looks back at him. "Did you get fired?" she quips, and then rolls her eyes. "You know I didn't."
He chuckles. "Well, baby, then he didn't tell me because it's not his place to," he tells her. "He knows you'd tell me, anyway. I was in the middle of a case, he knew the second he told me anything, especially that, that I would..." he sees the slight embarrassment twinkle in her eyes. "And that's why you got scared. You thought he told me, and you knew I would run my ass over here, and when I didn't..."
"Look at me," she says, not letting him finish his thought.
He brings both of his hand up to her face, cupping her cheeks. "My favorite thing to do," he says, and then he smirks. "Second favorite."
She laughs and lets her head drop to his, keeping her eyes open. "What are we gonna do?"
"Right now?" he asks playfully. "It's almost three in the morning, I was thinking, get naked, get into bed, and dream about how many more of these little lives we're gonna make."
She slaps him in the arm and laughs again. "I meant..."
"I know what you meant, Liv," he says, being the one to cut her off this time. "We are going to move into that new house, the one you yelled at me for putting a bid in for because you didn't think we needed so many bedrooms." He kisses the end of her nose and makes a slightly arrogant sound of triumph. "We are going to buy a crib and decorate a nursery, and we are going to pick a good, strong name worthy of a little guy that is half you and half me and all miracle." He kisses her lips and sighs contentedly. "And then, only if it's something we want to do, that you want to do, when the time is right, we'll have a real wedding with the big party, the cake, and the stupid traditions."
She kisses his chin, his neck, and a slip of skin just behind his ear. "That sounds perfect," she whispers. "What about work?"
"You already told Cragen," he tells her. "We told Chef Moynahan about us a long time ago, when we had that case upstate. Tucker already thinks three of my kids are really yours." He laughs and pulls back to look at her again. "I'm not going anywhere, baby, we're gonna be fine. What, exactly, are you worried about?"
She lifts her head and looks back at him. "I guess...nothing. Not anymore." She climbs off of him, getting to her feet, and she holds out a hand. "Everything is gonna be perfect, El. We will do exactly what you said we are, and we are going to be just perfect."
He puts his hand in hers as he rises off the couch, and he pulls her into him. He sways a bit as he holds her, dropping sweet kisses to her lips. "We are," he agrees. "You believe me?"
She nods and lets her hands curls into the back of his head, scratching lightly at his scalp. "I do," she says, "I see it all in your eyes."
A/N: Late night plot bunny.