Olivia sat at her desk with her head in her hands, trying to concentrate on the paperwork in front of her. As day slipped into evening, the squad room was dimly lit only by a few scattered desk lamps, including the one on her desk. She sighed deeply, part in exhaustion, part in frustration that she simply couldn't seem to focus through eyes clouded by the events of the day.
She couldn't shake the image of Sonya Paxton dying in her arms. She'd felt her friend's life slip away, tinged with pride that she had managed to mark her killer. There had simply been too much loss in her time at SVU. And it seemed to be hitting closer to home these days.
As she left the bathroom, the site of Sonya's murder, there was only one face she had wanted to see, and there he was. There was Elliot. He was her candle in the window, her light in the storm, and she slipped so naturally into his embrace, his safe place. He didn't overthink it, he just did what he felt, holding her close, bathed in regret that he hadn't been there to help her or Sonya.
But as she always did with Elliot, she was reluctant to show him all her cards. There was no reason she shouldn't, but somehow she always wanted him to think she was strong enough to handle herself. Just like she hadn't told him about Sealview. But today, as was the case then, he knew.
"I'm okay," she had told him.
"Like hell you are," his response.
He could see the tears in her eyes, the pain in her face and knew his partner and best friend well enough to clearly recognize that she was anything but alright. He held her close, wanted to hold her longer and closer, but he had to let her go, let her process her pain her way.
Olivia clicked her pen and dropped it to the desk in frustration. Just then Elliot entered the squad room. He eyed her as he pulled off his coat and scarf. He knew she would be here and maybe, just maybe, that's why he had come back too.
"Liv, you don't need to be here. You've been through too much today. Go home."
But she wanted to be anywhere but home. At least here, with the noise and distractions, she could lure her mind away from the tragic events of the day and busy herself with paperwork.
She sat back in her chair and looked at him, not saying a word. She was too tired to speak, and looking into his eyes gave her comfort. In many ways, they were polar opposites, yet reflections of one another.
"I know. You're right. I guess I've been avoiding it."
He approached her as she sat in her desk chair. He came up beside her and slid his hand to the side of her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. He looked long and hard at her. He could still see the smudgy red stains from her tears under her tired eyes. He wanted to take it all away, take it on himself.
"Are you okay? Really okay?" he asked as continued to look into her eyes.
"I'm trying to be," she said, hanging her hand on his wrist that embraced her face and looking back at him. She felt somewhat shy because of his proximity, his contact. Olivia Benson was anything but shy, but with Elliott this close to her exhaustion, and in her skin-deep emotional state, she may as well have been stripped bare.
The moment was long. She needed him, but he wasn't hers to need. Finally she broke his gaze.
"Goodnight, El," she said softly, rising from her chair, clicking off her desk lamp and strolling toward the elevator with her coat over her shoulder.
He watched after her, wanted to pull her back and heal her. But he let her go … for now.