25 - DUALITY

Things had gotten way out of hand. The truth was Elliot was still pretty confused himself, and maybe Olivia had been right to say they should stay away from each other for a while. Maybe he had rushed into this. He sat next to Kathy now, a heavy silence between them, the silence of people who have far too much going on in their heads and nothing to say. Since there was nothing he could do while they waited, he took the opportunity to review the past twenty-four hours, trying to make sense of them.

It had only been a few hours since he had left his house, the one he had visited, bought, furnished and was still paying for, the one he had filled with five kids and his whole life, the one he had believed to be his safe haven for so long, when his phone had rung, Kathy demanding, from the other side of the line, that he made sure Olivia didn't bother her again. He had gone from astonishment to straight-up anger; everything was already confusing enough, Olivia had no business meddling with the one thing that had already been decided.

Maybe it had been impulsive to go see her, but he'd felt the need to look her in the eye and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, and why. After everything they'd been through, how could she still think there was any chance for them to go back to before? When he had decided to go see her, he had also decided he was done being patient. He had given her time and space, but what had she chosen to do with it? Hadn't she been the one to call him out on being a coward? Hadn't she accused him of not having the balls to own up to his feelings for her? What else had he been doing ever since that night in the cribs if not owning up to them?

And now, he was out of the house, leaving his whole life behind, admitting that he was in love with her. She had been so full of shit calling him a coward; the first thing she did when he became available was to try and hide behind his marriage again. He was done giving her time and space if she was going to use it to find excuses to stay away from him. If his space had to be reduced to a damn suitcase, then she didn't get to demand any space either, especially when she was making it so clear that she didn't need it more than she needed someone by her side. That was the mindset he was in when he had knocked on her door.

But things had gotten out of hand. He hadn't planned much past the part where he would accuse her of running away from him and invade her space, demanding for her to let him stay – he hadn't counted on her letting him stay so easily, he hadn't counted on her being so fragile. He wasn't used to seeing Olivia in that position of vulnerability. As much as he liked to think he was strong and capable of protecting her, he knew that, emotionally, she had always been the strong one between the two of them. When he had arrived there and seen her like that, he'd known he needed to go slow, but controlling his impulses seemed impossible when it came to Olivia, especially when she woke up screaming his name, desperate, crying.

The next second, he was in her bed, with his hands all over her. And when she had been so relieved to find that he was fine instead of having been shot to death like in her dream that she had started kissing him, instead of pulling the brakes, he had gone full speed, scaring her, making her shut down. He felt guilty, like he had taken advantage of her vulnerability, but moments like that were very rare, when she was unable to keep her walls up, when she simply let him in, and he couldn't help himself, he just couldn't decline the invitation.

And then she had surprised him yet again, waking him up in a completely different mood, a moment of strength amidst the fragility, willing to pick it up where they'd left off in his episode of complete lack of self-control, leading his hands all over her body, telling him it was okay – telling him she loved him. It had blown him away. She had been lying there, holding him, tears coming out of her eyes, forced to admit it, she loved him. In that moment, it had seemed so simple. He loved her, and she loved him too. Their minds had finally caught up with their bodies, already fully aware of their bond and how far it extended, how deep it went.

But it was all too much, and it had gotten way out of hand. Maybe they should have stayed away from each other, because it was all too confusing. Things seemed so clear one moment, then the next they looked like the complete opposite. After falling asleep in his arms, so peaceful, with such an unmistakable expression of contentedness on her face, still letting out little moans of pleasure, she had woken up saying his name again – this time, asking him to stop hurting her. He was back to being her torturer, and everything he had thought he had figured out had fallen apart.

Elliot, please. Elliot, stop! He couldn't get that out of his head, even now. She had told him she loved him, and he was pretty sure she had believed he loved her too, but then she had woken up mumbling his name in angst, asking him to stop, and he knew she was dreaming about that horrible night when he had tortured her under Eric Downey's instructions. He felt like an asshole, because he had been so focused on his feelings for her, the end of his marriage and how it all could represent a new beginning for them, together, that he had almost forgotten about how much he had hurt her at that beach house, about how it had affected her then and still affected her now.

And then it hit him like a sledgehammer. This was far more complicated for Olivia than just confronting feelings. Maybe that was what it had been like for him, to realize his marriage was over, to understand that he had been denying his true feelings for years, but he hadn't factored in everything that had happened during her captivity, it had conveniently slipped his mind that Downey had made him hurt her too, and he had selfishly expected her to be fine with sleeping in her torturer's arms, to reconcile those two versions of his touch in her mind, her heart. Even in death, Downey was still trying to divide them, his ghost still lingering around them, whispering heartache directly into her brain from the depths of her subconscious, where Elliot could not go to bring her back once and for all. He hated the son of a bitch more than ever.

