*

Some demons are better left in their cages. Elliot looks like shit.

"The hell, Elliot?" she demands, except she's big and soft and pregnant and it isn't as no-nonsense as she would've liked. Apparently Elliot is beyond noticing, however, because he is leaning with both hands on the doorposts with his head ducked down, and his breathing is harder than usual. He's gasping for air like he's asthmatic or hyperventilating, and her brow wrinkles with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Can I…?" he asks, nodding his head toward her living room.

She opens the door wider. "Come in."

He does, but it isn't quite his walk or his posture or his breathing and her stomach tightens. Something's off.

"Do you want some—"

"Water," he pants wearily. "A whole hell of a lot of water."

She shuffles as quickly as possible to fulfill his request. When she emerges moments later from the kitchen, his eyes are closed, his head flung back across the sofa. If it wasn't for the twitching of his jaw, she'd think he was asleep.

"El?"

Blue eyes snap open, and she flinches. Elliot's face has always been furrows and angles, but now…

He looks gaunt.

Tired.

Old.

He takes the glass from her with a muttered 'thank you' and chugs its contents with a vigor belying his tired appearance. The bullet took more than his flesh, and she notes the shadows underneath his eyes, the deepened creases above his nose and on his forehead. He hasn't looked this bad since—

"Kathy left," Elliot states, and it would sound matter-of-fact to anyone else, but she knows him better than she knows anything, and he sets the glass down on the coffee table, a little too hard for nonchalance. Everything about him is a little too hard.

"What happened?" she asks quietly.

"She's gone," he says, and he's not looking at anything except the air three feet in front of him. "It was a long time coming. We both knew it. I knew it. She knew it." He picks up his glass and turns it over in his hands, glaring at its facets. "She knew it," he mutters. "And I… well, I'm ihere/i now, so that tells you a shitload about me, right?"

She wishes it did.

She's going to ask, and it's going to get ugly, but it's like she's living on some weird, fucked-up system of cues anyways now, so she bites the bullet, so to speak, and asks. "Was it because of us?"

To her surprise, he simply shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. Yes."

Olivia stares. "Elliot—"

"You know what really, just, god, ikills/i me," he sneers. "I prayed. After Kathy left the first time, I iprayed/i for a second chance for my family. All the time. Did you ever know that?" She shakes her head slowly, and he bites out a short, sharp laugh. "Sure you didn't know. Why would you know? You don't pray, why should you give a damn about what anyone else does? Well I prayed, Olivia. I prayed for forgiveness for being a shit husband and a shit father and a shit handyman around the house and whatever the hell else I did wrong. And I prayed for another chance, and I swore I'd do it right if I did it over. And then… well, we got Eli. We got Eli and I got a second chance to do it right. I had my marriage back.

"So I took it, except—except I didn't fucking want it anymore." He meets her gaze, and his eyes are glistening and glazed and also, she notes, a little dilated. "I didn't want my iwife/i. I used to wake up in the middle of the night and just… god, I couldn't get enough of her."

"Elliot—"

"And then something happens. And one night I'm laying in bed and I realize that I just want it to be morning. I want to wake up and go to work and see you and get the hell away from my house. Do you know what that feels like," the glass is turned over and over and over in his hands, the long, strong fingers brushing roughly across the smooth surface. "Do you know what it feels like to be somebody, to have something, and then to just not be that anymore? It's like a fucking brain transplant. Everything looks different. Like a switch was flipped. Or flicked. I don't know, whatever, I just want… I just iwant/i—" his voice breaks off, and his eyebrows are so close they're almost touching above his nose. His mouth is set in a cruel line. "I'm tired," he sighs after a moment. "I'm so goddamn tired."

She processes everything for several seconds, and his slowing, still-ragged breathing is her soundtrack.

"Where's Eli?" she whispers after a moment.

She jumps as a dry sob bursts from Elliot's mouth, and then his breathing picks up again and he is shuddering. "I… I don't want…" he swallows, his throat convulsing. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Okay," she nods slowly. She moves to the couch beside him, leans into his side so their arms are brushing against one another. "Okay."

