A/N: Hey you awesome people! So I got this story idea from a mixture of last week's "Wildlife" and Ingrid Michaelson's new song, "The Chain" (which is AMAZING). So it's sort of a song-fic type deal, but it isn't at the same time. It's basically about how Olivia (referred mostly to as "she") would cope if Elliot was really dead, instead of making a full recovery (phew!). Enjoy!
How She Would Cope
A story by e-oshippa47
She walked home from her job, her right hand gripping to the shoulder-strap of her purse. She listened to the steady rhythm her heels gave on the concrete as she moved briskly and quickly. She kept her head down, her eyes fixated on anything that passed her feet as she continued to graze past them. She then had a sudden impulse to look up, to see if he was looking down at her. As she did this, wind whipped around her and blanketed her to make her shiver.
The sky looks pissed,
The wind talks back,
My bones are shifting in my skin, and you my love, are
Gone
She brought her head back down, only to find that she was standing in front of her apartment. Sighing, she grabbed her key out of her pocket and started to climb up her stairs. Her heart ached with every step she took, but it was over. He was gone.
She finally got to her door, and with much efforts in fidgeting with her lock and the key, she was able to swing it open. As she entered, she closed the door behind her and let herself be surrounded in darkness. She hugged herself, and bit her lip. She didn't want to turn on the light, and she didn't want to go back to work without knowing that he was going to be opposite of her with a big, stupid, grin played upon his face and coffee waiting on her desk, not having to ask who it was from.
In the darkness, she took off her coat, and shuffled to her bedroom. As she walked in, she saw that the only light was a sliver from her window, which was the moonlight—not a city light. This gave her enough light to see that her bed wasn't made, and that it was crooked.
My room seems wrong,
The bed won't fit,
I cannot seem to operate, and you my love, are
Gone
She sat down on her bed, recalling everything she had done that day. In all honesty, she had lost all of herself. She rarely spoke up anymore, rarely interrogated suspects, rarely put on make-up… she couldn't, knowing that it wasn't appreciated by anyone anymore.
"El, El please, stay with me." She had commanded, caressing the side of his head with her hand.
"I… I promise…not… going… anywhere…." He managed to squeak out, his breathing hard and his voice almost inaudible. He began to shake—he was going into shock.
"No, Elliot, don't leave me!" She was practically yelling now. Tears fell from her eyes and shattered onto the concrete.
"Olivia…love… you…" He said, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. It's almost mocking him, she had thought. And just like that, with his last dying breath, he was gone, feeling no more pain.
"I love you too, El." She said, and kissed the lifeless body that was once her best friend.
So glide away and so be healed,
And promise not to promise anymore,
And if you come around again,
Then I will take,
Then I will take,
The chain from off
The door
Without changing, she slipped into her bed, and looked up to her bureau. She had pictures of she and him in the park, at dinner parties… but her favorite one was the one they took outside of the Nederlander Theatre, when they had seen "Rent". Elliot had his arms wrapped around her, smiling the cocky half-smile that made her heart pound every time. She had her eyes closed, and a smile that showed her true happiness. Alec, being the mini-photographer she was, had captured the perfect the moment and then framed it for her. She loved him. He loved her. It just happened at the wrong time.
I'll never say,
I'll never love,
But I don't say a lot of things,
And you, my love, are
Gone.
She could look for new love, if she really wanted to. If she really wanted to, she could find someone. If she really wanted to, she could start a family and have happy marriage. But she didn't. She didn't want to at all. Loving someone for eleven years was a hard void to fill. She didn't want to fill it. She wasn't ready.
As she lay under the covers, she thought of every single moment she had spent with him, and every single time she had treasured it. Whether it was from getting a cup of coffee and walking around Central Park, or it was chasing down perps on rooftops and tackling them, he always had her back. Even when he was so pissed off at everyone and was about the beat the shit out of anyone who came his way, his anger ceased when he saw her. She had melted it.
She thought of how happy he had made her, and how much he meant to her. A thought then quickly flew through her mind, and out of it again. Wherever he was, if he was happy, that was all that mattered to her. She fell asleep with this in her head, getting a good night's rest in a long time, and feeling as if his presence was near her, comforting her, never letting her go; she didn't mind that. She would miss him dearly, and a lot of her tears would be shed just for him, but for right now,
She could accept that.
So glide away and so be healed,
And promise not to promise anymore,
And if you come around again,
Then I will take,
Then I will take,
Then I will take,
The chain from off
The door.