It hit him like a train, because he understood that maybe she had good enough reason to run away from him. Maybe she wasn't a coward, maybe she had just been hurt too badly by him and couldn't separate him from the pain he had caused her. She had told him that she loved him, but she had done so crying, saying it was a bad thing. Maybe she had really meant it. Maybe, in those moments when he had thought she was letting down her guard and letting him in, he shouldn't have taken the invitation at all.

Olivia had dreamt it, but he hadn't been able to keep from reliving it, too, such overwhelming guilt rising to the surface. How he had knocked her out, made her bleed. I value our partnership, but that's it. She doesn't mean anything more than that to me. The look in her eyes; he had watched her heart breaking. The silent tears glistening in her eyes. What told him that it had really hurt was not the fact that she had cried, but that she had tried to conceal it. It wasn't a show for Downey, she didn't want either of them to see her broken like that. And that had killed him. He had focused on the long run, on how it was going to be worth it in the end, it was what had gotten him through that endless night. But what had gotten her through it?

He had finally understood what she had been talking about all along, about him thinking he wanted to be with her out of some sense of obligation, motivated by guilt, and while she couldn't have been more wrong about his motivations, the truth was that confronting all this had made him realize that he did feel guilty, and she had no idea how much. Maybe he had been in denial himself, trying to forget those moments or clutching to naive beliefs about how their lovemaking could have healed her emotional wounds somehow, that it would have helped her process what he had done to her, understand on a deeper, physical level, that love was all his body would ever willingly mean to show her.

Since that ride in the ambulance, after everything, Elliot had been trying to tell her he hadn't meant any of what he'd had to do or say to her, and she kept insisting she knew that, but maybe he had been too quick to believe her and drop the matter altogether. He had told her back then and insisted after her nightmare that he had done what he needed to do in order to protect her, but he couldn't be sure that was the truth. There was just no way of knowing if his actions had really saved her life; nothing could prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Downey would have killed her, nothing could prove that he wouldn't just have done the same thing and blown his head off instead of touching her.

He knew that obsessing over this would lead to nothing, but he just couldn't shake it off. After watching Olivia go through her ordeal again in her dreams, he just couldn't help but ask if it had all been worth it, and the more he thought about it, the guiltier he felt, and the less he believed he even had the right to be with her at all. She had thought he was touching her out of guilt, but what she couldn't imagine was that his guilt was now telling him he should never have been allowed to touch her again.

For all he knew, Downey had been the only one to benefit from his actions. After watching Elliot breaking Olivia's heart in so many ways, seemingly of his own volition, he got to walk up to her like someone who, in contrast, really cared about her. Ten years taking crap from this son of a bitch? You think that's the best you can do? Why do you accept so little from him? Ever since Elliot had joined them, Downey hadn't laid a finger on her. In their little microcosm, in that room where only the three of them existed in the world, Elliot had been the person hurting Olivia, not Downey. This idea had become etched in his brain and colored his every thought since then: he hadn't protected her from being hurt, he had just hurt her himself.

"Elliot!" Kathy called, removing him abruptly from his thoughts and bringing him crashing back to that bright, white room, the uncomfortable chair he was sitting in; she stood up, impatient. "I said I'm going to go get myself some coffee, do you want anything?"

"I'm good, thanks," he muttered, running a hand over his face, a bit relieved for the interruption and for the momentary silence it set in his mind, even though he knew it wouldn't last.

He felt ashamed now as he recalled how he had woken Olivia up from his own violence by soothing her with those same hands, hoping to replace those memories but realizing he couldn't when she covered herself up, even after having slept with her naked body flush against his for most of the night. He looked at his hands now, and it occurred to him that for ten years he had never touched her in either way – not to love her and not to hurt her; he wondered if she'd be better off never having experienced neither, if the best wouldn't have been to have kept his hands completely off her as he had been able to for so long.

That had certainly been the conclusion he had reached right after her nightmare, right after watching her flinch away and hide from him: he had refrained from touching her, figuring she didn't need any more contradictions to process, more reminders of the pain he had caused her.

Not to mention the pain he had put her through from the beginning, when neither of them was locked up in a room, with no guns to his or her head. Downey's voice came back to him, so crystalline clear. That is nothing compared to what you've done to her all these years. This push and pull game, never completely discouraging her, but never really letting her know if she had a chance or not, just feeding her mixed signals left and right. The responsible man, the family man, but who couldn't hide the way he looked at his partner.