"Fuck," he gasps as she grasps his forearm. He looks at her fingers like he's never seen them before.

Moments pass, and his breathing grows slower, calmer; the glass has finally stilled in his hands. He turns to her and blinks, and it's like he's just realized she was there. "God, Liv, I'm sorry," he blurts. "It's late—"

"It's fine," she interrupts, staring at his face. "How's the chest?"

"Oh, it's…" he pauses, taking inventory. "It's fine. Can't walk anywhere without feeling like my lungs are caving in, but..."

"You'll get past it," she finishes.

He nods. "Yeah, I guess I will. How about—" he swallows. "How is she?" he asks, nodding his head toward her belly.

For the first time in days, her lips twitch upward and it doesn't feel like her skin is cracking with the effort. "She's good. Getting bigger every day and not letting me forget it."

Something close to a smile touches his lips. "I can tell."

"She's turned," she continues. "Her head is down… well, she's getting ready. Seven more weeks."

He stares at her torso as the silence settles around them for what seems like hours, but is actually – to Olivia's estimation – a minute and a half. "It's been awhile."

Elliot nods, slowly. "Yeah."

"Where have you been?"

She sees his eyes tighten, his fingers flex around the glass. "Had some things to take care of," he answers, staring straight ahead.

Ah.

"Where are you staying?" she asks softly.

He nods. "At home. Only for a—" he swallows. "I'm looking for a place. Again."

"Is Kathy…?"

"She's there. She talked about maybe trying to live together, but I…" he swallows again. "We told the kids tonight."

Her hand lifts of its own volition to stroke the back of his neck. He shudders again, slightly. "How did—"

"Look," he says quickly. "I know it's been too long. I should've called."

"You should've called," she agrees. "But you had reasons not to."

His chest heaves a sigh. "I did."

Her fingers continue to play over the skin beneath his hairline as she studies his profile. He looks tired, she thinks again. Sick tired. But he's here, and the air she inhales tinges her body with relief.

"Do you need to stay here tonight?"

He nods again. The glass makes one more revolution. "If that's okay."

"That's okay."

*

They are in her bed, and she can tell he is still awake by the occasional hitch of his breathing. She is facing away from him, since sleeping on her back has been out of the question for weeks and turning to him isn't an option yet.

Unconsciously, her hand creeps to her belly for what has become a nighttime ritual. She prods lightly around her bump, imagining her daughter's tiny, wiry frame as it fits inside her womb.

I can't wait to meet you, she says silently. But I'm scared shitless for when you get here.

As if to answer her, there is slight movement. Tiny, almost imperceptible. But she feels it.

That isn't all she feels.

Kathy left, he'd said quietly. Kathy left.

Kathy left.

Elliot is free, she realizes. Elliot is free.

Something in her always thought this was a possibility, that, in the end, Elliot being Elliot would choose one or the other. Kathy. Or her.

Stupidly enough, she didn't ever think Kathy would choose for both of them. And now…

She isn't quite sure how to feel. Ecstatic seems inappropriate, especially given the fact that she is Olivia and he is Elliot, and if life has taught them anything it's that things never get easier. And he certainly has made her no promises.

She has a sudden impulse to turn over, to hold his head in her hands and make him swear to her that he'll be here for everything, for all of it, because he knows what he's doing and he knows her and together they can accomplish a shitload of good for this kid. And maybe for each other.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.

He is quiet, and she's wondering if he's ignoring her on purpose of if she spoke too softly when he finally answers. "My kids."

"Which one?"

"All of them," he says flatly.

His tone is not conducive to pillow talk, so she decides to let this one go before they open a fresh can of worms in the morning. He is here now, and maybe he is freer than before but he's still Elliot, he still has a family attached to him and that's what is Right. She doesn't think the universe would work any other way.

One hand clutches her pillow and the other cups her stomach as sleep takes her.

She wakes up in the middle of the night to find that she has turned over so that their faces are nearly touching, and she watches him drowsily for a moment before slipping back under with a frown.

***