Author's Note - Thanks again for the feedback. Please keep it coming.
*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU **
He could hardly say no to her. He was the one who had pushed her to open up to him, he could hardly stop her when she was clearly in full flow just because he was concerned that things might get out of hand. Not that he'd let - 'that' - happen, but he was worried that she might up the ante on him if they were alone.
In spite of his reservations though, he took her by the hand and led her from the bar, once again trying to ignore the stares of their fellow cops. He'd actually spotted them long before she had, but just pretended he hadn't noticed because he knew she needed his comfort. The physical affection he'd been affording her.
She said little on the journey to her apartment, just sat quietly resting her head against the cab window, looking out at the New York streets. It didn't escape his notice though that she didn't let go of his hand for a second, gripping it tightly like Dicky or Elizabeth might in a crowded place. Like she was scared of losing him.
It was contradictory, he thought, that in one moment he'd think of her as a potential lover and the next as one of his kids. But that was Olivia. She was an enigma. She was looking to him to be everything she'd ever been without. He just hoped he was up to the challenge and wasn't going to end up hurting her all over again.
When they arrived she ushered him through to the living room, and then disappeared to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses, before sitting beside him, looking a little awkward. He wondered if she regretted inviting him back now they were actually there, regretted putting herself in a position where she'd have to talk.
As she poured two glasses of wine, he asked her the question which had been on his mind since the cab journey.
"What were you thinking about on the way over here?"
She blushed a little, looking away shyly, "I was thinking that I don't know what I want from you. What I want you to be to me. There's no separation, no definition. I want you to my father and my lover and everything in between. Which is probably more than a little sick, and makes me something of a freak."
"Not at all." He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, in spite of the fact that he knew that in light of what she'd just said he was probably asking for trouble. "I was thinking something very similar myself. I'm not sure what it is you want me to be either. So," he pulled her towards him and cuddled her close, "will you settle for being someone I care for? Someone I want to take care of?"
There was no reluctance in her response, as she curled into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, and looked up at him as she nodded, "I'd like that. Which is…" she paused slightly, obviously looking for the right word, "… odd."
"Odd how?" He picked up one of the glasses of wine she'd poured and handed it to her, hoping that the question would be the prompt she'd need to start talking again. It worked.
"I don't like to be taken care of. I like to be the one doing the looking after. Its always been that way. I took care of my mother, although she'd never have admitted it, I took care of my friends and boyfriends - I was always the mother hen, always took on the lost causes."
"I could have predicted that." Elliot said, picking up his own glass and drinking from it, as he thought back over their time working together, remembering all the times with she fought for the underdog, taken care of a traumatised victim, and mothered scared children, "Its what makes you what you are Olivia. A damn good, compassionate, caring cop."
She shrugged, "It also makes me Olivia the control freak. It makes me the Olivia who ditched Cassidy because he made me breakfast."
That was new, Elliot thought. She'd never really wanted to discuss her ex's with him, especially Cassidy. Even though their 'thing' had been there, right in front of him, causing an atmosphere that you could cut with a knife in the squad room, she'd never offered him an ounce of real info on it, beyond the odd throwaway line. In spite of what he'd already learnt that evening there was apparently a lot more he had to learn about his partner.
"He made you breakfast?" He asked questioningly, before adding jokingly, "The cad. How dare he?"
Olivia laughed, but once again, her smile didn't reach her eyes. "He made me breakfast in bed." She explained, "Fresh fruit and bacon and egg and toast and juice and fresh coffee and even a flower on the tray." She looked at Elliot, to check if he understood, "I mean have you ever seen me eat a breakfast like that?"
He shook his head, "No. You're more of a coffee and a Danish in the squad room girl.
She beamed, a proper smile this time, "See. You know me. I don't like people thinking they can change me. Control me. I like to be the one running the show."
"To be fair," Elliot pointed out, "the poor boy was probably just trying to be nice."
"It didn't feel nice. It felt wrong. I didn't want him to make my breakfast. I get my own, I always have."
It could have been laughable, but Elliot was fast losing the urge to laugh as he read between the lines, gradually seeing the real crux of the problem. He hoped he was wrong, but on that day's evidence - not to mention her latest outburst, he suspected he wasn't.
"How old were you when you first made your own breakfast Liv?"
She looked away, but didn't miss a beat in answering him, "I was four. I had to climb on a chair to reach the toaster." Her eyes filled with tears again and feeling her body begin to shake he pulled her closer still, caressing her neck, trying to sooth her. "How did you guess?"
A single tear rolled down her cheek and he wiped it away, smiling sadly, "A hunch. Your mother was drunk right?"
"There weren't many mornings where she wasn't." Olivia admitted softly, "Or else just too hungover to care. And I needed to eat."
"So you did it yourself." He thought of his kids when they were that age, with him and Kathy catering to their every whim. Christ, even now Maureen threw a hissy fit if her Pop Tart wasn't on the table when she finally deemed to join them after her daily extended morning bathroom routine. It killed him to think of Olivia having to prepare her own breakfast, plus Christ knows what else by herself.