It would have been so much easier if Downey had used lies, if he had resorted only to gratuitous violence, unfair accusations, but that was exactly what was so haunting about what he had put them through: he had used the truth. Maybe he had twisted it to his advantage, molded it to fit his purposes, but there was nothing there that hadn't been drawn from something real. It was true that he had never been able to hide the way he looked at Olivia, the inappropriate feelings that kept bubbling just below the surface, perfectly positioned to live in his mind's blind spot, never acknowledged by him, but what about everyone else? What about her?

Downey had sat with her, held her hand, soothed the pain Elliot had caused – in the last ten minutes, in the last ten years. Why do you accept so little from him? And now he saw himself as what, a hero? For being there, in her bed, holding her naked body? Touching her like he had always secretly wished he could and telling himself he was doing it for her? Who did he think he was kidding? Downey had told him he was a selfish son of a bitch, just one of the most obvious truths in his portfolio. Who was he to enforce his presence, claim he knew what she needed? Claim he was what she needed? After everything he had done to her, with or without Downey as an excuse?

Drowning in his guilt, he had wanted to leave, to disappear, begging her to forgive him for his presumptuousness, for his selfishness, for all the ways he had already hurt her, for the forceful, disrespectful way he had attempted to fix her from his own breaking. But then she had asked him not to go. She had welcomed his touch again and demanded more, she hadn't severed their connection. As he had held her close at her request until she fell asleep, he realized he had almost been the one to sever the ties, but she hadn't let him.

Scared and traumatized as she was, hiding under the covers, she had been brave enough to ask him to stay, pulled him by the hand to get him closer to her, been the one to fight for them when he had been just about to give up so easily, and he had been left with doubt again, because he didn't know if she was asking him to stay because that was actually something that would help her or just because she was used to only expecting that from him: his presence. Everyone I've ever had… everyone's gone. Everyone but him. He stayed.

But what was the answer supposed to be then, he had wondered in the dark, long after she had fallen back to sleep, if he was a selfish bastard who didn't at all deserve her, and yet, she seemed to want him around? How was he supposed to reconcile being both good and bad for her at the same time? Should he stay, even when his presence hurt her? How could he leave when that meant abandoning her? That dream had changed everything from black to white, from one to zero, from bad to good, and he just couldn't pinpoint what tipped the scales, and to which side. He wondered if this was what was happening in her mind too, this constant battle of opposites, this inescapable duality. But he had settled on staying; in his guilt, he couldn't dream of denying her anything she claimed to want or need, in his longing, he was glad she was still giving him a chance.

He had fallen asleep somewhere in the midst of that confusion, torn between being consumed by guilt and inspired by the glimmer of hope she had given him. In his sleep, he tried over and over again to convince her he wasn't acting on his otherwise existing and well-placed guilt, that he was in fact touching her and holding her despite that. Maybe it was just a lie his selfishness was trying to feed him and her, he considered, in order to conceal that he was just being the same old self-serving bastard he had always been, taking whatever he wanted from her without ever taking responsibility for how that made her feel. He'd spent the rest of the night having that argument with himself and with her in his subconscious, while some part of him was pleased that he was suffering too, that he was having bad dreams too, that he was being punished too, carrying a tiny part of his share in the burden.

Somehow, those dreams had bled into reality, and when Elliot had realized, he was kissing Olivia, still trying to tell her he wasn't there because of his guilt. She had seemed like she wanted to listen, she had encouraged him, and they had made love again, before he could stop himself, before he could even question if he still had any right to touch her like that. But she was so open to him, she had urged him to go through with it, and somehow, when they communicated like that, they believed each other and themselves, they were able to reach a common, unquestionable understanding – only to have it shattered minutes later by their overthinking minds.

The sound of the shower had woken him up again, a couple of hours later, and he had felt the need to put some distance between them, because it was all too much, it had been a very long night, and things had gotten way out of hand. In need of some space to think clearly, he had put on his t-shirt and boxers and gone to the kitchen with the excuse of finding something to eat, realizing that he was indeed feeling hungry. He wondered if stepping into the shower had been Olivia's way of putting some distance between them herself; if he was confused, how must she be feeling?

In the fridge, the only edible thing he had found were the leftovers Olivia had mentioned the night before, but Elliot's stomach had vehemently rejected the idea of having Chinese food for breakfast. He had been able to at least find some coffee powder and operate the coffee maker quite satisfactorily. Unsure of how he felt about everything and certainly lost as to what her verdict might be, he hadn't quite known how to react or what to say when she had emerged in the living room a few minutes later.

