A/N: I'M DONE WITH FINALS. I am so happy right now. One more year and I'll have my Bachelor's. Thank God. Anyway, I'm SO sorry for the lack of updating. Stress mixed with finals mixed with writer's block is not fun at all. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.

Elliot had forgotten how much it sucks to quit smoking.

He has a piece of nicotine gum in his mouth, the flavor of which dissipated long ago. He threw away his last pack of cigarettes two days ago, after his promise to Olivia, but the urge to go out and buy more has been tormenting him ever since.

It's late afternoon now, he's sitting on the couch with the TV on in front of him, trying to get his mind off of going out to the nearest gas station as Olivia naps in the other room. They'd been watching a movie- well, more like making out on the couch while a movie played in the background- when she dropped her head against his chest and let out a loud yawn. After she nearly fell asleep on his shoulder, he shook her awake and guided her into the bedroom.

And now he's alone, halfway between falling asleep himself and suffering through nicotine withdrawals. His head hurts, he's nauseous and his knee also hurts but he took his pain meds only a couple short hours ago and he has a couple more hours to go before he can take more.

Sighing, Elliot grabs his crutches from their place leaning against the wall next to him and stands, intent on heading towards the bedroom. He's cold- not physically cold, but the kind of cold that clutches his insides, the kind that only laying next to Olivia can fix.

He's just about to enter the bedroom when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

—-

Olivia is warm. There's a thin blanket covering her and sunlight beams through the open blinds onto her face, but the biggest source of her warmth is the muffled voice in the living room- Elliot's voice, talking quietly to someone on his phone. He's been home for two full days and she still can't quite believe it. They've slept, they've made love, they've laid together in bed in silence, and she's sure he's felt the same sense of disbelief that she has. All in all, it's been two of the best days she's had in a very long while; it brings her back to that week they spent together eight months ago, before he deployed, when nothing else mattered other than their time together. The only difference, the significant difference, is that there is no definite date in which they'll be separated, no underlying sense of desperation to cram as much time together as humanly possible or fear that the moment they part will be their final moment together. He's here. He's not going anywhere. And that thought alone causes the warmth in Olivia's chest to bloom so greatly that she needs to leave the comfort of the bed to seek the comfort in his arms.

Olivia yawns and stretches, wincing as a pang of pain pulses in her lower back. When she pads softly down the hallway towards the living room, the first thing that her eyes catch is his form, sitting on the couch in a pair of jeans and a worn, faded t-shirt. He's hunched forward, his cellphone clutched in both hands. There's a tight frown on his face and his brow is furrowed. Her heart sinks as she senses the grief that radiates off of him.

"El," she murmurs, sitting down beside him. Her hand slips gently over his back and she can feel his tense muscles. "Is everything okay?"

Elliot leans back slowly, his brow sinking further downwards. He swallows and turns slowly towards her. "I just talked to Major Cabrera," he mumbles. Clearing his throat, he flips his phone shut and drops his gaze. "He gave me the date… for Garrett's funeral."

Olivia's heart sinks… no wonder she can feel his heartache. She knows how much Garrett has helped him over the past months and she remembers the completely broken way in which he revealed the news that one of his closest friends had been killed. Hearing about Garrett's death had been profoundly worse than enduring his own injuries. She knows that. Words cannot describe how much she despises the thought, but deep in her head she's convinced that if Elliot could take Garrett's place, he would have.

With the hand that rests on his back, Olivia pulls him close. His chin falls against her shoulder and she feels him let out a shaking breath. "I'm so sorry, El," she whispers, rubbing his back in an effort to comfort him. "When is it?"

"Friday morning," he mumbles into her shoulder. "I should call Juliana, but… I don't know if I can."

Olivia pulls black slowly, looks him in the eye and she's nearly taken aback. His eyes are cloudy and filled with something that she can only describe as… guilt.

"Elliot," she murmurs, cupping his cheek gently. "You almost… you were hurt. You have nothing to feel guilty about. You know that… right?"

Elliot pulls away from her. He leans forward and scrubs his hands over his face, avoiding her gaze. Brutus bounds up to him and nudges his hands apart with his snout. Olivia watches as Elliot's hands run slowly over the top of Brutus's head, then down the back of his neck and back up again. Brutus pants happily and gives Elliot's hand a lick, oblivious to the turmoil in his master. Olivia waits for him to speak, watching as he continues to pet Brutus. He doesn't say anything.

Olivia runs her hand gently over his back. "Elliot. You know that, right?" she murmurs.

He leans back against the couch cushions. For just a microsecond she sees a flinch on his face, and frowns. He's not talking to her. Doesn't he trust her?

Olivia slides off the couch and stands in front of him, shoving the coffee table backwards with the back of her knees. His eyes focus on her, full of confusion, but the red clouding her mind doesn't fade. "Fine. You want to sit here feeling sorry for yourself? Go ahead." With that, she storms down the hallway and slams the door shut behind her.

Elliot's head drops into his hands as soon as he hears the bedroom door slam shut. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels like he's about to enter a war zone. He breathes in, tries to relax, but he just can't. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? He's trying his damnedest not to hurt her and what did he do? He fucking hurt her. He hurt her with his silence.

Pain hammers through his knee as he gets to his feet and limps out to the backyard. Fuck the crutches. He needs to get the hell out of here, he needs a breath of air before he implodes.

Brutus jets out into the backyard just before he shuts the slider. He collapses onto one of the lounge chairs, closing his eyes. Hormones. Fucking hormones, that's it.

No. He's just being difficult. But he can't lie to her… he does feel guilty. He feels guilty as shit.

"Elliot!"

He's not in the backyard anymore- he's trapped back in the truck, smoke billowing around him, choking him. His shoulder burns, knee pulses and he feels like his chest is being crushed. The taste of blood fills his mouth.

"Gunny? Talk to me, buddy. Come on."

There's gunfire… so much damn gunfire. One of these bullets is going to kill one of his closest friends and he can't do a damn thing to stop it. He's helpless, he's fucking useless.

Stop, stop, stop.

"We gotta get you out of here."

He gasps for a breath, but the smoke is filling his lungs, choking him.

There's a sudden wet feeling on his arm. He looks up, and into a pair of big, innocent brown eyes. Brutus.

Brutus.

The smoke fades. The gunfire ceases. Elliot grabs the Shepard around the neck and pulls him close, stretching his fingers through the thick coat.

"Thanks, buddy," he murmurs as Brutus's tongue makes contact with his cheek. They sit just like that for a moment, just until Elliot has the strength to release Brutus's neck and give him a pet. "I should probably go beg for forgiveness, huh?"

Brutus barks once, then twice, and Elliot smiles slightly. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

The trek back into the living room is painful. Elliot immediately regrets abandoning his crutches and as soon as he's able, he grabs them. With their assistance, he makes it into the bedroom. Jesus, he can't wait to be healed enough to ditch these things. They're driving him mad.

Olivia is sitting against the headboard when he enters. Her arms are crossed over her chest and he can feel her gaze on him as he approaches. The bed dips under his weight as he sits next to her.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. His hand reaches out to touch her leg and he figures it's a good sign when she doesn't pull out from under him. There's a lump forming in his throat- he knows what he has to say, but he doesn't think he can manage it. "I… I'm having a hard time…" He trails off. His gaze falls from hers as he stares at the carpet, cursing himself. This is a fucking mess and he has no idea how to solve it.

The mattress shifts under him as Olivia slides closer. "You know everything about me, Elliot. Even the parts I'd rather forget," she murmurs. "So why are you hiding things from me?"

"I'm dealing with it, Liv. I'm trying to move on. I don't want to…" he pauses, sucking in a deep breath. He looks up, meeting his gaze with hers. "I'm not trying to hide things from you."

Her long, thin fingers trace along his jawline. "So talk to me."

"I'm… just not ready to talk right now," he says. "It's not you. I don't want to… I'm just not ready." He turns his body fully towards hers and reaches for her hands. "Please understand that."

Olivia hesitates. Her eyes scrutinize him for a moment, almost as if she's searching his irises as he stares back. He wonders briefly what she sees… the hellish flashback that he'd experienced just moments ago? His desperate need for her to understand his current state of mind?

"I understand," she says quietly. She reaches for him, pulling him gently into her embrace. His heartbeat finally slows as he relaxes in her arms. It's not easy, he knows. He knows all too well the pains of waiting and wondering, wishing more than anything that the person he cares about would just share their pain. But right now, he can't bring himself to talk. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to. She's here, though, with him, her arms tightening around his waist, holding his body to hers. That's all he needs right now.

—-

Over the days that follow, Elliot's limp starts to fade. Eventually, thankfully, the crutches go up into the attic of the house, forgotten. It gives Olivia hope, like if his physical wounds heal, his mental ones can as well. She doesn't force him to talk; she's realizes that sometimes, the best thing is to remain silent and simply offer him her shoulder if he needs it. The silence won't last forever, she knows he'll talk eventually, but right now he needs a sense of normalcy, so that's what she gives him. They don't talk about living arrangements or what's going to happen when the baby is finally born, she knows he's not quite in the state to make life-altering decisions. For the moment, she makes them for him. Slowly, steadily, she starts to move more of her things into his place, and soon enough they're living together. He says nothing about the arrangements, but does empty out a few drawers in his dresser and makes some space in his closet for her, so she figures he's okay with the new arrangements.

And they simply live. He still wakes up at five o'clock every morning, and it maddens her because he's just too rigid sometimes. She knows he's try to readjust, though, and keeping the schedule is one of the careful boundaries he's set down so he won't go off the deep end, especially after Garrett's funeral. He barely sleeps the night before the service, and during it, he keeps her hand clutched tightly in his, like it's the only thing that's keeping him from unraveling. Deep down, she knows that she is.

In the days that follow, he wakes up early, keeps himself busy with running out to the grocery store for her strange cravings, playing fetch with Brutus and as soon as the crutches are banished, small workout routines. At first, just crunches and pull-ups on a bar across the spare bedroom door. Once his leg is healed, he adds push-ups and squats. Twice a day he does this, once right when he wakes up and once before he goes to sleep. Sometimes, she watches him. Other times, they sit down on the couch and watch movies, and Murph and Casey come over for dinner nearly once a week.

Three weeks before she's due, they go out furniture shopping together and Olivia loves the smile that it puts on his face. They pick out a crib, a rocking chair and a little dresser. Back at home, he insists that she sit down while he puts together the furniture, which she does only because her back is beginning to bother her. It takes him an hour of fiddling and cursing with the many different pieces of the crib while the directions lay on the floor in the corner. Olivia mentions them once, but Elliot waves her off and says, "It's a crib, how difficult could it be?"

So she says nothing and watches him struggle. Finally, with all of the pieces in their proper place, he jumps to his feet triumphantly and says, "See? Told you it wasn't that bad."

"Good job, Daddy," Olivia says. "But you've still got a dresser and a rocking chair."

For the second two, Elliot looks at the directions.

Two nights after that, deep into the evening when it's pitch black in the bedroom, she's startled awake by his sudden movement next to her.

"El?" Olivia's hands slide over Elliot's bare shoulders and down his back. His skin is slick with cold sweat and coarse with goosebumps. He's trembling and panting so heavily that she's afraid his lungs will burst.

"Hey. You're safe," she murmurs gently in his ear. Her lips descend on the skin of his shoulder blade, then up the back of his neck. "You're home."

He's not hearing her, or if he is, he doesn't understand what she's saying, because the shaking doesn't stop and his breathing doesn't even.

"Elliot." Olivia turns his head towards her. "Look at me. Hey."

