Part Fifty

After

Olivia's plan had quite a few holes. Not only couldn't she cook, but she also hadn't had any idea of what to make. Nor had she any idea of what sort of ingredients she might need to make whatever it was she would end up making.

Oh, and there was the fact that the pantry was empty except for the items they'd bought at the grocery store. They'd been picking up food and snacks. They didn't have the things like salt and garlic powder and vinegar than even her pathetically bare cupboards in New York had collected over the years. Shopping without Elliot's disproving face was a bit easier though. She grabbed random ingredients, and even more random spices, in the hopes that she could find something in that cookbook he'd bought that used what she had and wasn't too complicated.

The sad part came when she was staring at the meat in the freezer section, fighting the flashbacks to that god-awful meat processing plant she'd gone undercover in once upon a time, and trying to figure out what the hell Elliot liked. They'd eaten together a million times over the years, but it was usually at a diner or take-out, places where she could order for him as easily as she could order for herself. But she sure as hell wasn't going to impress him and earn his forgiveness with a stack of pizza boxes or a pile of microwaved hot dogs.

Everything about Elliot screamed meat and potatoes to her, but after about five seconds of staring at the ground beef, she decided he'd have to compromise. If she had to cook, he was going to have to learn to like chicken, because at the very least, she could identify it.

It was well past lunch time by the time she returned to the house with the groceries and started paging through the cookbook. She kept her phone on the counter next to her, hoping Elliot would break down and call to check on her. It would hardly be out of the ordinary for him to stay out of contact, especially while they were fighting. They could ignore each other like it was going out of style when they were really angry. But with the recent change in circumstances, with their new lives, she felt lonely and missed his presence. They'd been together nonstop for so long, it felt like it had always been that way. So it seemed like more of an insult that he didn't call.

Still, she tried not to think about it. She'd settled on fried chicken because it struck her as something he would like. She'd even knocked on Allyson's door and asked if she could borrow bread crumbs.

Finally she gave in and called him at quarter after three. She'd need to know when he'd be home if she was going to have dinner ready for him, after all.

"Yeah, what?"

She was taken aback by his anger, surprised that he wasn't even bothering to be polite. It didn't matter, she told herself, he had every right to be angry. She hadn't yet apologized. No time like the present, they always said. "Look, I'm really sorry, uh-," she wanted to call him El so he would know she really meant it, but such a slip could be dangerous. She had to get used to their new names. "Ben. I mean it. Do you have a minute?"

He sighed and she could see the grimace on his face. "I'm at work, Abby. I'll talk to you later."

Damn it. She'd hoped her words would ring sincere, so he might understand she really meant it. "Ok, well, I was just wondering when you'll be home."

He paused, the length of the silence uncomfortable considering the simplicity of the question. "I'm done at five, plus the drive. Little after five, I guess."

"I really am sorry, Ben. Really."

"Bye." He didn't say another word, just disconnected the call, leaving Olivia listening to the dead air.

She kicked the trash can, muttering to herself. If he loved her, the way Kathy had implied, the way she'd started to believe, he could have pretended to accept her apology. He could have at least listened to her. Taking a deep breath, she righted the plastic container she'd kicked over and went back to gathering the ingredients for dinner. Once everything was ready, short of actually cooking it, she left the kitchen.

The duffel bag Becky had delivered was next on her list, and she decided that hanging the curtains would give them a bit of privacy. The boring cream colored fabric left a lot to be desired stylistically, but it served its function. Olivia dragged one of the dining room chairs around to each of the windows in the dining and living rooms to put up the curtains Stafford had provided. When that was done, she measured the remaining uncovered windows, carefully making notes so they'd be sure to buy the right sizes when they went shopping.

Olivia sent Stafford an email thanking him and letting him know about the job she expected she'd be offered by the end of the week. Their contact would need to know where to find them; if he were to have some information she needed, she didn't want to have to wait until she got home from work to hear it.

Before she knew it, it was time to put the chicken in to cook. Though she usually tried not to eat anything fried, she had to admit the food smelled delicious as it cooked. She warmed some rolls in the oven and heated up a can of green beans to round out the meal, thinking she'd done a pretty damn good job for someone who'd never successfully managed more than boiling pasta in her life.

At 5:15, she set the table and prepared two plates of chicken, beans, and a roll. At 5:25, she took two bottles of water out of the refrigerator. At 5:30, she put the plates in the oven to keep them warm.

At 5:45, she called Elliot's cell, leaving a brief message saying that she just wanted to check in and see if he was delayed.

At 6:15, she called him again, knowing exactly how worried she sounded as she asked him to please give her a call as soon as possible to let her know when he'd be home.

At 6:30, she called him yet again, shocked beyond words when he picked up and disconnected the call without saying a word. Furious, she pulled the plates out of the oven and tossed all the food in the trash. If he was going to be an asshole, she didn't need to cook for him.

At 6:50, she turned off her phone, just so she wouldn't be tempted to answer should he happen to call to beg for mercy.