Her hair was wet and messy, and he could smell it from where he stood. His mind was on overdrive, balancing contradictory theories and making desperate calculations, and yet his body was trying to tell him it was actually simple, that all he needed to do was walk up to her, hold her, kiss her, let their body language, in the most literal sense, speak louder than everything else. She was wearing a grey hoodie and pajama shorts, her long legs in plain view, and his fingers could recall exactly what they felt like, the sensorial memory so powerful that it made his otherwise unmanageable mind go blank for a second.

"Liv?" he called cautiously, since she didn't seem aware of his presence there.

Clearly startled, like she wasn't expecting to find anybody else in the apartment, she turned around quickly to look at him, taking a deep breath the next second, clear relief washing over her – and him; she'd had a positive reaction to seeing him, and that was a win, a positive result in his calculations.

She looked so beautiful, her face without any makeup on, like the night before, but there was something about the domesticity in her tangled hair dripping into her sweatshirt, her bare feet on the living room floor and the fact that she had been in his arms less than twenty minutes earlier, all of this bathed in the morning light, that took his breath away.

"El," she said. "There you are."

It sounded like she had been looking for him. Could she have thought that he would have left just like that, not even a word? Don't leave, okay?

"There's coffee," he announced, trying to sound casual, unsure of how he was supposed to approach her after everything that night had brought into question.

He felt like he was walking a tightrope, holding in each hand the weight of either side of the coin, either extreme of the spectrum: one side this confusing, overwhelming war of contradictory thoughts, a mind that screamed that he should stay the hell away from her, while the other was a physical instinct to touch her, an illogical notion that nothing from before mattered when they were together, that the answer was simpler than he could imagine.

Elliot decided to err on the side of caution, trying to assume a neutral stance to appease the opposites battling inside him; he walked in her direction, stopping when he had reached a safe distance. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," she replied without hesitation and a smile. "Much better."

She had been particularly difficult to read then; maybe she couldn't read herself, just like he wouldn't have been able to explain how he felt if anyone asked. How was he supposed to measure where they were? After a night with so many highs and lows, during which they had been all over the map, from lovers to torturer and victim, from love declarations to pain and guilt? Now, in the morning, out of bed, they weren't even navigating on the same map from the night before, there wasn't a compass at hand or any signs to refer to.

Maybe Olivia was just as lost as him then. Maybe she couldn't read him any better than he could read her. Maybe neither of them could read themselves or each other, and maybe the answer wasn't in anything they could measure with reason, maybe it couldn't be read because it wasn't written, not in the code they were using to decrypt the message. Without the reassurance of reading into anything other than her verbal reply, Elliot decided to take her word for it. It was another win, and he needed it.

"How are you feeling?" she returned the question, and he realized maybe she had been worried about him too.

He felt instantly guilty. She was the one recovering from so many things and she was worried about him. "Good," he said, forcing a smile in hopes she wouldn't notice his guilt and be even more worried.

Olivia nodded quickly, looking away, and in what looked like an impulsive movement, she walked fast to the kitchen, like she needed more distance, more space. She opened the cabinet to get a mug for herself and poured some of the coffee he had just offered her. Even from a distance, he could see her hand was shaking, and he couldn't help but wonder if she had his torturer version on her mind right now.

Elliot walked cautiously towards the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and them from each other. He wanted to be there for her, but only if it represented something good for her, not if he was a constant reminder or a trigger for the memories of that night. He wondered if his presence had made her have those bad dreams, if she would have been better off alone, like she had told him when she had first answered the door.

"Liv…" he started, hesitantly, and he saw it as she froze in response. "I think we should talk."

He waited for her to say something, but she seemed to be waiting for him to clarify what exactly he wanted to talk about. She approached the counter from her side slowly, drinking from her coffee mug, which she held with both of her quivering hands.

"About the dreams," he added hesitantly but, to his surprise, she seemed relieved.

"What about them?" she still sounded anxious, though.

Elliot looked down; he didn't know exactly how to say this. He moved his head and his hands, trying to formulate it, trying to summarize so much worry, regret and guilt into one simple question. He finally looked up at her and sighed, defeated.

"I-I…" he stuttered, looking for the right words. "I just want to make sure you… You still feel comfortable around me."

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, looking puzzled, like that was nothing at all like what she had been expecting to hear. "Comfortable?" she repeated, like she didn't know the word's meaning.

"Yeah…" he looked all around him as he tried to explain. "Last night you had that dream about me… torturing you." He paused for a second, ashamed of the image he had just brought back into her head – if it had ever vanished at all in the first place. "And then you flinched at my touch, you covered yourself, you turned away from me. Like you were… afraid of me." He looked at her again now that he had finished talking, trying to assess her reaction.

