Oh, if only her walls could talk. That way she wouldn't have to. Listening to the ringing in her own ears, Olivia sat on her couch with a Snapple in front of her on her coffee table. She went for the beer, at first, but her mouth salivated more when she caught a glance at the lemonade. Wrapped up in a blanket on her couch, Olivia hugged her knees, wishing that somehow she could drop right into a sleeping spell and only dream of the good things in her life. All of her cases had the same word: rape. And every time she was supposed to talk to the victim, she couldn't help but think sadly, 'I know what you mean.' It was over 4 months now, but she still dreamt of the horrible night. She had, admittedly, gotten better, but there were still nights that destroyed her and ripped her soul apart.
Banging her head against the back of her sofa, she stared up at her ceiling. She used to do this often in her old apartment a few years ago; the patterns used to be so intricate and she would sometimes swear that there were individual pictures sculpted onto it. But after Agent Lauren Cooper shot herself… Olivia could never live there. So now she was stuck with this boring ceiling that no one put time and effort into. She remembered when she was little, of living in a huge mansion and getting lost in it; yes, her ponies and butterflies were there to accompany her, and she would hang a sign on her imaginary door: BAD THINGS NOT WELCOME.
Olivia began to think of other things, such as things that were a lot lighter than what had happened to her: where her extra bullets were, if she had enough coffee for the next morning to bring into the precinct, if she had told Elliot and Alec that she might be a little off during a heavy case… all of these questions were answered by a simple yes, but soon she ran out of normal, everyday question, her mind slowly drifted back to the horrible night.
"What do you want?" Olivia asked, her voice cracking and shaking violently. As strong and rough as Olivia was, there was no way of hiding the fear and terror that impacted her body.
Harris unbuckled his belt, a devious grin bore on his face. "Whatever you got."
A knock on her door shocked her out of her horrible memory. Letting the blanket slide off of her shoulders and onto the floor, she delicately walked over to her heavy door. Her footsteps were quiet, almost inaudible, and her breath was short from the adrenaline that pumped through her veins from fear.
As she walked, she felt her hip brush past her counter. Letting her hand slid across the surface, she grabbed the gun that was loaded and resting neatly and silently, and said, "Who is it?" casually.
"Liv, it's El." Although it sounded a lot like him, Olivia remained hesitant. After a pause, the voice behind the door said, "Put the gun down, Liv, it really is me—I'll prove it. Your favorite drink is hot tea, and you usually have your gun on your thigh… which I'm guessing is now in your hand."
Olivia had to smile a bit; he was right. Opening the door, she revealed her partner and best friend of eleven years, Elliot, wearing sweatpants and a NYPD sweatshirt. His brown hair was a mess, his ice-blue eyes were bloodshot, his broad a masculine shoulders were slightly hunched over, and yet he still bore a look of smugness on his face when really registering Olivia. "Ha, I knew it; you always have your gun with you." He spoke, proudly.
Olivia smiled fully for the first time during the night. "You know me, El. I can't trust anyone anymore." She had meant this to be a light-hearted joke, but once passing through her lips and into the open air, the joke grew more serious, and they both fell silent.
Elliot cleared his throat, to distract the previous action. "May I come in?" He always asked this, although he always knew what the answer was going to be.
"Yes, of course," Olivia said quietly, and leaned against the door for him to pass by and enter her apartment. Olivia felt admittedly in a better mood that Elliot was in her house and closer to her. She sat down on her couch, staring at the black, dark, TV screen, waiting patiently for Elliot to join her.
Feeling the slight deep in the couch, Olivia looked to her left and saw Elliot staring intently at her with his eyes twinkling from the moonlight that shone through her window, the angle hitting them to make it look like his eyes were completely colorless. "Liv, I'm not going to lie, I'm worried about you. My Liv-is-stressed sixth sense was tingling." Elliot said, point-blankly and jokingly.
Olivia nodded her head and smiled very small and earnestly; she had a hunch that this serious conversation was part of Elliot's baggage for the night. "I know," Olivia whispered, now looking at her thumbs which she was playing with in the dark. She wanted to add to her statement, 'But you shouldn't have to be', but then she would be lying to her best friend in the worst way.
"Is it what happened…?" Elliot let his voice trail off into the echoes of the almost-baron apartment, caution lingering in the air.
Olivia shook her head, briskly. "It is, but it isn't." She sighed, preparing herself to let her emotions spill and overflow while Elliot was there to catch her before she hit the cold, hard, concrete of this thing she tended to call "reality". "It's…everything…" she bit her lip, looking away entirely this time. "My mom, her drinking, the beatings, how I was conceived…. I mean, if she wasn't brutally raped I wouldn't be here." She turned her head to face Elliot, her eyes burning for an answer as she asked, "Do you know what that feels like?"
Elliot looked at her, solemnly. He honestly had no clue what that felt like; the worst thing he had gone through was his parents yelling and getting so angry at each other to the point of throwing things, like vases and alarm clocks. But he was never beaten, his parents never drank, and he was conceived out of love, not rape. "No, I don't, Liv." He admitted, biting his lip and looking to his left. There was silence between them as Elliot searched for other thoughts, and when they came to him, he spoke softly, "But I do know that everyone around you cares about you, and would take a bullet for you. And you know I'd give you a kidney." He added the last part with more lightness; it was a joke of theirs.
Olivia chuckled softly. "Thank you for coming, Elliot." She spoke softly after they grew quiet. "You didn't have to come over. I'm glad you did though." She meant this, and her tone was wavering as she spoke every word.
Elliot was almost afraid of the weakness and cracking in Olivia's tone. He had seen Olivia cry and break down before, but never in his eleven years of knowing her, had he seen her this broken before. Out of impulse, Elliot wrapped an arm around her, and Olivia let her head fall onto his broad, muscle-toned shoulder. Silence enveloped them, and Elliot felt her shoulders heave; she was bawling. After a moment she let out a slight gasp of pain and sorrow, and Elliot's grip around her tightened. He kissed her head, hating the sadness the wrapped her and the pain she had endured was—had—become his own. And Elliot couldn't take it anymore.
"Olivia," he said, using her full name, meaning he was serious, "I will always be there for you. No matter what."
"Even if something worse happens to me?" She whispered, her tone still weak and broken.
Elliot took her face and held it in his hands. "I don't think anything worse can happen to you." With a small smile, he added, "Things can only get better from here. It's just the physical law of balance."
Olivia gazed up at Elliot, her eyebrows scrunched upward in a mixture of doubt, worry, relief, and pain. "You know?" She said, using the same whisper-like tone.
Elliot nodded slowly, letting every bad memory of his life run through his mind and in front of his eyes.
"How?" Olivia asked, her tone rising a centimeter in volume.
Elliot smiled fully. "Because," he started, letting his heart jump and rejoice, "somehow, some force out there brought me to you. Liv, you've changed my life, and without you," it actually caused his stomach to lurch without the thought of Olivia, "I wouldn't be… sane. I'd be instable, and I'd probably let my anger get to me and I'd be off the force." He gazed into her dark, hazel eyes, that were lit up by only the moonlight. "I'd die without you." He concluded, matter-of-factly.
"Really?" Olivia whispered, tears flowing in her eyes.
Instead of answering her, Elliot pressed his lips against Olivia's, closing their eyes as they did so. Once their eyes were closed, every memory they had ever had with each other flashed before their eyes, and their minds had managed to only play the memories that made their hearts flutter, not cut like a knife.
When they pulled back from their embrace (in unison) Elliot smiled at Olivia. "Really."
Olivia smiled; oh, if only her walls could talk.