i.
It's past midnight when she hears it - that light rapping on her front door, and only one person knocks like that. She almost rolls her eyes, cause it kinda figures.
She opens the door, and surprise, its Elliot. So that's what she says.
"Elliot."
Just like that, quietly. His eyes flicker a tiny bit, because he knows she doesn't do quiet, only when it's really bad. He swallows and then steps through the doorway into her space, like he owns it, even though she didn't invite him yet. That irritates her and pleases her at the same time, which is as fucked up as it sounds.
He's made his move now and he's staring at her, which means it's her turn, sort of like chess. She clears her throat, and decides to go with the standard "What are you doing here?" because it's easy and she's tired.
"I just wanted to check on you," he murmurs.
Fucking murmurs, in that tender way he does. It breaks her heart, so actually he can go fuck himself. The anger rises in her throat, and then disappears. He means it, and the rest isn't his fault, not really.
"I'm fine," she says again.
She's on repeat; she's a record. She's said it about a hundred times today already, which makes it almost true. Now it's his turn to roll his eyes.
She looks down and somewhere in the back of her mind regrets the old track pants, but what the hell. It's not like they're lovers. Then she wants to laugh. OK, they don't have sex. But they're lovers alright. It really is fucked up, and she's tired.
He's not sure where to sit, she can tell, so she sits on the couch and lets him make up his own mind. He opts with the couch too, and her stomach bubbles. God she hates this. She won't offer him a drink.
"Want a drink?"
"Sure." He says it too quickly maybe. So maybe he's nervous too. Well, good.
"I've got…" (She runs through the list in her head) "…whisky. And red wine, I think. That's it."
"Whisky's good," he says, of course.
So she's up getting the glasses, and that's when it starts to hurt. It hits her so quick she has to hold onto the kitchen bench for a second while she blows out a breath and tries to ignore the pounding in her chest.
She thinks about asking him to leave. Then she thinks about how he started running down that hallway today and decides maybe she won't. Of course there's the guilt to deal with, but what the hell. It's been a bad day.
They drink in silence at first. Truth be told, it's weird to be sitting on the same couch, and she realises she's scared to get too close. Anyway, the silence is deafening, even with the television humming in the background. She should speak.
"Ever think about leaving?"
His head turns sharply to face her.
"Leaving what?"
She only feels bad for a second. "The unit."
ii.
That's about when his heart starts to thump. He has to force himself to take a drink to stop his fingers from clenching. Thing is, he has thought about it. But every time he does, he gets a sick feeling in his stomach that he knows has nothing much to do with the work so much as the girl. It's such a fucking cliché.
But Olivia, she's different.
Because he knows if she's thinking about it, then it isn't pretend. He frowns, clears his throat. The seconds pass and he can't think how to answer.
"Sometimes," he says finally. "You?"
"Yeah," she says softly.
There's a long pause, in which he consciously fights the urge to throw the glass across the room.
"I'm so tired, El."
She sounds tired. He rubs his forehead with his hand and thinks about his options. What he'd like to do is wrap her up against him again, but twice in one day might be pushing it. So he settles for reaching over and brushing a length of hair out of her eyes, placing it behind her ear. He hopes he's done it gently because he knows how big his hands are. It's a risk - he doesn't linger too much by her face. But he hopes she gets it.
Then he lets out a breath. Her eyes are closed now, which could be good or bad. Should he sit closer? He can't read what she wants, even though he'd give it to her, whatever it is.
She let her guard down back in that church, and now – suffice to say, he knows what she's like. Her pride was a funny thing. Then again, so was his.
Anyway, he was a bastard. The truth was, in that moment it felt so good to feel like she needed him, desperately needed him. She'd thrown herself around him, rules be damned, and for once they'd told the truth, sort of.
I'm really glad you're back. (I love you.)
I should have come back sooner. (Not half as much as I love you.)
It was his truth at least. So OK, that was his move, the hair thing. He leans back into the couch and waits.
iii.
She freezes when he touches her. That was unexpected, and again with the tenderness. She wants to kill him. But she also wants to talk to him, and she hasn't wanted that for ages. What with everything.
She clears her throat (nerves of steel Olivia), and says "You know what scared me most about Sonya?"
He looks surprised, but shakes his head.
"Every time I saw her I thought - that could be me. That could really be me soon."
"What does that mean?"
"I mean..." Christ. She doesn't know why it's so hard.
Except she does, and the reason is she doesn't want his pity. Life is what it is. Hey, she made her choices too. There were lots of other men, even if they weren't the right one. Even if they weren't him.
"I just mean that I'm alone, Elliot. And I think I'm always going to be alone, and that's OK but..."
She has to swallow it down, right down.
"I just don't want to end up like that. I don't want...my alone-ness to make me crazy. I don't want to get obsessed with stuff from the past. I mean I already am! That whole thing about finding my father? My rapist father?" She spits the word out. "I should have let it go after all these years, but I couldn't. And it makes you bitter, you know?"
But he doesn't know.
How would he know what it's like to come home to an empty apartment every night? To sit on a couch by yourself having a drink, and then maybe another one, and then sure, another one to top it off. You look around and you're realising how many empty bits there are in your life, and that's when it really gets overwhelming. The sorrow. It's no wonder she can't sleep.
Elliot, to his credit, hasn't flinched. But he's clenching his jaw, which in this case means he's worried. Let him be worried then. He's the only one that does.
She wishes she never said anything.
"Olivia," he starts, but she can't take it.
"Don't. Just don't.
"You don't know what I was going to say."
"Well I don't want to know."
He lets out a short, sharp laugh. "God you're stubborn."
She has to smile at that, and relents.
"OK. What were you going to say?"
He looks at her for a long while. His eyes look sad, and she thinks she sees regret there too.
iv.
What can he say? Because there's a difference between that and what he wants to say. What he wants to say is that she's not alone, not ever. He is always with her and if he's honest, she'll be inside his heart until the day he dies.
But that would be corny, so what he does say is this:
"I'll always look after you."
That's it.
Still, it makes her eyes well up. Maybe because his voice broke on the 'you'.
He's suddenly desperate to lighten the mood.
"I won't let you turn into a crazy cat lady. Can't ask for more than that huh?"
She's trying to smile, and he thinks she says "yeah", but it's hard to tell. It's the worst kind of suffering, when you can't love the person you love.
Then she starts to cry. Actually cry. It comes from nowhere, she can't even hide it. The palms of her hands are in her eyes but it's too late. Even though she tries to hold it back, a sob escapes from her throat.
"Liv, Liv." It's his voice, he realises, low and panicked, his hands on her shoulders trying to get her to turn towards him, but she just shakes her head.
"I can't do this. I'm too tired! I'm too old El. Look at my life. It's just...empty. I'm –"
"Stop saying that. Stop!"
He shakes her and she finally drops her hands. He's aware of a pain in his chest, like he's gonna have a heart attack.
"It is NOT empty. YOU'RE not empty, not like Sonya was."
He's speaking too loudly, probably, but she just looks at him, and for a second her eyes actually do look vacant, and it scares him.
He tries again, softly.
"I know you're tired. I...can I tell you something, honestly? I know we don't do this."
He takes a breath because he's rambling already.
"Lifespan in a unit like ours is maybe five, six years. If you think I'm showing up every day after twelve because I'm still invigorated by the work then I may as well tell you now - I'm not." His voice rumbles.
She doesn't say anything, but he's sure she inhaled pretty quick. He's scared shitless but he keeps going.
"It's more than that now. You know it is. If you weren't there, I wouldn't be either."
It's a big confession. She has to read between the lines, but he thinks he's been about as clear as he has the guts to be. And, he realises, he's holding her hands.
Silence. His heart hasn't beat this fast since he was a teenager.
"Don't leave."
There. He said it.
vi.
Apart from everything that's just come out of Elliot's mouth, her fingers are, to her dismay, completely entwined with his.
The cause of her dismay is the fact that it feels wonderful, and yet these hands will never be hers, ever. After tonight, she will be lucky to brush the same fingers briefly when he hands her a coffee in the morning, or a file, or the car keys. The unfairness crushes her.
Then there's the business of his short, perfect monologue. What she'd like to say is, fuck you Elliot. Fuck you for saying that, and fuck you for coming here, and fuck you for making me love you when you're actually married to someone else. A perfectly nice someone else. The universe couldn't even conspire to make Kathy a bitch, so she could just hate her and be done with it. No – she was a patient wife, and a good mother, and Olivia ignores these facts and falls in love with her husband anyway.
Even worse - (she really can't deny it now) – her husband loves her back. And there's not a damn thing they can do about it.
Ergo, fuck you Elliot.