Now she was the one who seemed to be searching for the right words; Elliot prepared himself for the worst. "I'm not afraid of you," she said eventually, sounding surprisingly convincing, even though she had needed too much preparation for such a vague statement; he could see she was going to elaborate. "I wasn't afraid last night either. I'm afraid of many things…" she looked away, leaving the content of her generalization up for interpretation. "But not of you," she looked intently at him, her voice sounded firm, all fragility gone for a second. "Never. You need to know that."

His eyes traveled back and forth between hers a few times before he nodded his acknowledgment, his acceptance of her answer. But he continued analyzing her even after that; she had always been very good at putting up a front for his benefit, he wouldn't expect her to change that now. He wondered how many times she had stood like this, in front of him, an unwavering exterior, while deep inside she was in shreds.

"Also, I think it was pretty clear I wasn't afraid earlier this morning," she added, blushing slightly and avoiding his eyes as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"About that," Elliot bit his lower lip. Even though she had indeed not seemed afraid when they had made love for the last time, earlier, he still felt like he needed to justify his actions. "I don't know what I… I was having a dream and then…"

Something seemed to shift in her, so much so that it interrupted him mid-sentence; she left her mug on the counter, next to where he had left his own, and walked around it to remove the obstacle between them. He kept from approaching, but didn't back away either.

"El, did it seem like I wasn't into it?" she said, quite serious, now looking deep into his eyes, changing focus between them.

Elliot remained in silence, just watching her closely. It hadn't seemed like she wasn't into it, but everything was too confusing and he needed to make sure anyway. He had already made enough whimsical decisions, and he had spent a long time during that night regretting the fact that he had slept with her once while she was in such a fragile state, only to do it again a few hours later. After a minute of them holding each other's stare, he felt a bit more confident in her reply. She had been the one to approach him now, after all, illustrating the opposite of flinching.

"I just want you to know that…" he started to explain. "I wasn't planning on sleeping with you when I came over last night. That's not why I came." He paused, and Olivia looked a bit... disappointed? "As much as I wanted to," he added for good measure.

She sighed, maybe with relief. Maybe she had thought he was going to say he wished nothing had happened, and while that might have been a possible interpretation of his guilt, it wasn't the most accurate representation of his feelings. He couldn't bring himself to actually regret making love to her, in spite of everything his guilt had to say, because during both times that night and that first time at the precinct he had been sure that nothing wrong was happening. The problem was always the aftermath, the consequences, the morning. Reality. But still.

"I know," she said, looking away from him. "I didn't mean for this to happen either, but…" she seemed to be trying to decide how to finish that sentence; she looked up with a hint of a smile, a sad smile. "No regrets."

He took a step towards her before filtering that decision; something in her expression told him she was the one who needed reassurance now. She didn't flinch.

"You're fragile now…" he said in a low voice. "You're recovering from… terrible things… I don't want to take advantage of that."

"You didn't," she stated assertively, looking at him and shaking her head. "You're helping me."

That last bit came out in a whisper, it sounded like a plea. Don't leave, okay? He let out a long sigh that ended in a small smile, surprised to find he had been holding his breath while she spoke.

"It's all I ever meant to do," he said, almost whispering himself.

To his surprise, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his forearm, the electricity of her touch coursing through him, his body's initial reactions to her proximity a testament to his confidence in the reassurance she was giving him.

"I need you to do something for me," she said, looking down at her hand around his arm while he just waited; whatever she wanted, it was hers. She looked up, and he found it very difficult to contain the urge to kiss her as he stared back at her, hypnotized. "I need you to forget what happened at the beach house. It's what I'm trying to do."

Of course she wasn't going to ask for something easily done. "Liv," he started to protest, but she took another step in his direction and her other hand to his face, placing her index finger on his lips to keep him from saying anything else.

"I'm not gonna say what happened there didn't hurt," she explained, her voice calm. "But if we keep dwelling on it, it just… keeps hurting. So I need you to stop. Can you do that for me?"

Maybe dwelling on it was yet another selfish way of looking at all of it, a way to relieve his guilt by making himself suffer, while she was, as always, collateral damage to his own pain. She was asking him to forget it, and who was he to deny her anything she needed to recover?

"Yeah, I'll do my best," he promised against her finger, eliciting a nod and a small smile from her.

The urge to take her in his arms was almost unbearable now, and he was just about to reach for her when she abruptly removed her hands from him completely and walked away, back to where she had been standing, taking her coffee and drinking from it without looking at him. Elliot felt the need to break the sudden, awkward silence.

