She's sitting in the chair after pacing, wiping down the countertops, adjusting and readjusting objects on shelves. He won't be coming home tonight, like many nights. She's tried reading, watching television, and mindless web surfing. Unsuccessful, she resorted to lighting an aromatherapy candle that she bought on a whim. Made a salad, didn't eat a bite.
So she sits in the chair, staring into the flame, never giving the phone a glance as it alerts her to a call and she lifts it from the table.
"Benson."
"I'll be there in two minutes to pick you up."
The flame dances wildly from the gust of air expelled from her mouth.
"Did I forget to mention this?"
"What, you're going to drive me around every night like an inconsolable infant?"
"I've done it with the kids. S'not a problem."
"I'm not a child, Elliot."
He winces from the annoyance in her voice. "Yes, I know that. You meeting me out front?"
Without confirmation, she ends the call, blows out the candle. After slipping on some shoes and a sweatshirt, she finds herself standing on the sidewalk watching his car pull to the curb.
"You followed me here last night," she says, as he gestures with a nod to the passenger side through his open window.
"Never tried to hide it," he replies, as she buckles in. "So, whose place is it?"
She positions the air vents to divert the flow away from her. "Brian Cassidy's."
"Seriously?" he asks, blank expression. "How'd that happen?"
"Long story," she sighs, relaxing against the headrest.
He checks traffic in the side mirror before pulling out. "That workin' out okay?"
"Fine."
With a quick look in her direction, he starts to say something but decides against it, grabs for an item in the backseat.
"Brought this for you."
She takes the plush blue blanket into her hands, smiles. "Smells like baby powder."
"It was Eli's. Thought it'd be better than my jacket."
She inhales the scent again and thinks about the baby boy once wrapped up in her arms, naked and new. Suddenly feels sad and uneasy.
"What?" he inquires, concern apparent on his features.
She slowly forms the words. "I appreciate what you're doing, but -
"You gotta let people help sometimes, Liv," he interjects.
Spreading the blanket across her lap, she asks, unconvinced, "You?"
Elliot swallows, shrugs. "I'm retired. I've got the most flexible schedule."
"Yeah," she mumbles, watching a few pedestrians pass as the car idles at a stoplight. "How's that going for you?"
"The free time is good," he answers, pressing the pedal when the light turns green. "I miss the job."
They can go through hell and still want the job. She understands that more than anyone right now. She tucks the edges of the blanket under her legs.
"Miss the people," he adds, looking in her general area.
A half-smile graces her lips. "The people miss you."
His eyes go back to the street, his own small smile forming. Her eyes close within minutes as drops of rain dot the windshield. He steals glances, watches her chest rise and fall evenly, watches her lips part slightly. The storm gathers strength and the wind-driven heavy rain drowns out all other sounds.
For the next three hours, he travels under a black sky highilghted by the intermittent flashes of lightning. She rests peacefully save for the few quiet, anguished moans. He wonders how long the horrors will claw their way into her slumber.
When she wakes, she rubs her eyes, ties her messy hair back, yawns and stretches her neck. He hands her some water, and she digs into her bag, brings out a small bottle of pills, pops a few with a large gulp of the cool liquid.
"Headache?"
She screws the caps back on the both bottles and stares out the window, trying and failing to identify the surroundings. "That too."
His hand roughly massages the back of his neck, then fingers pinch the bridge of his nose in attempts to keep him from clearly imagining the extent of her pain.
"Ready for real sleep in a real bed?"
"Yeah, I am," she replies, mostly empty. "I'm guessing it'll be a while before that happens."
He pauses momentarily to let the meaning sink in, then sighs under his breath.
"At what point did you stop driving the kids around?"
"After a few months." He glances her way. "Eventually they didn't need it."
She closes her eyes, if only she could be capable of willing time to advance to when she doesn't need so much.
"I really could do this every night," she admits, pulling the blanket closer. "Guess it's a bad habit to start."
He weighs her statement in his mind. Let her have a few hours to feel any degree of better, though cramped in a seat. Have her stay in, no rest at all. Bad habit or not, it's worth it.
"Have I thanked you?"
He lowers his chin, eyes pinned to the road ahead. "It's not completely unselfish."
Her eyes open, look upon him tenderly; they exchange a silent understanding, and he hits the blinker and hangs a right, miles to go.