Olivia slipped into her apartment with a sigh. She hung up her coat and headed straight into the bedroom. She needed to get out of these clothes, still stained with Sonya's blood. She considered whether to toss her blouse and slacks into the laundry or into the garbage. Could she really wear these clothes again? But how could she discard Sonya so easily? Too challenged by the decision, she simply left them in a lump in the corner of her room.
Left in only her underwear, she stepped into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She could see what Elliot had seen, her tear-stained skin and tired eyes. She was so damn tired but knew sleep would not come tonight.
The silence in her apartment was unsettling. All but for the soft ticking of a wall clock in the livingroom and the white noise whir of the heating system, the place was painfully quiet. These ambient noises weren't nearly enough to drown out her thoughts.
Gripping the sides of her sink, she lowered her head and let her mind wander. What could she do to make this night go faster, lift the lump in her throat, lighten the load on her heart? How could she get out of here without actually leaving?
Him.
She thought of his firm embrace, his caring eyes, his safe place. How could she possibly ask him to save her … again. She sighed and slowly turned to shuffle back into her bedroom. To the dresser. To her cell phone.
She picked it up, swiped the screen to life and hesitantly began a text message.
"Are you still at work?" Despite her better thoughts, she let her thumb tap the "send" button. The anxiety came almost immediately.
But so did the soft ping from her phone.
"About to pack it in. What's up?"
She resonated over her next words. She'd be selfish to ask him to comfort her, to keep her company. But she also knew that he would never refuse. He was her safe haven.
"You hungry?"
There, she'd sent it.
Another ping and the light from her iPhone interrupted her overanalysis of her actions.
"I could eat. How about I bring something?"
Though worry continued to cloud her face, her heart smiled a little. Rather than lamenting over the long night ahead, she had something to look forward to, a diversion from herself.
"I would like that. Surprise me."
"K. See you in 30."
There. That wasn't so hard, was it? She set her phone down and retreated to the bathroom, ready now to wipe away the load of the day. She stood for a long time under the hot mist of her shower, wishing it could rinse cleanse her insides as it did her skin.
She slipped from the shower, refreshed at least on the outside, and retreated into worn jeans and a tailored T-shirt. Her olive-skinned bare feet were accented by the lavender nail polish on her toe nails. She brushed her hair and her teeth and stepped into a soft mist of body spray. It was a light scent to offset the heaviness of the day.
She no sooner got to the kitchen counter to open a bottle of wine than Elliot was ringing her buzzer. She buzzed him in and waited the minute – the endless minute – for him to knock on the door. She loved these times, when she would open the door and find him there, his raised eyebrows sometimes uncertain as to whether it was too late to stop by or cautiously wondering if he might be interrupting the life she surely must have.
But there was no hesitation in the face on the other side of the door tonight. He was a man on a mission. He may not be able to wipe away her pain, but dammit he could bring her dinner.
"Hey," she said, as he pushed into the doorway, led by a warm and fragrant bag from Natoli's, an Italian bistro not far from the precinct.
"Italian okay?" he asked. "I know you love their bread."
"Perfect," she smiled, happy that he had brought comfort food. Comfort was definitely on the menu tonight.
She cleared the dalliances of her life from her small kitchen table and poured them each a glass of red wine. Elliott stripped off his coat and suit jacket and joined her, unpacking the bag and laying out Natoli's infamous olive oil concoction for their bread. The aroma was scrumptious.
Elliott watched her eat without thinking. She was clearly hungry, and he reveled in the notion that the food he had brought was somehow bringing healing to her soul. Well … at least it was soothing her hunger.
"So what happened in Quantico?" she asked.
"Profiling seminars, new search options in CODIS," he explained. "It wasn't a complete waste."
He paused a moment, looking down at his plate. "But I should have been here," he said through a voice full of self-inflicted shame. "I shouldn't have left you with this situation."
"Elliott, how could you possibly know … how could any of us know … it would end up like this?"
She was right, but it didn't make him feel less guilty.
"Besides El, I am here. I am okay. It's Sonya who is gone."
Elliot and Sonya Paxton had never seen eye to eye. She reveled in provoking him and he could not resist biting at her every provocation. Yet she was passionate about her work and, for that, he had to respect her and mourn her.
"But you're not okay, Liv."
She didn't say a word. She kept wrapping her linguini around her fork and refused to look at him. Why was he always fucking right? Bastard.