"I wanted to cook something, but there was absolutely nothing edible in your whole kitchen," he accused, cautiously playful.

Olivia smiled wholeheartedly, seemingly thankful for the neutral subject; her smile triggered his, and he was sure he was ogling her like an idiot.

"Give me a break, I was kidnapped," she joked back.

"We could go get some groceries," he suggested spontaneously, and she looked at him only for a split second with immediate panic in her eyes before darting them away again as if he was a blinding, hurtful light.

"Maybe," she mumbled, clearly caught off guard, and Elliot wondered what was so scary about groceries, chastising himself for always saying and doing the wrong thing.

"Or I could go if you prefer to stay in," he added, but her face made it clear that going out wasn't the problem. He gave her a few seconds, but she only used them to look down, trying to mask her uneasiness by covering her face with her mug. "What's the matter?" he asked, cautious but firm.

Once again, she looked up at him, quickly, then avoided his stare completely, biting her lip. "I'm just…" she started. "Not used to this."

"Shopping for groceries? Yeah, I know," he grinned, trying to keep it light. "It's obvious you don't know how to do it, but I can teach you."

She laughed at the joke, but she was still apprehensive. "No," she said, then let her smile fade. "I mean you… here… Saying things like that. Like it's normal. You and me, getting groceries."

Her honesty surprised him, he was so used to her always trying to conceal her feelings. It was refreshing to hear the real reason behind a panicked reaction.

"I know," he assured her, nodding with a smile. "It's all very new… To me too, but we'll get used to it."

"No, we won't!" she shot back, impatient, like that was a conversation they had already had a thousand times. Maybe they had, in her mind. "I don't want to get used to it."

It was Elliot's turn to walk around the counter to approach her, but he moved slowly. "Why?" he couldn't hide his disappointment; he had thought they were making progress.

"Because…" she breathed, facing away from him. He waited for her to complete her answer with an actual reason, mirroring her previous reply, but she wasn't getting around to it.

"What's wrong, what are you talking about?" he prodded, taking another step. "Why don't you want to get used to it? If you're not afraid of me… What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm just…" she put down her mug and finally faced him; she had a smile on her face and tears starting to glisten in her eyes. "I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop," she finished, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Elliot was getting impatient himself now. He opened his arms in confusion, shook his head, furrowed his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A tear escaped her eye, and she rushed to wipe it with the back of her hand. "It means we both know this is never gonna last," she said with the most heart-breaking smile, her voice choked with emotion.

Elliot smiled, frustrated and a bit angry. "I thought you said you believed me," he accused, raising his voice. "About the fact that I'm not here because I feel guilty." He softened his tone. "About how I feel."

She smiled through her tears, more profuse now. She wiped them, pursing her lips and cocking her head to the side like someone who's talking to a child, trying not to disappoint them.

"I believe you, El," she whispered, then took a deep breath as though to strengthen her voice; it didn't work very well. "I swear, I do believe you. I think it only makes everything worse."

"What the hell are you talking about? Come on!" he started pacing, he couldn't control his voice, filter out the frustration. "You're not making any sense."

Olivia looked up, taking another deep breath and wiping the tears off her face with both hands, as if ordering the crying to stop – this one worked out much better.

"We've been through this," she said, looking at him again. "You have a family, you have responsibilities…"

"Oh no, no, not that again!" he dropped his arms at his sides while shaking his head and pacing, all at the same time. He was almost yelling now. "We've talked about this, my marriage is over, can you just drop it?"

"It's over until Kathy changes her mind!" Olivia replied, now raising her own voice, exasperated. "Or would you be this certain about it if she hadn't packed your bag and thrown you out? What if she comes to her senses and tells you she wants you to come home? How are you gonna say no to that? How are you gonna turn down the chance to be close to your kids?"

He didn't exactly have that specific answer; he rolled his eyes and took his hands to his face, impatiently. He didn't want to risk saying the wrong thing again, so he settled for silence.

Olivia approached him, now challenging, angry even. "Tell me you wouldn't go running if she called and said she wanted you back."

She was asking the hardest questions, and his inability to come up with direct answers only proved her point, but she was wrong, she was dead wrong. How could he convince her? He felt like a suspect being pressured into confessing.

"Stop it, I'm trying here!" he yelled, startling her into silence. He waited for himself to calm down too, only continuing when he was able to lower his voice and speak more softly. "Look, I don't have all the answers. I don't know if anyone ever does." It came out as a plea. Maybe it really was. "But I love you."

Olivia closed her eyes and shook her head, taking a few steps back. "Love is the easy part, El," she eventually replied, her chin quivering even though she didn't let any more tears roll down.