"Liv," he rasps, his unfocused gaze meeting her.

"That's it." Her hand slips through his hair, then back down his spine slowly. "Take a deep breath."

He does. His quick, almost painful gasps for air even out slowly, his heart stops thumping so fast in his chest. Olivia doesn't take her hands off of him; her fingernails scrape gently down the skin on his back, up his abdomen, over his chest. She lays kisses along his jaw and collarbone and she can feel his muscles begin to relax under her touch.

Her lips trail up his neck and when she whispers to him, her lips are centimeters from his earlobe. "Lay down."

He does, albeit hesitantly.

"You okay?" Olivia asks quietly. "Want to talk?"

It takes him a long moment of silence, but finally, he nods.

"It was so quiet out there," he murmurs. "At night... if I closed my eyes, it was almost like I was home. Didn't stay like that, though. All the sudden... we'd be diving for cover from mortar fire, or we'd feel an explosion from an IED and pray one of us didn't get hit." She feels his muscles tense against her. He draws in a gasping breath, and lets it out slowly against her forehead. "I remember just sitting outside, watching the sunset with…" Garrett. Elliot breaks off, takes another breath, and continues, "Just sitting outside, watching the sky, full of all different colors, we could still hear those mortars. Whump, whump, whump. Even when it was peaceful out there, it wasn't."

Olivia pulls back slowly and runs her hand over his cheek. All of a sudden, he looks ten years older. The bags under his eyes look heavy as lead; the frown on his face seems eternal.

"I've been through this before, so many damn times, but... now it just seems different."

Olivia's eyes are immediately drawn to his healing scars. She knows. She knows all too well. Her lips descend on his for just a moment, pouring her thanks for him sharing into the kiss. When they break apart, she murmurs, "You're home."

He nods. "I am home," he says. "Here, with you... I'm home."

Her fingers run lightly over his cheekbone as her heart warms in her chest. He's home, so now this empty house is finally alive again.

"Try to sleep," she whispers.

His darkened eyes study her for a moment, and a small smile comes across his lips. His forehead falls against hers. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she answers. "Sleep."

Finally, his eyes close. Olivia watches him through the darkness as his face begins to relax and his breaths even out slowly. As soon as she knows that he's drifted back off to sleep, her eyes close and she sleeps as well.

Elliot's peaceful sleep lasts for about an hour and half. After that, he awakens from another nightmare and regretfully accepts that tonight is just going to be one of those nights. While he's laying on his back staring up at the ceiling, the urge to get up and go out for a smoke hits him once again, but he manages to convince himself that it's not a good idea. He promised Olivia he would quit, and he also knows that smoking, especially around his pregnant girlfriend and the baby that will soon arrive, is not a good idea.

So he continues to stare up at the dark ceiling. Olivia snores softly next to him, absolutely dead to the world, and he's happy. She needs her sleep, she shouldn't be worrying about him and his nightmares. For now, for the next four or so hours until the sun rises and she rouses from her sleep, he's on his own.

Well, not completely on his own. He still finds solace in her body, relaxed as it curls into his side. Her arm finds a place slung over his waist, but she doesn't wake. He risks a quick kiss to her forehead, and she still doesn't wake.

His nose buries into her hair and he inhales deeply. He might not be able to sleep, but laying next to her is a comfort in itself.

—-

Sleep is finally encroaching on the corners of Elliot's mind. He can barely hear the crickets chirping outside and the breathing next to him when suddenly, Olivia's hand digs into his ribcage and she lets out a gasp.

"Liv?" he mumbles. "You okay?"

The blanket is torn from his chest as she sits up as quickly as her fully expanded belly will allow. "El. I-I think it's time."

"Time for what?"

Olivia's palm comes down hard on his thigh. "For the baby!"

Oh, shit.

A/N: Yes, I had to end it there :P Baby's coming next chapter. So I've got a question for you guys for the reviews: boy or girl?

Have a great morning/afternoon/evening!

-Stabson