Somewhere around 7:30, she went to the bedroom, wishing she could get good and drunk to help ease the wrath. But they hadn't bought any alcohol, something she made a mental note to remedy. Even if it wasn't the best idea for her new kidney, she felt like she'd rather have it around in case she ever wanted it.

It was almost 8:00 when Olivia decided that she and Kathy had been terribly confused. If Elliot loved her, he wouldn't have left her sitting there, staring at the phone she'd turned back on, wondering if something terrible had happened to him and no one knew to call her.

At 8:13, she heard the front door open and Elliot's voice calling for her a bit too loudly.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she raced down the stairs, hoping there was a legitimate explanation. "Ben?"

There he was, stumbling through the hallway and dropping onto the couch. He turned belatedly, finally realizing she'd spoken. "Hey, Liv-," his voice was still too loud, his vague smile revealing that he'd been drinking.

"Lower your voice, Benjamin!" She glanced at the wall they shared with the neighbors in a paranoid fashion. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He stared at her as she crossed the room as though he really didn't know what she was talking about. Before she reached him, however, he remembered, his eyes narrowing and his lips curving into a frown. "Fuck you."

She felt like slapping him, but she resisted the urge. "You said you'd be home around five."

He rolled his eyes. "You slipped into that nagging wife role real easy, didn't you?"

Her hands balled into fists and she tried to come up with a single reason why it would be a bad idea to hit him. She couldn't think of one, but she resisted anyway. "I was worried. You could have called."

He shrugged, his attention shifting to his boots as he unlaced them and threw them to the floor. "You lie to me, I lie to you." He grinned at a joke she didn't understand. "It's an equal opportunity fake marriage. Neither one of us wants to be in it, so let's just be honest here, Olivia."

"You shouldn't have driven, Ben. You're drunk."

He stood up then, stepping in front of her and grabbing her arms. "I'm not drunk." His eyes met hers, cold and steely and unfeeling. "I'm just fucking miserable."

Olivia swallowed hard and shoved his hands away, suddenly quite certain he would have been able to pass any sobriety test she gave him. He wasn't intoxicated. He was just being an asshole. "This was your brilliant idea, remember?"

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he held it up between them. "So what the hell did you want? Scared of the dark again?"

She didn't want to tell him, the whole idea sounded so stupid to her that she was embarrassed, but she squared her shoulders, determined to prove that she hadn't just been afraid to be without him. "I cooked you dinner."

He stared at her, perhaps realizing the truth in her words. "What?"

"It's in the garbage if you're hungry." She stormed out of the room and up the steps, locking the bedroom door behind her. Fuck the man if he thought he was sleeping in her bed. She didn't care if she was up all night in terror. She didn't need him. She didn't want him. She didn't love him.

She'd barely made it across the room to sit on the bed when Elliot's knock came. She ignored it.

"Liv, please open the door."

She glared at the door, desperately wanting to either ignore him or tell him to fuck off. She was hurt. She was pissed. It wasn't a good combination. But she was an adult, something Elliot didn't tend to be when he was upset, which he was currently was, and she wasn't sure what he would do. She wouldn't put it past him to kick in the door if only to prove to her that he could.

Resenting the fact that she couldn't even set her own physical boundaries, she crossed the room again to unlock and open the door. "What?"

He looked surprised and she counted a point for herself. He'd expected to spend the night pounding on the door and contemplating taking it off the hinges. "I-uh-," he stumbled as he tried to come up with something to say. Then he met her eyes, regret filling his face. "Did you really make me dinner?"

Olivia looked down and shrugged. "Yeah, I made fried chicken. I wanted to apologize for going on that interview behind your back."

Elliot squeezed his eyes closed, and then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Liv."

She shrugged, trying to pretend it hadn't hurt as much as it had. "Don't worry about it."

"It smells good downstairs." A hint of a smile appeared on his face. "Wish I'd gotten to try it."

"I don't know if it was actually edible." She felt herself smiling back. "But I didn't burn the house down, so there's that."

He chuckled. "So."

"So." It was strange, she realized, for them to end a fight by apologizing to each other. In the past, they'd usually either kept fighting or just didn't speak until the fight blew over. It was the sort of approach that wouldn't work as long as they lived in the same house, so Olivia decided a little awkwardness was to be expected as they tried a new way of handling their arguments.

"How'd the interview go?" He was trying, she could see that much, but he still had reservations about the idea.

She was trying herself, trying to get over the anger, the hurt, that his behavior had caused, trying to attribute his distaste for the idea of her working to his concern. It was easier said than done. "It went well. I have to check with the doctors, but I don't think it'll be a problem."

Elliot nodded, his eyes moving from hers as he shuffled his feet. "Sounds like you've got it all worked out."

Sighing, she fought the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. "El, I don't have a damn thing worked out. I'm trying to get by here, just trying to survive."

He nodded, though somehow still communicating clearly to her that he didn't agree. Finally, he stepped back, angling his head toward the stairs. "You coming back down? It's too early for bed."

"I think I'm going to read for a while." It was too early for bed and she didn't feel like reading, but she was still angry and she knew avoiding Elliot until the feeling faded was a better idea than being close enough to him that he might upset her again.

He hesitated, trying to read her expression, evidently finding nothing in her carefully blank face. "Ok, then I-uh- good night. I'm going to watch TV for a while and make something to eat."

"Night." She closed the door and turned away, leaving the door unlocked and wondering if things were ever going to get better with them.

She had no idea how long she'd been asleep when the unfamiliar sounds woke her. In fear, she jerked upright, instinctively reaching for her gun on her nightstand before she remembered she didn't have a gun anymore. But she did have a husband, she recalled, and it had been him coming into the bedroom that had woken her.

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me." Her heart was racing as she lay back down.

He was leaning against the bureau, frozen midway through taking off his shirt. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"It's ok." She wasn't really mad, not over him waking her. She was just nervous, not sure she'd ever adjust to the changes.

A moment later, he pulled back the blankets and climbed into the bed. "Night."

"Night." Her mouth went dry as she waited for him to snuggle up to her the way he had the previous night.

It became evident, as the seconds ticked by into minutes, that he wasn't going to. Either he knew she'd still been somewhat angry when she'd gone to bed or, she realized, more likely he'd only snuggled up to her the night before because he'd been sound asleep when she'd joined him. He wasn't in love with her. Kathy had been wrong, misinterpreting the half of the facts she'd been given as a complete story. Olivia had been right in her initial assessment; Elliot had saved her life out of loyalty and friendship and guilt that no one else would bother. Swallowing hard, she tucked her hands under her chin and promised herself that she wasn't hurt by the realization. If he loved her, he'd want to cuddle with her even when he was awake and not just when he was somewhat confused and half asleep and thinking that it was his real wife climbing into bed with him.

The nightmares came as they usually did, the same images, the same horrors, the same shriek of fear, and eventually, the same arms cradling her as she emerged from the memories. Any anger, any hard feelings, were forgotten as he rocked her gently, shushing her, calming her until she came back to herself. Her nails, which had dug into his shoulders in terror, slowly released their grip as she realized she wasn't in danger. She was still shaking, trying to control her breathing, letting herself remain in his embrace for a few extra minutes to draw from his strength.

She fucking hated the helplessness. She hated needing him to be there to keep her from screaming until she woke the neighbors. She hated that she couldn't get past what had happened. She'd gotten over plenty of hideous shit in her life, but the Simonovichs appeared to be the last straw, the demon she would never best.

One of his hands rubbed slowly up and down her back, his other arm held her tight, supporting her. His face turned into hers, his lips pressing lightly against her ear as he spoke softly. "Are you ok?"

Still fighting to control her rapid breaths, she took the hint and started to pull back. "Yeah, I'm ok. Sorry."

But his arm didn't release, the hand that had been massaging her back stopping against her neck and pulling her back toward him. "No, stay."

She wanted to, she desperately did, but she knew she couldn't. She knew he was just being kind to her. Shaking her head, she tried to pull away again.

"Liv, it's ok." He loosened his arm the slightest bit, still continuing to hold her even as he moved his face to catch her eyes. "That was a bad one, huh?"

She stared at him, mesmerized by his proximity, by the pure worry etched into his features. She didn't know what he'd asked. She barely registered that he'd spoken.

"I haven't heard you scream like that yet." He pulled her closer, folding her into his arms once again. "Are you sure you're ok?"

She didn't know. The nightmare had been standard in her mind, awful, but it didn't stick out as any different than any other. Perhaps it had been her state of mind when she'd gone to bed that resulted in her screaming so loudly. Perhaps, she thought, Elliot's own state of mind made it seem like her nightmare was worse. Either way, if guilt and upset had an effect on her dreams or on Elliot's perception of them, she prayed that comfort and security would have an equal effect. She accepted the continued support from him, curling her arms over his shoulders and squeezing him tight.

He responded the moment she did, tightening his hold still further until she wasn't sure where he ended and she began. "Shhhh, you're ok, Liv, I'm here."

"I know." She nodded against his head, her fingers brushing his short hair. "I was just scared." She was talking about her dream, but he heard something else.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'll never do that again, Liv, I swear," he choked out, his voice revealing that he'd actually started to cry upon hearing what he thought was an accusation. "I won't leave you here alone like that ever again."

"No, it wasn't you." She shook her head against him, hating that she'd made him feel guilty.

"I promise."

Once Elliot got something in his head, Olivia knew there was nothing she could do to dissuade him from it. Therefore, she didn't bother trying again. Instead she just clung to him, knowing that it was all she could do, understanding that he was getting as much comfort from the embrace as she was.

It was a long time before he finally shifted, not releasing her as he stretched back out on the bed. They remained curled into each other, eventually drifting off to sleep.