"Easy?" he repeated with outrage. "You said it yourself. I'm leaving so much behind, and I'm doing it because I love you. That must count for something."

"It does," she said, smiling and biting her trembling lip. A tear finally rolled down, slowly, as though trying to go unnoticed. "But I know you." Her voice was hardly audible.

"What does that even mean?" he yelled, exasperated himself now.

She bit her lip again before replying, and as she spoke, she approached him, her voice low and gravelly. "It means that whatever you think you want right now, you'll never do it if it's not the right thing to do."

He had been speechless after that. He hadn't been able to say anything, at best he had stuttered, with shock, outrage, confusion. But he hadn't known it was about to get even worse. Out of the blue, his phone had started ringing from the living room – more precisely from inside his suit jacket's pocket. Olivia had laughed.

"Fifty bucks says that's Kathy," she said, letting her smile fade with such hopelessness in her eyes that it broke Elliot's heart.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, unmoving from where he stood in the kitchen, facing her. "I'm not picking up whether it's her or not."

"What if it's an emergency?" she challenged.

"It's not," he risked. "Is that what you need? For me to keep proving to you that I want to be with you? That you're important to me?"

She just shook her head, pursing her lips and looking away from him, like this was a losing battle, like she was giving up, like he was a lost cause. In the meantime, the phone just kept ringing, and it was killing Elliot, because he was thinking it could be something about one of his kids. He needed to make his point, so he crossed his arms and stared at her, his chin up, impatient, competitive, while the ringtone churned his insides.

"What do you think that even proves, Elliot?" Olivia asked just as the phone stopped for a while.

"Whatever you need," he replied. "You obviously think the phone ringing means something."

Her only reply was to look down, shaking her head slightly. Elliot huffed, letting his impatience flow out along with the air, and waited, standing there in silence, until she looked up at him again, the fear in her eyes so clear he wondered if she was even still trying to hide it at this point. Maybe she had successfully convinced him she wasn't afraid of him, physically, but she was obviously terrified of him, terrified of how he might hurt her without realizing it, without meaning to. Maybe she had been hurt that way too many times and he had never really even suspected it; maybe she was speaking from experience, from something that had always escaped his perception, something that was, again, escaping him now.

And yet, there he was, in her apartment, trying so hard to convince her he wanted to be there, convince her that this was enough, that there was nothing else to talk about, that he didn't really feel like he had any other choice anymore, that he wasn't sure he even knew how to walk away at this point. Why couldn't she just believe him? Just be there with him, trusting this new thing where he was actually letting his true, inner feelings come out and rule him, just be there next to him and hold his hand through that leap of faith, take it with him?

He approached her slowly, shaking his head. "Why is it so hard for you to trust me?" he asked, his voice weak.

Olivia took both of her hands to her face, shaking her head as if he had gotten it all wrong. "You don't understand, it's exactly the opposite. I can't not trust you," she emphasized. "And I'm struggling with this, because you just keep making me feel so safe, and it's too hard for me not to trust it, not to get used to it. Trusting you is second nature to me, but this… I can't get used to it."

"Why the hell not?" he pressed, impatient, just when his phone started ringing again.

He saw it as she turned her head towards the sound, then looked at him, and that was her answer. That was why she couldn't get used to it. Whatever that phone ringing meant to her.

"Please," she said, her voice firm but desperate. "Pick up the damn phone!"

Elliot simply shook his head. The phone went silent, then, a few seconds later, it chimed a sound that meant there was a new voicemail, and it took everything in him not to go get the phone and listen to it. Could that be what she meant? That even though he was trying so hard to ignore the phone, it was killing him? She wasn't wrong; if his children needed him, he would go. He did come with five children in the package, and she would always need to share him with them, they would always be a priority for him. Maybe that just wasn't good enough for her.

He figured whatever he said or did right now might be something he was going to regret later, so he decided to walk away from her and the phone, to take a break from it all, give both of them some room to think. "I'm gonna take a shower," he announced, already walking past her.

He didn't wait for a reply, and she stayed back, silent, while his phone started ringing again, and he closed the bathroom door to keep from hearing it. What if it was Kathy? What if it was something about the kids? He got rid of his clothes and stepped under the water, not bothering to wait for it to warm up; the coldness was distracting, and that was a good thing.

A second later, though, his mind restarted its rant. What if it wasn't something about the kids? What if Olivia was right, and Kathy reconsidered it? What if she said she thought it would be better for their kids, better for their baby, if he didn't move out? How was he supposed to respond to that? Would saying no make him the worst man on Earth? Could he walk away from his responsibilities and live with it? He was already a selfish son of a bitch as it was, whatever he chose to do.

Olivia was right. It was easy to show up there and demand to stay when he had been kicked out, a suitcase as his only possession, and what was worse: it might look like she was his second option, his alternative since his wife didn't want him anymore, and that he expected her to feast on his wife's unwanted scraps. Maybe he couldn't claim heroically that he was leaving anything behind; he hadn't even been the one to make the move. Olivia wanted him to say with certainty that he would have been able to do it on his own, even if Kathy still wanted to stay married, but he couldn't know for sure.

How could he explain that it was his resolve, not his love for her, that was susceptible to other people's expectations of him? But maybe Olivia did know him better than he knew himself, and she knew that being able to give her that assurance made all the difference, was the perfect measure of the legitimacy of his feelings for her in any way that mattered.

He heard the door creaking open and he could see her silhouette through the fogged glass. He slid the door, opening a crack so they could see each other, and he contained a smile when he saw her holding out a towel for him; apparently, he had won the dispute for the time being. They weren't grocery shopping, but she hadn't hesitated before invading the bathroom when he was in there, showering, like that happened every morning.

"Kathy called me looking for you," she said, point blank, and while her words seemed to prove her point, she didn't seem like she wanted to bring that up; in fact, she now seemed to have jumped right back into the role of his partner Olivia, who managed the world for him, screened his calls, gave him unsettling news in the most soothing tone, like she was the only other human being who spoke his language – sometimes he felt like she was. "Eli has a fever. She gave him medicine, but his temperature won't go down. She's taking him to the hospital, I told her you would meet her there."

Elliot felt his heart start racing immediately. "I-I…" he stuttered, taking the towel she was offering him.

"Finish up, I'll get you some clothes," Olivia said dismissively, already on her way out.

When he walked back into her bedroom, a pair of clean boxers, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans lay on the bed. He started getting dressed, in a hurry, guilt searing him about not having picked up his phone. As usual, Olivia was right. About it being Kathy, about it being an emergency; she wasn't going to talk about it, not when his child was sick, going to the hospital, but he knew the implications in her mind, the conclusions she would reach, especially if he was going to be far from her for the next few hours, maybe longer. She walked into the room bringing his shoes and his leather jacket, which she helped him put on.

"Hey, Liv," he said, trying to snap her out of practical mode. She looked up at him. "We'll continue our conversation later," he promised.

"Elliot," she started, looking away from him and completely gone, out of his reach. "Nothing else matters right now, just go be with your son."

He nodded, still sort of numb himself. "Come with me," he said on a whim when she handed him the shoes; he knew it was a long shot.

Olivia smiled and shook her head. "Kathy does not want to see me," she said, "especially not at the hospital with her sick baby."

There wasn't much he could argue; she was right, but he wanted her to know this didn't prove her point, he was willing to try anything, but he couldn't even think of anything better than Come with me. When he was fully dressed, she started walking, headed for the living room. It was almost as if the sick baby was hers – or as if she wanted to get rid of him really quickly.

"I'll call you as soon as I can," he promised, following her, but she didn't reply as she reached the door, opened it and held it for him, looking down. "Okay?" he insisted.

"Of course, we'll talk later," she said, vague, calm, nodding, but he knew she was just trying to get him to leave sooner.

Not this time, though. He reached for her, and she was so surprised that she didn't have time to even think of reacting when he caught her face between his hands and pulled her to a kiss, screw caution. He felt her hands on his shoulders, and that touch was enough to read her, how she was alert, not completely giving in, her hands there more ready to push him away than to receive him. He took one of his hands to the small of her back and pulled her to him, disassembling that weak barrier and giving her no choice but to move her arms to surround his neck.

With the hand he still had cupping her head, he carefully maneuvered her so that he could deepen the kiss for a moment, squeezing her against him, and he heard a small moan escaping into his mouth when he lightly touched her tongue with his. Since being touched by him didn't seem to be her biggest fear, he figured this would be the most effective way of making any point he had been so clumsily trying to make with words.

Elliot pulled away, then leaned in to give her a last peck on the lips, like it was normal, like it happened every day, like they were used to walking into each other's showers, going grocery shopping together, saying goodbye with a quick kiss on the lips.

"I'll call you," he said as he finally let go of her, and she stood there with her eyes still closed, her overdefensive arms now paralyzed, hanging in the air, either trying to hold on to him or protect herself, he couldn't tell, maybe both.

He walked fast through the door, closing it behind him and dialing Kathy's number to ask which hospital she was heading to.