As if reading his mind she nodded and then went on to detail exactly what else she had done, "I fed myself, braided my own hair, packed my own bag for kindergarten."
"She couldn't have hired a nanny?" He said questioningly, thinking that actually it might have been a simpler solution. It wasn't like they weren't an affluent family. Her mother - in spite of her alcoholism - was a successful woman.
Olivia shook her head, "If we'd had a nanny, if a nanny had seen how we lived, I'd have been in the care system before my 5th birthday. Besides we managed. There was a cleaning lady who came once a week and brought groceries, so the house was clean and we always had food. Even if I did have to make it myself." She added ruefully. "It didn't seem so bad back then."
He suspected she was trying to put a rosier tint on it than actually existed, her tears as she'd told him about her juvenile breakfast antics certainly seeming to point in that direction enough. But he also knew how hard it must to have been for her to confide that to him in the first place, and so didn't push it any further. One step at a time, that was all it needed.
This was Olivia. She wouldn't cope with anything more.
*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU **
She was glad when he let it drop. She didn't want to elaborate on her tumultuous early childhood days any further. It was embarrassing. Not what had actually happened, what she'd 'been through' but that she was making such a fuss over it. They saw kids every day who suffered much worse abuses, physical, and sexual. Having to make her own breakfast couldn't compete.
And so, they sat in silence for a while. Companionable silence. They drank their wine and he carried on holding her, running his hands over her neck and shoulders, just letting her rest and get her thoughts together. It felt good.
Too good really.
It wasn't sexual, at least that was what she kept telling herself, but at the same time, with each minute that passed she knew she was going to find it harder and harder to let him go. She just wanted to stay there in his arms forever, and that wasn't a healthy feeling, she knew that.
Eventually, reluctantly, she drained her glass and pulled away from him, suggesting that she get the two of them something to eat. She wasn't hungry herself, but she also knew that Elliot rarely turned down the offer of food, and she also figured that if she was busy bustling around the kitchen she couldn't be tangled up in an embrace with him, which, as far as she was concerned, would be safer all round.
He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar, watching her as she threw together a quick and easy pasta dish for their late night snack. However, just as she was adjusting the hob temperature, all set to leave it the pasta to simmer for a few minutes, she became aware that he was staring at her toaster, a grimace on his face, and it didn't take Einstein to work out why.
"You're obsessing over what I told you."
He sighed, "Do you blame me Liv? I just keep seeing you wobbling around, trying to balance on a chair that was bigger than you were."
His words were right on the money. She remembered it well, too well. Clinging onto the counter for dear life, terrified that the chair would crash down and make a noise and wake her mother. Digging a knife into the toaster to get the toast to pop out. Nearly setting light to the bread in an effort to get it the right colour. Just the way she liked it.
It was bloody miracle she'd lived through the experience. That said, she'd lived through worse.
She topped up both their glasses, moved to the breakfast bar to sit beside him.
"Eli…" That got his attention. He was never Eli. In fact, she suspected this was the first time she'd ever addressed him as such. It was a bit like his 'Liv' she supposed, saved only for the most special of occasions.
He reached for her hands, an act which was apparently second nature to him now, as indeed letting him take them was to her.
"What is it?"
She released one of her hands from his, picked up her glass, sipped her wine. A delaying tactic. A brief delaying tactic but one that lasted mere seconds.
"The… neglect." she forced the word out, because like victim before it, it seemed too huge although, somewhere, deep down inside, she knew it was accurate. "It wasn't the worst part. Its not the part that really hurt. I mean, I didn't know any different, and it wasn't her fault. She was sick."
How many times had she made that excuse? Let her mother off the hook because alcoholism was a sickness in its own way, and because, really, after what had happened to her, how could she possibly be held accountable? All the same, she expected Elliot to argue. Because he was a father, a damn good father, and she knew the things she'd told him were a million miles away from what he would consider to be acceptable parenting. He surprised her though. He didn't argue. Instead…
"Go on. Tell me."
"The reason she drank." Her words came out more shakily than she'd intended, and it was only then when she realised how close she was to crying again. She ploughed on, not wanting to stop now she'd started. "The reason she drank, and the act that made me, they were one of the same Eli." She felt the last tiny slip of composure that she still had in her disappear as her words came tumbling out. "Every day, she got up and she saw me. She saw me and she was reminded of him and so she drank. I wasn't her daughter, I was a sexually transmitted disease and she treated me in the only way she knew how. By getting smashed."
His arms were around her in seconds, but she couldn't bear it. She loved him, she needed him, but in that moment the fact he was touching her was too much. As memories of too many bad nights, too many bad days haunted her she pulled away and ran to the only place she'd ever felt safe as a child.
Into her bed.
Under the duvet. Right under.
Where no one could see her.
Where she didn't exist.
Where she couldn't cause any more pain.
*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU **