Chapter Note:
For anyone who has ever tried to write one of these, you know it is truly a labor of love and extremely time consuming. I honestly really didn't have a good understanding of this when I started BP, and I remember how much the feedback from reviews and interactions with readers meant to me. It truly helped to keep me going, and got me through some epic moments of self-doubt. I am truly in awe of those of you who are able to sit down and write story after story...
This chapter still addresses tough themes, but not to the same degree as the last three chapters.
Chapter Ten
It was dark… cold. The ground was hard underfoot. She turned in every direction, but she could see nothing. Everything was engulfed in blackness. She reached out with her right hand to try to guide herself and it came into contact with a rough wall. She tentatively moved forward, continuing to run her hand along the wall while her left searched the air in front of her, the echoes of her footsteps drawing attention to the silence that fell heavily around her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the feeling that she was being watched…stalked…although she could see no one. She spun around to look behind her, but it was futile – the space behind her was as dark as that in front. She started to move more quickly, blindly stumbling forward as her heart pounded in her ears.
As she moved, she became aware of a hollow, rhythmic thudding noise behind her, at first indistinguishable from the sound of her own feet on the ground but slowly increasing in volume and pace.
Someone was following her.
She walked even more quickly, eventually starting to see a dim light in the distance. She hurried toward it, desperately seeking a way out. The patch of light gradually expanded as she neared it, emanating from beyond an open door not more than twenty feet away.
She heard a low chuckle behind her.
She whirled around but could still see nothing. She rushed through the doorway and her heart stopped, cold fear in her stomach as she found herself in a room with no visible exits except for the way from which she came. The source of light was a lone bulb dangling from the ceiling, illuminating the center of the room while the periphery was cast in shadows. She let out a small cry of fear, breathing so rapidly that she felt a tingling sensation spread throughout her body.
The door slammed shut behind her and she spun around in terror.
"Well, well, well… What do we have here?" a familiar voice taunted.
"No…" she whimpered as Harris emerged from the darkness.
Tears streamed down her face as he slowly stalked toward her. She backed away, shaking her head, searching for any way out.
Laughter resounded from all around her.
Nikolai.
"There's no way out," his voice jeered, seemingly without a point of origin.
"It's time to finish what we started," Harris snarled.
He lashed out abruptly with his arm, causing the light bulb to swing wildly on its cord, the motion of the light lending itself to the appearance that the room was swaying and churning around her. She continued to back away, spinning in a circle around herself as she tried to find any place to hide – any means of escape.
Suddenly she caught sight of another figure in the corner of the room, coming in and out of view with the rocking motion of the light.
"Elliot!" she cried out, rushing toward him. She clutched onto him tightly. "El, please don't let them touch me," she begged.
He said nothing.
She looked up at him, searching his face for any signs of recognition or reassurance, but his eyes remained cold, his expression flat. "Elliot," she pleaded in desperation. She felt Harris approach, sobbing as he came to stand directly behind her.
Trapping her.
"Elliot, please, please help me," she cried.
Harris trailed his hands down her body, grabbing onto her hips as he ground himself against her. She pushed against Elliot's chest while trying to twist herself free, but Elliot's hands latched around her wrists, preventing her escape.
"No, please!"
Harris removed one of his hands and she heard him lower his zipper.
"Elliot!" she sobbed as Harris' hands tugged harshly at the waistband of her pants.
Elliot merely smirked down at her, his cruel smile broadening as he looked over her shoulder at Harris. And then he started to laugh – the sound blending in with Nikolai's laughter which seemed to get louder and louder, drowning out her hysterical cries.
"Elliot!" she repeated in despair, calling out his name again and again as she wept.
"Liv!" he tried again to rouse her from her nightmare.
"Elliot!" she cried out again, the panic in her voice tearing him apart.
"Liv, I'm here, you're dreaming," he attempted to reassure her, but her only response was an anguished cry as she continued to sob in her sleep. He leaned over her and lightly shook her shoulder as he repeated her name.
She finally opened her eyes, seeing him above her, yet instead of relief in her expression, her eyes widened in fear. She whimpered, quickly scooting herself backward on the bed until she was seated with her back flush against the headboard.
Elliot pushed himself back onto his knees, widening the gap between them as he raised his palms. "I'm not going to hurt you, Liv," he said quietly. "You're safe." he reassured her, his eyes full of concern. "It was a nightmare."
She was still panting and she attempted to catch her breath, residual tears still falling as she darted her eyes from side to side, taking in her surroundings.
"You're home. You're safe," he soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated, his voice cracking.
Olivia balanced her elbows on her knees, resting her forehead on her palms as she squeezed her eyes shut against the vivid images that continued to linger. God, it had felt so real. She took in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly, angrily swiping at the tears on her face. She raked her fingers through her hair, clasping her hands behind her neck as she stared at the tangle of blankets at her feet. She was so tired of feeling out of control.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, sliding her hands apart as she brought her arms to wrap around her shins.
He shook his head at the apology. "You want to talk about it?" he asked softly.
She closed her eyes as another shiver ran down her spine at the recollection of his actions in her dream. "No," she whispered.
He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. "You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is…" he hesitated, "Whatever it was that I did to make you afraid of me."
She forced herself to meet his gaze, the regret and compassion in his eyes a reminder of everything that Elliot was and everything that her mind had obliterated from the man in her dream. "I'm not afraid of you, El," she replied.
But she had been. For one brief moment, caught somewhere between the clutches of her nightmare and her waking mind, when she had seen him hovering above her, she had been afraid of him.
He nodded slowly as he considered her response. There was no doubt in his mind that the fear he had seen in her expression had been directed at him. "Maybe not right now," he said carefully.
She immediately looked away. "El, please?" she implored him. "I don't want to talk about it." She cursed the tremble in her voice. God, when had she become so damn weak?
"Okay," he said gently. "I'm sorry. I just… I don't know what to do to make any of this better."
"It was just a dream," she murmured, as much to remind herself of this as to downplay its significance.
"Just a dream," he thought. Hardly. She had been terrified. God knows he'd given her enough reasons to be frightened of him in actuality, let alone whatever horrors her subconscious had created. As it was, for lack of knowing, his own mind had run rampant with worst-case scenarios.
She was still sitting with her knees tucked into her chest, her eyes downcast. He wanted to be able to reassure her – to tell her that he would never hurt her – but he had hurt her, and so the statement died before it even met his lips.
"Liv, if you want me to take the couch, I'd understand."
Her eyes flew to his. "No," she responded a little too quickly. Her face flushed and she attempted to backtrack. "I mean, if you don't mind staying," she finished, her voice small.
"I don't mind," he replied. He almost wanted to laugh. If she only knew how desperate he was to stay.
"I don't want you to feel oblig-"
"Liv, there's no place I'd rather be." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them, and he hoped that his admission had not made her feel uncomfortable.
"Okay," came her quiet reply.
Once again Olivia felt self-conscious as she slowly slid herself further down the bed, this time easing herself onto her left side, facing the center of the mattress. She reached for the covers and Elliot helped to draw them over her. He hesitated, unsure of how to situate himself in light of the change in Olivia's position. He opted to stretch out onto his back, tucking his right arm under his head as he tilted it slightly to face her, his left hand resting on his stomach. It seemed to be the safest option – not wanting to crowd her or make her feel uneasy by turning into her completely.
They lay there quietly in the shadows, silently holding one another's gaze. Olivia felt as though she should look away, but as many times as she told herself to close her eyes, she could not bring herself to do so. Beyond the overtly terrifying components of her nightmare, the aspect that had frightened her the most was the icy look in Elliot's eyes. Throughout the ups and downs of their partnership, the one thing that had never changed was their ability to communicate a wealth of information with one another by means of a single glance. Even in anger, she could still see layers of recognition and history in his eyes. At times they tried to filter things – striving to prevent the other from seeing too much, yet, in the end, they only way they were successfully able to do so was to avoid making eye contact to begin with.
There had been times in that room when Elliot had been forced to look at her with derision and detachment, but he had continued to find moments to reconnect with her, carefully hidden from Nikolai's view. She had been able to cling to the feeling of safety those moments afforded her in order to help her endure the fear and the pain she had experienced throughout their captivity. Now, lying beside him in the privacy of her darkened room, she allowed herself to take comfort in the protective understanding in his gaze.
The intimacy of the moment was not lost on either of them. For once, for as long as it lasted, they were allowing themselves to truly see one another.
Olivia eventually broke the spell, frightened that if she lingered much longer she might not be able to prevent herself from wanting more from him than he was able to give. She dropped her gaze to stare at the rise and fall of his chest, the loss of eye contact making her feel that much more vulnerable. She blinked against the moisture that was threatening to re-form. She felt hollow – as if she were grieving the loss of something that had not truly been hers to begin with. They had been undercover. It hadn't been real. A lone tear trailed down her cheek, hidden from view as it was absorbed by her pillow. She thought of the feel of him inside of her, the weight of him as he sheltered her body with his own, and was overcome by the need to be closer to him. She slid herself toward him, stopping when the back of the arm that was tucked into her chest brushed against his side.
After the briefest of pauses, Elliot rolled onto his right side, fully facing her as he brought his left arm around her body. He coaxed her more closely into his warmth, resting his chin on the top of her head. She shifted the hand that rested between them, gently curling her fingers around the fabric of his shirt as if to ensure that he would not leave her. He drew his hand back and forth across her shoulder blades, eventually sliding his fingers through the tendrils of hair along the nape of her neck to cup the back of her head in his palm. He held her, occasionally stroking his thumb along her scalp, once again breathing more easily as he felt her fingers gradually relax their hold on him as she slowly succumbed to slumber.
He awoke before her, shortly after noon. Olivia had intermittently whimpered and cried out in her sleep, but thankfully such disruptions did not seem to be anywhere near the magnitude of her earlier nightmare. Each time he had murmured words of reassurance and remorse as she slept, running his fingers through her hair as he tried to calm her. He was now lying on his back, Olivia halfway on top of him. The blankets that had once provided a barrier between them were now in a tangled mass at the foot of the bed. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her right leg hooked over his and her arm draped across his chest. His arm was asleep but he remained perfectly still, doing his best not to disturb her though she began to stir nonetheless. She sleepily rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, stretching slightly as her eyes fluttered open. She flushed slightly as she realized where she was, and delicately removed her limbs from their resting places as she rolled off of him and onto her back.
"Mornin'," he offered her as she rubbed her eyes, smiling as she arched into a large stretch and doing his best not to notice the way in which her breasts strained against the thin cotton of her T-shirt in the process.
"What?" she asked, returning his smile as she peered at him out of the corner of her eye.
"Nothing," he replied, his grin broadening.
"Do I have bed-head?" she asked, self-consciously smoothing her hands over her hair.
"The hair's fine, Liv. Just haven't seen you wake up first thing, that's all – other than the occasional hour of crib time here and there. You're cute when you're groggy."
"Watch it, Stabler," she deadpanned. "I might not be so cute if you keep this up."
"Duly noted," he said solemnly.
A little too solemnly… She looked up to see his eyes twinkling down at her and she thwacked him on the arm.
He feigned injury, rubbing his arm as she lifted her head to check the clock. "Okay, so it's the afternoon," he amended. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently, falling serious once more.
"I'll live," she replied with a slight arch of her brow. "Might need to make another exception to my 'no painkiller' policy," she quipped, trying to cling to the light mood they had created for as long as possible.
Elliot moved to go get some for her, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I've got this."
His face fell ever so slightly and he shrugged it off. "Oh…course."
"El, I appreciate it. I do. I just… I need to start taking care of myself."
He nodded, feeling a twinge of disappointment at the thought that she might no longer need him.
Elliot watched as she pushed herself up and slid out of the bed, standing still for a moment as she dealt with the pain the action inevitably caused her before heading into the hallway toward the bathroom. He cast a glance around the room. Two of the qualities he admired most about Olivia were her strength and independence, but having gotten a glimpse of her at her most vulnerable, he selfishly longed to be in the position to continue to take care of her. Her nightmare had been a stark reminder of the fact that he had caused her incredible pain. While she claimed that she did not blame him for his actions, he would never forgive himself. No matter how many times she tried to set his mind at ease, he would never forget the fear in her expression as she looked up at him in the aftermath of her dream. He would never forget the sound of her voice begging him to stop. He drew a hand over his face, standing and walking to look out of the window as he attempted to collect himself.
Deep in thought, he did not hear her approach and startled when he heard her voice from just beyond his shoulder.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, lifting his forearm from where it rested against the wall and running his hand down the back of his head. He offered her a small smile that only seemed to draw more attention to the sadness in his expression.
Her eyes searched his, trying to discern the source of his current struggle.
"You took something?" he asked, changing the subject.
She nodded.
"Good," he replied. He raked his eyes over her face, each of her injuries triggering a memory of every time he had raised his hand to her the night before.
She noticed his focus and dropped her gaze. "El, they're more colorful than anything else. Really," she said softly.
He took a small step toward her, his eyes full of remorse. He slowly lifted his hand, tracing his fingertips lightly over her bruises before gently curving his palm along the contours of her cheek. He belatedly mused that he needed to begin to do a better job at resisting his impulses to touch her. His hand had met her skin before his mind reminded him of the fact that they did not do this. Yet after so many years spent avoiding even the briefest of touches, he was pained by the thought that she would remember him not for his capacity for tenderness, but rather for the force with which he had struck her and held her down.
"Liv, I-"
He was interrupted by the shrill chime of his cell phone ringing in the other room.
Olivia's eyes snapped up to meet his, immediately tense.
He quickly made his way to the kitchen, grabbing his phone from the counter and checking the display: Cragen.
"Stabler," he answered.
"Elliot, sorry to have to call," his captain's voice responded.
"No problem, Cap," he replied, exchanging a glance with Olivia who had entered the room and had lowered herself to sit on the arm of the couch.
"Does the name Sergei Petrov mean anything to you?"
"Sergei Petrov," he repeated for Olivia's benefit. "No. Doesn't sound familiar."
"Apparently Nikolai had a brother."
Elliot's mouth ran dry.
"From the statements we've gathered so far, it seems like he's the second in command. As of now, the best we can tell, he's not among the men we have in custody, and it's unclear if he's one of the bodies in the morgue."
"No public records?"
"No," Cragen sighed. "One dead end after another. I'm sorry to make you come in, but I need you both to look through the photographs of the men we've accounted for – dead or alive…see if you can tell if anyone is missing."
"I understand. We'll be there."
He snapped his phone shut and filled Olivia in on the rest of the details.
She stared down at the floor, trying to remember to breathe.
"Liv, he's probably on ice," he tried to reassure her.
"Yeah," she replied, her expression grim.
"I, uh, I should run to my place. Get a change of clothes," he said. "Do you want to come with me? Or do you want me to go and come back?"
"If you don't mind waiting for a sec?" she asked.
"Sure. Take your time," he nodded.
She returned to her bedroom, changing into black pants and a charcoal gray turtleneck sweater which succeeded in concealing most of the bruises along her throat. She had purposefully chosen subdued colors. Her face was colorful enough, she thought wryly. There was no sense in drawing more attention to herself. She pulled on some boots and returned to find Elliot pacing in the living room.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, moving to grab a black pea coat, idly wondering if she would ever get her leather jacket back.
Elliot pulled the NYPD jacket around his shoulders, retrieving his car keys from her counter. They made short work of the stairs, and Olivia was relieved to find that her legs were finally functioning properly. As they opened the front door they were met by overcast skies and an insistent, chilly drizzle. Elliot jogged slightly ahead of her to unlock the passenger side door, holding it open as she quickly ducked inside, pulling her door shut as he climbed in behind the wheel. They made it across town to his place in twenty minutes, and were lucky enough to find street parking a block away. The relative nearness of their apartments was something that caught Olivia by surprise, so accustomed was she to the commute to his house in Queens.
They walked briskly across the intersection, their strides automatically matching one another's out of a shared rhythm that had long been ingrained within them.
"It's the third one on the right," he informed her quietly.
His feelings of failure had increased exponentially as they neared the building. Although he had already confided in Olivia about the status of his marriage and his living situation, somehow having her witness it first hand brought about a renewed sense of shame.
Perhaps sensitive to the source of his reticence, Olivia remained silent, continuing to follow his lead as they ascended the flights of stairs leading up to his apartment.
He hesitated outside of his door, his key hovering a couple of inches above the lock. He cleared his throat, tilting his head slightly over his shoulder to address her while his gaze remained trained on the ground. "It's uh," he brushed his thumb over his brow, "It's nothing much, Liv," he managed.
She spoke softly, assuaging his apprehension with the gentle timbre of her voice. "El, you don't have to justify anything to me."
He nodded, unlocking the door and standing aside to allow her to pass through.
The apartment was small but comfortable, and suited Elliot. In lieu of a couch, a black upholstered futon sat along the far wall in the living room, undoubtedly useful for creating extra sleeping space when his kids came to stay over. A throw rug comprised of earth tones lay beneath a low-set coffee table, flanked by a couple of chairs with nesting ottomans to conserve space but provide more seating if need be. The living room extended into the kitchen, a counter dividing the two spaces. Standing in contrast to the otherwise white walls, the rust color of the brick of the building had intermittently been left exposed, creating a cozy feel. It was crisp but not austere, modern but homey.
He observed Olivia's silent appraisal, relaxing somewhat as a small smile lit up her features.
"I like it," she said warmly, darting her eyes up to meet his.
"Yeah?" he asked hopefully.
"Yeah," she nodded, turning away from him as she continued to scan her surroundings.
"Make yourself at home," he said, depositing his jacket and keys on the counter. "I'll just be a minute."
He disappeared through a door at the end of the short hallway that she assumed was the entrance to his bedroom. She stood still for a long while, feeling tentative despite his attempts to put her at ease. There was something about being in Elliot's place, and not Elliot and Kathy's place, that made her feel somewhat timid – as if the rules had suddenly changed halfway through the game and she no longer knew how to play. She ran a hand along the smooth wood of the countertop and cast her gaze around the room. Eventually she slowly wandered over to peer at a couple of picture frames resting on an end table in the corner of the living room. One contained a photograph of Maureen and Kathleen taken at the beach from quite a few years ago, hugging each other tightly and cheesing for the camera. Another was a close-up shot of Eli at approximately six months old, looking up at the camera with wide-eyed wonderment. The one that made her pause and pick up the frame, however, was of Elliot with the twins when they were about five years old. He was dangling them upside down, Lizzie's ankle in one hand and Dickie's in the other, a huge grin on his face. She smiled as she took in their expressions. She could practically hear the twins' laughter.
"Snooping through my things?"
Elliot's voice startled her and she turned around to see him finishing slipping his arms through the sleeves of a blue fleece pullover. She chuckled at his choice of words – the same ones she had uttered as he stood in her room for the first time. She arched an eyebrow, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "Well, I am a detective," she echoed, replacing the frame. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and pivoted to face him.
"Sorry for startling you," he said as she approached. "Please don't stop on my account."
She shook her head slightly. "Snooping complete," she replied. "At least for now," she added, a mischievous glint in her eye.
He smiled down at her, the blue of his shirt seeming to intensify the blue of his eyes. Once again she felt the stirrings of butterflies in her stomach, and she wondered whether they would ever re-learn to lie dormant. She looked away, preempting any potential awkwardness should he be able to read her expression.
"You're ready?" she asked quietly, stating the obvious.
"Yeah," he exhaled, his smile fading. The last place he felt like being at the moment was the precinct, and although he had attempted to reassure Olivia about the fate of Nikolai's brother, he had a sinking feeling that the case that they so longed to be able to put behind them was far from over. He prayed that his gut was mistaken.
They rode to the precinct in silence, bracing themselves for whatever they might be faced with when they arrived. Olivia attracted quite a few stares on the way into the building. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead, pretending she was not aware of the attention as she walked determinedly toward the elevator. For his part, Elliot protectively positioned himself slightly in front of her, glaring at the bystanders who dared cast even the briefest of glances in her direction. The elevator doors slid open and she was relieved to find that it was empty. Elliot was determined to keep it that way, and the individuals in the lobby that had been considering taking a ride up with them thought better of it when they caught sight of the glower on his face.
Olivia visibly relaxed as the doors shut, grateful that she had been afforded a few moments of a reprieve before they reached the squad room.
"I'm sorry, Liv," Elliot said guiltily. He looked down at the NYPD emblem on his jacket, wondering why in the hell he had signed up for a gig that had for all intents and purposes turned him into a glorified batterer.
"It's okay, El. I was expecting this," she said resignedly. "If I had been thinking more clearly earlier, I probably would have spent some time trying to cover some of it up with makeup."
They emerged from the elevator and were taken aback by the bustle they found when they entered the squad room. It appeared as though Cragen had enlisted the help of every hand that he had at his disposal. There were at least twice the usual amount of officers on hand, all of whom were busy with one task or another. It appeared as though most of the visible interview rooms were occupied, and behind almost every desk on the floor they saw detectives speaking with women from the club who had undoubtedly been held against their will. Fin and Munch were nowhere to be seen, most likely off interviewing a suspect or a victim. All of the faces in the room were drawn, having worked around the clock to process the overflow.
Olivia's eyes widened as she took in the display boards set up along the far side of the room. "El," she said under her breath, nudging him with her elbow.
He followed her gaze. Photographs of upwards of fifty women were tacked onto the board to the left, while the board on the right contained at least double that amount of photos of men that had been picked up when they raided the club.
They headed toward their desks, shrugging out of their jackets and draping them over their chairs. Cragen appeared in the doorway of his office, finishing a conversation with one of the officers and beckoning for Elliot and Olivia to approach. They wound their way over through the maze of people and obstacles, following him into his office and shutting the door.
Cragen acknowledged them with a nod, motioning for them to be seated as he perched on the edge of his desk. "Thank you for coming in."
"No problem, Cap," Elliot responded.
"We would have come in sooner if we'd known," Olivia added, gesturing to the activity behind her.
Cragen shook his head. "You're looking at the tail end of it. We have a lot of men in custody. We couldn't hold them all, but everyone has been printed and interviewed so we'll continue to keep them under a microscope. Most of the women have already been placed in emergency shelters, the teens in foster and residential placements. We're just finishing up the interviews now."
"Teens?" Olivia asked, dread in the pit of her stomach. She knew that this had been a possibility, but had tried to put it out of her mind. It had been enough to try to focus on Lara.
Cragen nodded somberly. "Thirteen of the girls we picked up last night were underage."
Elliot clenched his jaw.
"We're doing our best to locate extended family members to try to identify prospective kinship resources, but given the nature of this case we want to make sure ACS has time to evaluate the safety of these homes."
Olivia nodded.
"Any updates on Petrov?" Elliot asked, already knowing the answer.
"No," Cragen responded, his expression tense. He turned to the side, picking up a stack of two thick binders and handing them to Elliot. "Here are copies of all of the photos we've taken of the men we've accounted for. They're on the board as well, but I wanted you to be able to look through these without distractions. We should have an open interview room by now."
"Okay," Elliot responded. "We'll keep you posted."
Elliot and Olivia stood and moved toward the door.
"Also," Cragen's voice stopped them and they turned to face him. "Before you leave I want each of you to sit down and debrief with Huang."
Olivia tensed.
"Cap-" Elliot started to protest.
"It's not optional," Cragen interrupted, lifting his palm and looking between his detectives. "Understood?"
Olivia nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. Elliot breathed a sigh through his nose, a scowl firmly planted on his face although he, too, nodded his assent.
They eventually found an empty room, the din from the frenzied activity in the squad room fading into the background as they made their way inside and shut the door. Olivia lowered herself into a chair, resting her elbows on the table as she nervously laced and unlaced the fingers of her clasped hands. Elliot placed the binders on the table and took a seat beside her to make it easier for them to be able to scan the photos at the same time. They sat in silence for a few moments, neither of them making a move to start.
"Do you think Cragen knows?" Olivia asked shakily.
Elliot shifted in his seat, resting his forearms on the table as he leaned forward. He exhaled heavily. "I don't know." He thought back to the night before, attempting to remember any part of Cragen's reaction to his statement that might have indicated skepticism. "I don't think so. It's probably just procedure given a case like this." He sounded confident, but the reality was that he had been so worried about Olivia that he might have been too distracted to notice.
Olivia took several shallow breaths and when she spoke her voice was barely audible. "Fin knows."
Elliot immediately turned his head to study her.
Olivia continued to look at her hands. "I didn't say anything," she clarified, "He just knew."
Elliot nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of his lower lip.
"I…I'm pretty sure he didn't say anything," she added.
I've got your back.
It wouldn't be the first time that Fin had kept silent on her behalf. They had never spoken about Sealview – not at the time, and not afterward, and despite the fact that they hadn't coordinated statements, she knew that he hadn't said anything about the specifics for the simple reason that Huang and Cragen had never called her on it.
"So we keep things vague," Elliot replied.
Vague. Huang. No problem. Olivia would probably have laughed had it not been for the overwhelming anxiety that was making it difficult for her to breathe.
"Right."
Right.
She felt ill and reached for the first binder out of the need to focus on anything else.
Elliot followed her lead.
They pored over pages and pages of faces of men that, as far as they were concerned, were all guilty, despicable sons of bitches. Some they recognized – the men that had scaled the stage, the rapists in Nikolai's glass cages – but most they did not, merely filing them away as they began to attribute their faces to the dozens of shadowy figures that had been tucked away in various corners of the club. When they opened the second binder, they found the first page to contain photos of the bodies in the morgue: Nikolai, the bodyguard, Olivia's attackers. Olivia's hand trembled as she reached to turn the page, and Elliot took over, silently flipping page after page until they arrived at the end.
A minute went by as they tried to push their emotions aside to try to sort through the blur of jumbled images in their minds. Someone was missing… Someone obvious… Someone…
Recognition dawned upon them simultaneously.
Olivia's wide eyes flew to his. "How did he get out of that house?" she asked, alarm mixing with disbelief. "It's not possible."
"I don't know," Elliot shook his head. "Maybe he's here and we missed him," he said, grasping at straws.
"Elliot," she sighed in frustration.
"I know. I'm sorry," he placated, berating himself for having grossly underestimated the man who now posed a greater threat than either of them could ever have anticipated. "We need to tell Cragen."
They pushed themselves back from the table and quickly returned to Cragen's office. They remained standing, both too tense to sit down.
Elliot cleared his throat. "We know who is missing, and while we can't guarantee that it's Petrov," he exchanged a knowing glance with Olivia, "we'd be hard pressed to come up with a more likely suspect."
As Elliot spoke, the pieces slowly began to come together. Their chaperone – the man that both of them had discounted as a mindless thug – was none other than Nikolai's second in command. He served as a key line of defense for Nikolai, strategically placed to be the first to meet Nikolai's chosen pawns and to report back to him should anything seem out of place.
Who I am is not important.
He had been there every step of the way. It all made sense: The conversations with Nikolai out of earshot, the confident indifference with which he had regarded Elliot's attempts at intimidation, the sly amusement in his expression – as though he was part of an inside joke and laughing at their ignorance. It was confidence that stemmed from power.
"He knows us, Cap," Elliot finished. He looked over at Olivia whose arms were now crossed protectively over her chest. Though he did not voice it, he knew that she was well aware of the special interest Petrov had taken in her…the way in which his hands had lingered over her curves. "He knows us as Carl and Tara, but he's smart and he'll figure it out…if he hasn't already."
"He was at the house," Olivia added. "We don't know how he managed to escape, but he was there."
Cragen nodded. "I want you two to sit down with a sketch artist. We'll keep looking for some sort of photo identification, but for now let's work with what we have."
Elliot and Olivia turned around at the same time, only to find Huang standing in the doorway.
Fuck.
"Elliot, Olivia," Huang acknowledged them.
They nodded in response, trepidation etched in their features.
The corners of Huang's mouth curled up in a slight smile.
Elliot sighed – no sense in delaying the inevitable. He looked at Olivia and saw the fear in her eyes that she was trying desperately to hide. He wanted to give her some time to prepare herself.
"Liv, why don't you get started with the sketch artist? I'll go first," he said with an incline of his head toward Huang. He looked over at him for verification and Huang nodded.
"Okay," she replied, moving toward the door.
Huang stepped aside, his eyes scanning her injuries as she quickly slipped by.
Elliot looked between Huang and Cragen. "Let's get this over with," he muttered sullenly.
They situated themselves in the interview room that Elliot and Olivia had vacated a few moments prior. Elliot plopped himself in a chair, slouching as he drummed his fingers on the table, his left forearm casually resting on his thigh. Every aspect of his body language was a careful study in indifference, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his unease. Huang seated himself at the head of the table, diagonally to Elliot as opposed to directly across from him in the hopes that this would help to lessen Elliot's perception of their encounter as a standoff. He slid the case file he had with him to the side, leaning back in his chair and loosely clasping his hands in his lap.
"Elliot, I appreciate your meeting with me," Huang began, "Though I know that it's not by choice."
Elliot nodded. "So what am I supposed to talk about?" he asked.
"Why don't we start with how you're feeling today?"
"Fine," Elliot responded both defensively and dismissively before he thought better of it, remembering the Kramer case and not wanting to run the risk of getting pulled off duty. "Tired," he added, more truthfully.
Huang nodded. "And Olivia?"
Elliot was taken aback by the shift of focus, having prepared himself for being the center of Huang's line of questioning. "She's…" he trailed off, drawing a hand along his jaw. "Well, you've seen her. She's been better…but she's strong."
"Yes," Huang agreed. "Tell me more about the injuries," he requested after a pause.
Elliot sighed. He knew Huang was referring to the ones visible on her face, but his mind immediately flew to the one she had revealed to him on her breast and to the other bruises covering her frame, hidden beneath her choice of clothing. "The uh, the cut was Nikolai. The others…I honestly can't tell you which are mine and which are his," he finished guiltily.
"Tell me about Nikolai."
Elliot's expression darkened. "Let's just say the profile was accurate," he gritted.
Huang remained silent, indicating that he expected Elliot to continue.
"I don't know what you want me to say," Elliot said with frustration. "He was one sick, twisted, son of a bitch. Everything was just one big, fucking game to him. He wanted to break Olivia like he broke that little girl, and then the bastard took the easy way out," he seethed.
"I went over your statements," Huang said. "It couldn't have been easy to have had to ally yourself with him."
Elliot let out a humorless laugh. "No, it wasn't."
"What was the hardest part for you?"
"God, I don't know," Elliot shrugged, trying to avoid the question.
"If you had to pinpoint something," Huang prodded gently.
Elliot sighed again. He hated this. "I can't…I can't sit here and do this," he said, rubbing his hands over his face. He felt like an animal trapped in a cage. His frustration was mounting by the second and he either wanted to punch something or leave the room.
Huang smiled sympathetically. "No one said that you had to sit," he offered.
Elliot turned his head slightly to look at him out of the corner of his eye, Huang's statement once again unexpected. After a brief hesitation he pushed his chair back and stood, opting to wander over to look out of the window.
Huang said nothing, patiently waiting for Elliot to respond to his original question.
"Hurting Liv," came Elliot's mumbled reply.
Huang let the answer hang in the air for a long while before speaking, cognizant of the fact that the more truthful Elliot's answers became, the more likely he was to shut down if he felt interrogated. "In what way?" Huang coaxed.
Elliot's hands balled into fists, but he answered the question. "Every way."
"But you were Carl and Olivia was Tara," Huang responded by means of explanation. "You had to follow the profile."
Elliot let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah."
"But it didn't feel that way," Huang intuited.
There was another long pause. "No," Elliot grated. He had never been able to make the distinction between their real identities and their undercover profiles. The emotions were running too high, and the boundary between fiction and reality might as well have been nonexistent. It had never been Tara begging him to stop; it had always been Olivia.
"What about for Olivia?" Huang asked softly.
Elliot was silent for such a long time that most people would have repeated the question or moved on. Huang wasn't most people. He waited, observing Elliot's body language – his labored breathing, the tight grip of his hands around the protective bars of the window. He sat with the silence, allowing the only interruptions to be the occasional distant honks of the cars below and the muted sounds of the squad room beyond the door.
Eventually Elliot responded, his throat tight with emotion. "I don't know."
"Have the two of you spoken about any of this?"
Yes. No. Sort of. Did his meltdown the night before constitute a conversation?
"A little. I, uh…I apologized," he said gruffly.
"And what was her response?"
Elliot breathed a sad laugh. "You know Liv," he shook his head. "She forgave me. Said she was okay… that she didn't blame me," he replied.
"And you feel that she was not being truthful," Huang responded, his inflection somewhere between a statement and a question.
Elliot closed his eyes, remembering the fear with which she had regarded him in the immediate aftermath of her nightmare – the expression nearly identical to the way in which she had looked at him at times when they had been trapped in that room.
"No."
Huang's brow furrowed slightly. "Is there a reason in particular that is making you feel this way?"
"No," Elliot responded a bit too quickly. He couldn't divulge anything without drawing attention to the fact that he'd remained with Olivia in her apartment last night. "I just…I just know," he added.
Huang decided not to press the issue at present. "What about you, Elliot? Have you forgiven yourself?"
He clenched his jaw. "Never," he rasped.
"Is there something else, Elliot? Something that you're not telling me?" he asked.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Elliot spun to face him, immediately defensive.
"Did something happen in that room?" Huang replied evenly.
"I thought you said you'd read our statements," Elliot countered, his eyes narrowed into slits.
"I have," he said calmly.
"So you mean besides having to intimidate, beat, and simulate raping my partner?" he retorted acerbically, the lie easily flowing off of his tongue. "Oh, and let's not forget the verbal abuse," he added with a shrug.
Huang remained silent, steadily holding Elliot's gaze. Eventually he spoke, choosing his words carefully. "You both went through something very traumatic that undoubtedly pushed both of you to your limits…perhaps beyond them."
Elliot swallowed.
"Talk to her, Elliot. This isn't something that will go away on its own."
Elliot nodded, trying to cling to his anger but succumbing instead to his grief. He turned back to face the window, his eyes burning.
"Are we done here?" Elliot asked, his voice cracking.
"For now," Huang said gently.
Elliot took a moment to collect himself, turning around to nod at Huang as he started to make his way toward the door.
"Elliot," Huang called as his hand reached the knob. "Holding onto your self-blame won't help either of you to heal."
Elliot said nothing, opening the door and heading off in search of Olivia. He found her a few minutes later, the sketch of Sergei Petrov well underway.
She looked up as he approached, internally crumbling as she saw the vulnerability in his expression. She stood and met him halfway, lowering her voice to a concerned whisper. "You okay?" she asked, the foot of space in between them a painfully wide chasm.
"Yeah," he attempted a smile to set her mind at ease. "How's this going?"
"Almost done," she replied. "El-"
"I'm fine," he murmured looking over her shoulder. He raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck, meeting her gaze once more. "You're up," he said apologetically.
She nodded, drawing her lower lip into her mouth before exhaling resolutely. "Okay. I guess you can take over," she gestured behind her.
He nodded, moving toward her vacant chair as she slowly stepped around him. As she passed she felt the slight brush of his fingers against her palm. The contact had been so brief that had she not been so sensitized to his touch she might not even have registered it. It was clear that no one else had noticed the exchange. After she had moved several paces further, she hazarded a glance over her shoulder and found him looking back at her, concern in his eyes. She turned back around, folding her arms over her chest as she walked the rest of the way to Huang.
"You ready for me?" she asked, poking her head in the door.
"Of course," he smiled warmly, motioning for her to take a seat at the table.
She closed the door behind her, sitting to his right and nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, gesturing to her injuries.
"It honestly looks worse than it feels," she replied self-consciously, bringing her hands up to touch her cheeks. "I'm a little sore but no worse for wear."
"And otherwise?"
"I'm hanging in there," she said softly, dropping her gaze. "I keep thinking about Lara…wishing that I could go back and change something."
He nodded. "That's natural," he replied sympathetically.
"He, uh," she blew out a puff of air as she attempted to keep herself together, "He saw me heading for her…and I just keep replaying it in my head…if I had been faster..." She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.
"You did everything you could."
She smiled sadly. "I know. I just…she's already suffered so much." She looked down at her hands, remembering the blood that coated her palms. "I've seen a lot of things over the years," she said quietly, "but this… what he put her through…" she trailed off.
"It's unthinkable," he replied.
She fell silent, her expression darkening. When she lifted her head to meet his gaze, fire mixed with the unshed tears in her eyes. "He was laughing," she said with contempt. "I can't get the sound out of my head."
"Tell me more about Nikolai," he requested.
"He was, um," she searched for the right word, "He was very volatile. It was hard to predict when he was going to snap. It got worse as the night went on."
Huang nodded. "Is that how you got this?" he asked, gesturing to the cut on her cheek.
Olivia dropped her gaze, running her hands up and down her upper arms. "Yeah."
Huang sat quietly for a few moments, knowing the direction in which he was trying to guide her but wanting to do so cautiously. "What made him snap that time?"
Olivia's face flushed and she chewed on her lower lip, her eyes still trained on the table. Her heart had started to pound in her chest, her breathing shallow. She didn't want to talk about this.
Huang noticed the change in her breathing. "Olivia?" he prompted softly.
She exhaled shakily. "He made some comment to Elliot about having friends of his that could help to put me in my place." She paused, her hands tightening their grip around her upper arms. "Elliot said that he didn't like to share."
"Nikolai didn't like that," Huang followed.
"No," she said quietly.
"Then what happened?" he asked gently.
She clenched her jaw, attempting to regulate her breathing. "He backhanded me across the face with his gun," she edited.
It wasn't a lie. Not technically.
Huang considered her response, reaching over to the file on the table and pulling out an eight by ten photograph. He hesitated for a moment before slowly sliding it in front of her. "Olivia, is this Nikolai's gun?"
She stared down at the image of the weapon before her. "Yes," she murmured. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of the cold metal as Nikolai trailed it across her skin. "Why are you showing me this?" she asked, her voice cracking.
He spoke softly, regarding her with a mixture of compassion and concern, though she did not open her eyes. "Olivia, traces of fluids were found on the barrel."
She shut her eyes more tightly, but was unable to prevent the tears from streaming down her cheeks.
"Vaginal and seminal fluids," he finished quietly.
Olivia was trembling, her breathing rapid and shallow.
It's amazing, really, how one tiny piece of lead can cause so much damage.
Her heart was racing and she felt as though she could not take in enough air.
Huang took in her appearance and moved his chair so that he was sitting directly beside her, pulling one of her shaking hands in between his own. "Olivia, you're having an anxiety attack," he explained, speaking in a soothing tone of voice. "Try to focus on the sound of my voice…the feel of your hand in mine…"
Elliot finished working with the sketch artist and made his way over toward the interview room. He told himself that he was just going to take a quick peek through the window to make sure that she was okay. As he drew closer, he caught sight of Huang's position through the glass. He quickened his pace. Huang was too close to her. Something was wrong.
He burst through the door. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded accusingly, glaring at Huang.
"Elliot," Huang replied sharply, halting Elliot's tirade. "Shut the door," he instructed, his tone once again becoming gentle as he turned back around to face Olivia.
Elliot did as he was told, coming to sit across the table from them.
"That's it," Huang told her. "Keep counting your breaths…in…out…"
Elliot looked down at the photograph on the table, his brow furrowing in alarm.
"Okay, can you open your eyes?" Huang encouraged.
Olivia took in another shaky breath, her eyes fluttering open to focus on Elliot.
He offered her a small smile, his eyes brimming with concern.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, not sure whether she was apologizing for the panic attack itself or to Elliot now that their secret had been exposed.
Elliot shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize for," he emphasized.
She dropped her gaze. "Thank you," she murmured, addressing Huang with a tilt of her head and extricating her hand from his grasp.
He nodded, pivoting in his seat so that he was no longer facing her directly.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and her forehead in her palms, shielding her face from view. "Did they run the DNA?" she asked, her voice small.
Elliot ran a hand along his jaw, the statement confirming his suspicions. He looked uneasily at Huang.
"No," Huang replied catching Elliot's eye. "Unless you feel that Nikolai came into contact with somebody else last night, I don't think that will be necessary."
"No," Olivia responded quietly. "No one else."
She continued to sit with her head in her hands, and Elliot felt as though he was intruding – preventing her from being able to say what was on her mind. "I, uh…I shouldn't have barged in," Elliot stammered. "I'll let you two talk." He pushed his chair back from the table.
She lifted her head. "El, no. You don't have to go," she said earnestly.
"Liv, you should be able to speak freely," he replied guiltily, unable to look her in the eye.
Huang observed the exchange, but made no move to intervene.
"And you think I can't do that with you here?" she asked.
"No," he shook his head slightly. "I don't." He stood, swiftly moving toward the door.
"El-" she protested, but he was already out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. She sighed in frustration, raking her fingers through her hair.
Huang sat quietly beside her, giving her time.
Eventually she spoke, wearily leaning back in her chair. "He blames himself," she said.
"But you don't blame him."
She immediately snapped her head around to face him, taken aback by the hint of a question in his tone. "No," she said emphatically. "Of course not." She took a deep breath and exhaled, remembering the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place. "As soon as we realized that we were locked in from the outside…" she shook her head. "We both knew that there was only one way that we were getting out," she finished quietly.
Huang nodded. "And your statements?"
She sighed again. "Elliot said what I asked him to," she admitted. "It was my decision."
"Why?" he asked gently.
She felt the lump re-forming in her throat, but she forced herself to ignore it. "I was afraid that…" she hesitated, dropping her gaze.
He waited for her.
"I was afraid that you would split us up," she continued, not bothering to conceal the fact that she knew full well that their fate rested with him and not Cragen.
"Why do you think that frightens you so much?"
She chewed on the inside of her cheeks, once again painfully aware of the hollow feeling that threatened to consume her. She cycled through the responses that she could give him, some of which would guarantee the end of their partnership before she could even finish her sentence. She exhaled resignedly, assuming it was too late to salvage things anyway at this point.
"It's all that I have," she murmured.
She'd let Huang do with that what he would. God knows he was more than adept at reading between the lines.
The fact that Huang remained silent leant itself to the impression that the final nail had already been hammered into the coffin. She needed to walk away – to leave the room before he could voice the words.
She cleared her throat. "Listen," she said, her voice wavering. "I-I know that we're not done here, but…I don't think I can take anymore today." She tentatively darted her eyes up to meet his.
He was regarding her with kindness and understanding. "Okay," he responded. "Olivia, I want you to take some time off," he continued. "I'm not saying that you aren't capable of doing your job," he clarified when she furrowed her brow. "I'm telling you that you need to take some time to heal…to rest."
She nodded, looking down at her hands.
"And Olivia," he said softly, waiting for her to look up once more. "I'm not going to be making any other recommendations…not right now."
It had taken her exactly two minutes to find him. When he wasn't pummeling the crap out of his locker or the bag in the gym, she'd headed straight for the roof. It was the only place that was guaranteed to afford him some solitude. The drizzle had stopped but the wind was blustery and Olivia wished that she'd thought to grab her jacket. Elliot was standing with his hands in the pockets of his fleece and his feet planted a shoulder width apart, seemingly impervious to the cold. She approached him quietly, opting to stand a few paces behind him until he was ready to acknowledge her.
"Hey," he said hoarsely, turning his head slightly over his shoulder. "You're done?"
"For now," she responded taking a couple of steps toward him. "He wants me to take some time."
He nodded. "He say anything?" he asked.
Is he splitting us up?
She swallowed. "Not yet."
He finally turned around to face her, his eyes reddened, and not from the wind.
"You didn't have to leave, El," she repeated.
She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, gusts of wind intermittently tossing stray tendrils of hair over her eyes. "Stubborn," he thought affectionately.
"Are you okay?" he asked, changing the subject.
"I'm fine."
Stubborn.
He took a step toward her. "Liv-"
"I am. I just… He caught me off guard."
"Yeah." Elliot thought back to his own conversation with him. Huang had already known, but had said nothing. Elliot understood now that Huang's words had been offered with this tacit knowledge. As much as he hated to admit it, he respected Huang for having waited to meet with Olivia before confronting them with the truth. It was only fair. It had happened to her. A cloud passed over his features as the recollection claimed him once more.
"El?" she called softly.
His eyes refocused.
"Where did you go?" she whispered. She shivered as another gust of wind whipped around her.
"Sorry," he replied, bringing his hands up to run along her arms.
Shit. He was doing it again – touching her. The gesture had been automatic.
"It's freezing up here, Liv. Let's go back."
She nodded and his hands fell away. He shoved them back in his pockets, walking behind her as they crossed the roof and headed down the stairs.
"You ready to leave?" he asked as they reached the squad room.
"Yeah," she replied. "I'm just going to call the hospital to check on Lara."
"I'll, uh… I'll go check in with Cragen," Elliot responded somewhat uneasily.
She looked nervously between him and Cragen's office. "Okay," she breathed.
Elliot slowly approached the office, his heart in his throat as he found Huang seated to the right of Cragen's desk. He forced himself to look Cragen in the eye. "Sorry to interrupt, Cap," he began, his voice low, "I wanted to see if you needed anything else today."
Cragen took in Elliot's weary expression, the remorse and anxiety in his eyes. Now was not the time to reprimand him for giving a false statement. He shook his head slightly. "We're good here," he said evenly, his eyes stern but accepting.
Elliot nodded, turning away and returning to Olivia.
"Thank you, I appreciate the update," she said, hanging up the phone. She rested her elbows on her desk and looked up at him despondently. "No change."
He lowered himself into his chair. "We have to give her time," he replied softly, holding her gaze.
"Yeah," she nodded, running a hand through her hair. "I…I think I could use some air," she said. "I'll walk home."
Elliot looked at her as though she'd completely lost her mind. "No," he said unequivocally.
"El-"
"If you think I'm letting you roam the streets while there's some psycho on the loose-"
Her eyes narrowed. "I can handle myself. We don't even know that he's planning anything."
"That's bullshit."
"It's broad daylight," she countered.
He sighed, looking down at his desk and falling uncharacteristically silent. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with fatigue. "Liv, I know that you think I'm being unreasonable." He breathed a defeated laugh through his nose. "I probably am. I just…this isn't about you being able to take care of yourself." He ran a hand along his jaw. He hesitated, not knowing what to say that wouldn't come across as either pathetic or patronizing. He needed this.
She said nothing, standing and slipping her arms through the sleeves of her jacket.
He closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping as he waited for her to walk away.
"Walk me home, Stabler?" she asked quietly.
He looked up to see her standing by the side of his desk, her lips quirking into a slight smile.
He furrowed his brow in confusion.
"I said I needed some air. You're not getting the easy way out," she teased.
He chuckled. "You implying that I'm lazy, Benson?"
"Never," she grinned, spinning on her heel and walking away.
He stood, grabbing his jacket and following behind her. He caught up to her at the elevator and she cast him a sideways glance, her eyes twinkling up at him. The doors slid open and they stepped inside, leaning their backs against opposite walls as Elliot reached over to press the button. He watched her from across the way, a hint of a smile on his lips though his eyes fell serious once more. "Thank you," he said.
Olivia nodded, holding his gaze. "We don't actually have to walk, El," she said softly. "You can drive me."
"You feeling lazy, Benson?" his inflection continued their banter, though his tone was gentle.
"I don't want to make you go out of your way."
"I wouldn't mind some air, myself," he replied as the doors slid open.
"You're sure?" she asked, pushing off of the wall.
"I'm sure," he replied, placing a hand on the small of her back as they moved through the lobby. "We gonna do this properly?" he asked as they emerged from the building.
She looked at him quizzically, smiling when she caught sight of his crooked elbow. "Okay," she said, slipping her arm through his.
They walked in silence, each of them taking comfort in the presence of the other. It didn't change anything; it didn't erase the past, but it somehow made the wounds more bearable knowing that they were with the one person that truly understood.
The late afternoon sky was already darkening – an indication that winter was well on its way. Olivia tried to memorize the feel of him beside her, painfully aware of her inability to lie to herself any longer about the extent of her feelings for him. It wasn't that she hadn't always known, but prior to the night before she had almost been able to convince herself that she had successfully learned to suppress them. She had, of course, noticed the change in the way Elliot was treating her – gently, more attentively – but she knew the immensity of his guilt and figured that he was doing everything in his power to atone for his actions. She would be foolish to attribute the change to anything else; it would only lead to heartbreak.
They reached her building and she turned to him at the foot of her steps. She would not allow him to come upstairs because she knew that she would not have the strength to make him leave. As much as she was tempted to lean on him, to accept his support as long as it was offered to her, she knew that, ultimately, it would only make it harder to revert back to the way things were.
"Thanks," she said, letting go of his arm and rocking back on her heels.
"You're welcome," he replied, though she had really done him the favor, and not the other way around.
"You want me to call you a cab?" she asked.
"Nah," he shook his head. "I'll walk." He fished into his pocket for his keys, working hers off the ring. "Here," he said, extending it to her with an upturned palm. He felt a pang of sadness at the gesture. It was silly, he told himself. She had yet to retrieve hers from CSU, and she obviously needed it back.
"Oh…right," she murmured, staring at the piece of metal. "I keep forgetting." She reached over to take it from him, her breath hitching as his fingers closed around hers, holding her still. She closed her eyes.
"Liv, you call me," he quietly instructed. "You call me anytime – day or night – and I'll be here."
She nodded, refocusing on their hands because she could not bring herself to meet his gaze.
He released her after a pause and she took the key from him, turning away from him to walk up her steps. He watched as she disappeared behind the front door, the sound as it shut containing an air of finality that made it all the more difficult for him to walk away.
Olivia slowly trudged up the stairs, the sense of loss immediate and overwhelming. She told herself that this was the way it needed to be – for her to make the transition from dependence to independence with one swift action, as if ripping off a band-aid. She would be fine. It hurt like hell, but she would be fine.
She rounded the last corner, making her way up the final flight of stairs and feeling incredibly drained. She would sleep, she decided. She would put on a worn pair of sweatpants, pull the covers up under her chin and try to shut out the rest.
She reached the landing and crossed the hall to her door.
Her heart stopped.
There, in the center of the wood, a switchblade had been stabbed through a piece of paper containing a single word written in blood:
Soon.