The second time she saw him was 13 months later. After the abduction and torture.
He had told her the cell number from which he had texted her was a number for her only and to use it anytime.
They had talked by phone sometimes and texted quite a bit in the past year. She had thought about seeing him, but David had come into her life, and then Brian, and she had spent a lot of time talking to herself about what kind of woman she was and what she was willing to do and how if she just kept moving, she wouldn't ever collapse under the weight of it all. She had been happy with Brian, for a while anyway, and he loved her.
But it was Elliot she had thought about constantly while Lewis had her. It was Elliot she had yearned for, his name that she had mentioned again and again. It was Elliot whom she had wanted to see again.
When he had seen the news reports, Elliot was feral. Out of his skin. A danger to even himself. Fin had been keeping in touch with him as much as he could. He had cursed himself for leaving her, had thought about kicking that kid Amaro's ass, and had meticulously plotted how he would kill that son of a bitch Lewis when he got his hands on him. Turns out that wasn't necessary.
She had texted him a minute after she took the scissors to her hair in the bathroom.
Lexington Hotel. Tonight 1900.
She received an immediate reply: I'll be there.
She left a key for him at the front desk and went to the small room on the second floor. She had a bottle of wine and some painkillers with her but hadn't packed an overnight bag. She was exhausted and needed to be away from everything.
There would be a trial. It would be hell. She wasn't sure she was strong enough to go through it. Tonight, she just wanted to see him.
She heard the buzz of the door being unlocked. He entered to find her laying on the bed facing the door. She had haphazardly kicked off her shoes and was in a slight fetal position. The only light in the room was from the two-inch opening in the curtains and the soft glow from the hallway.
He didn't say anything at first. Instead, he walked over to the bed and knelt by her side. She reached out to him, running her hand over his cheek and chin. His eyes were red, and she could tell he was trying so hard to keep it together.
"Shh, Elliot," she had said. "It's okay." She moved over on the bed to make space for him, and he took off his shoes and laid down next to her. He gently ran his hand through her hair, turning up the ends.
"You cut your hair," he mused. "I like it."
"Oh yeah?" Olivia chuckled. "I did it myself."
They were quiet for a few minutes. She silently wondered where Kathy thought he was. He thought the same to himself about Brian. Neither of them asked. Frankly, she didn't want to know. The realization of that felt like swallowing sand, and she couldn't allow herself to think about any of that now.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked her gently.
She shook her head slightly, and he didn't press any further.
"Are you hungry, Olivia? Can I get you something?" he asked instead.
"Elliot," she responded. "I just want to lay here with you. Is that okay?"
"Of course," he said. And he watched as she fell asleep next to him.
She awoke with a strong jolt that scared the shit out of him.
"Hey, hey," he said, as he inched closer. "You're okay. You're safe."
Her wide-eyed expression gutted him, but she composed herself quickly.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't apologize," he responded. "How do you feel?"
"A little sore. I'm going to take some pain medication," she said as she lifted herself from the bed.
It was late in the night now and she could see that the glow from the clock in the room read 1:43 am.
She walked over to the dresser, grabbed the pill bottle, and went into the bathroom, flipping up the light switch. He watched her traverse the room. She was wearing black leggings, a T-shirt, and a gray hoodie. She had sleep hair, and he couldn't stop himself from thinking how beautiful she was.
He heard the water from the sink run for a few seconds before shutting off.
"I really feel like I need to take a bath," she said to him, standing at the doorway to the bathroom. She opened her mouth to say more then stopped herself. This time, he prodded.
"What, Olivia?" he asked.
"Well," she shrugged. "Seems trauma affects people in many ways. Mine seems to manifest in the need to constantly clean myself. Showers and baths. You know," she slowed, "I mean, it's weird."
"It's not weird," he responded. "Plus, you're paying for the room. May as well use the free water."
"Good point," she said. Then, "Elliot, would you mind getting me a few more bottles of shampoo from the front desk?"
He immediately jumped at the chance to do something for her, to feel useful. "Yup," he said. "I'll be right back."
Walking down to the lobby, Elliot found himself in a daze. He had been so angry at the world, so worried about her. And now he was with her and he was trying to keep it together for her because this wasn't about him. But it felt like he was the one that had been tortured.
He heard the water running as soon as he opened the main door to the room. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and he called out, "Liv, I've got the shampoo. I'll set it right inside the door." He placed the mini bottles down and shut the door.
"Thanks," she replied.
He sat in the room for what felt like an eternity waiting for her. He was certain that damn water must have been ice cold by now and he hadn't heard the water run again. Finally, he grew impatient.
"Liv," Elliot finally said through the door. "Everything okay in there?"
Olivia didn't answer. He asked again. Still no answer.
He cautiously opened the door and found her in her bra and underwear, wet hair dripping, staring at herself in the mirror. It took him a few seconds to steady himself. Not because she was standing there in her bra and underwear completely zoned out, but because of what he saw. Fading ligature marks around her ankles, purplish-blue bruises all around her lower back, burn marks on the back of her shoulder. And what he was pretty sure was a fucking bite mark on the back of her right leg.
Elliot walked over to her and put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "Liv," he said.
At this she whipped around, causing him to take a few steps back. What he saw on the front her body was so much worse. More bruises. More burns. Several jagged cuts on her chest.
"What the fuck," he couldn't help but say through gritted teeth.
"I'm s-s-sorry, Elliot," she said quickly, grabbing her towel and covering up. "I'm okay."
"You're not okay, Olivia. None of this is fucking okay," he said gruffly. "I swear I'm going to fucking kill that bastard."
"I'm fine, Elliot," she repeated, more convincingly that time. "I'm fine. It's okay. I didn't mean to scare you. Just give me a moment to get dressed."
A minute later, Olivia emerged from the bathroom looking more composed and slightly apologetic. She was covered up, not a bruise or burn visible. She walked over to the dresser and lifted the bottle of wine, twisting off the cap. She had brought two plastic cups from the bathroom and poured some into each. She handed a cup to Elliot.
"I'm sorry if I scared you, El. And I'm sorry you had to see that," she said.
Elliot was a little frustrated now. "Will you please stop apologizing, Olivia? None of this is your fault. And you're starting to sound Catholic."
At that, Olivia smiled a little. "No, I mean I'm sorry you had to see, see what he did. What I let him...God, Elliot. I don't know how I let this happen to me. How could I have been so stupid? I am a goddamn cop!"
The tears came then. The second breaking point in 24 hours. The first time, she'd cut off all her hair. This second time, without a pair of scissors in hand and little hair left, it wrecked through her body and she didn't have a choice but to let it.
Elliot walked over and took her hand, leading her to the edge of the bed. He held her while she cried, and it had been so hard for him to keep it together. Finally when the sobs turned to hiccup breaths that eventually became an occasional hitch in her breathing, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead and encouraged her to get some rest. "I'll lie with you," he said. "Just let me turn off the light."
For the second time that night, he watched her as she fell asleep. Not long after, the sleep overtook him too. The last time he looked at the clock before his eyes closed, it read 5:55 am.