At the same time she's thinking, just a few hours ago, these hands were covered in Sonya Paxton's blood.
Everything really has gone to hell.
"Elliot," she starts, but even saying his name makes her eyes fill with tears again, and she tries to rip her hands away but he holds tight. Her cheeks are wet now, and she's embarrassed.
She feels old, and says so. Just says it. 'I'm old."
"Speak for yourself." There's a smile in his voice, and then it's gone.
"Well if I may say, Olivia – you're the most beautiful old person I've ever seen." He uses her full name, for one (something she secretly loves), and two, he says it so gently that she thinks, OK, I'm going to do it. I'm going to kiss him.
But of course she doesn't. Instead, she blushes, which is humiliating.
She can't look at him, even though he's moved closer, and there's nowhere to walk away to now. She's trapped. So she caves, and buries her face into his neck, and cries.
vii.
Sonya's death, he decides, is the straw that broke the camel's back. As they say.
He thought it would be Calvin, but she kept all of that locked inside. Until now, he supposes. When he thinks about the boy he feels nothing but shame. She was happy, and he was jealous. Of a kid. But there she was, being a mother, and suddenly he felt insecure – like maybe she never needed him much anyway.
Now he gets it.
She's not crying loudly – no undignified heaving, no wails. But her shoulders are shaking and his neck is wet, so he knows. He just keeps his arms around her, and waits. When she's still, he talks into her hair. He asks if she's tired and she nods yes. Then he asks if he can take her to bed, and she nods yes. He's too afraid to ask anything else, so he carefully stands, lifting her to her feet, and guides her in the direction of the bedroom.
She turns into his chest before they cross the threshold and mumbles something.
"What?" he asks.
"Turn the light off out here."
viii.
In the bathroom, Olivia splashes her face and wonders if he'll do a runner. It's a hard one to call. On the one hand, he should be getting home.
On the other hand, she slowly realises, she really wants him to stay.
Just this once, she thinks, she wants to something good to happen, for her. It's not the sort of thinking she ever indulges in, and it makes her nervous.
When she emerges, she sees that Elliot has turned down the covers, and for some reason she finds this sweet. She slowly exhales.
"In you get," Elliot says, trying to keep his voice light. Then: "Do you want me to stay?"
She pauses.
"OK."
Once she's settled under the covers, he has a second to actually consider what's happening.
For example, does he take his clothes off? Some of his clothes? Just his shoes? Does he get under the covers too?
He decides just his shoes. He's glad he's wearing old track pants and a t-shirt. Jeans really are the worst to sleep in.
Olivia is flat on her back, and it's just the moonlight streaming in through the window now. Her slim fingers are clutching the blanket just under her chin. This is adorable, he decides, and the thought makes his chest ache some more.
Her eyes are following his every move, which makes him nervous, and he stumbles over something on his way around to the other side of the bed. Oh God, should he just lie on top?
He sits on the edge, and she saves his ass by saying softly "You can get under if you want El."
ix.
He barely rustles the sheets when he slides in.
Now they're both on their backs, silent. She'll never sleep tonight, of course.
"This is kinda weird," she whispers, and he lets out that short, sharp laugh again. She hides her smile under the covers, just.
He turns onto his side, facing her. "I thought you were tired," he whispers back.
"I am," she says, and her eyelids do feel heavy.
"So sleep," he says, and lays a hand on the quilt, over her stomach.
"What about you?" she asks.
She can feel him smile in the darkness.
"I'll just watch for now."
x.
She doesn't realise she's sleeping until she has a nightmare. In the dream, Sonya's hovering over her, trying to speak. But there's blood everywhere, and she can't make a sound.
Olivia shoots up in bed, gasping.
"Liv, it's OK. Shhh, it's OK."
Someone is talking to her, and it sounds like Elliot. Which is confusing until she remembers he's in the bed.
He pulls her back down again, but she's still shaking.
"It was just a dream. Hey!" He shakes her. "It was just a dream. Hold my hand."
She grabs it and holds it tight to her chest. "Sorry," she says, "I'm fine," but he's already gathering her up towards him.
"Shh. Just sleep. I'm right here."
She's mad now; she wants to push him away. He's a bastard, doing this to her.
"I'm right here." He kisses her forehead, just brushes his lips right over it, like it's his to kiss. That irritates her and pleases her at the same time, which is as fucked up as it sounds.
But they are here now, so she stops fighting and lets him curl his arms right around her.
Just this once.