26 - THE RIGHT THING TO DO
When the rain began, it finally brought Olivia some relief. It had been a long day, spent all alone inside her mind, hostage to the incessant thoughts that assaulted her mercilessly. She had been so desperate to get rid of Elliot, believing she'd feel better once he was gone, but she didn't feel comfortable anywhere, in a constant state of fight or flight, but whatever she had to run from didn't stay behind when she moved. The monster chasing her had always been inside her head, and the rain showed her that struggling was useless, she couldn't win a fight against herself any more than she could keep the water from soaking her. The only answer at hand was letting go, putting down her sword. Surrendering. Letting the cold water bring her back to the present and wash everything else away.
But it hadn't all been agony; all the thinking she had done had also brought a few important insights. She'd been struggling to find something to help her feel like herself again, but she realized it was a dead end. Herself – what was that even supposed to represent? What exactly was she trying to go back to? You can't go back to before, Huang had warned her, and he was right. She tried to remember before, what was it about it that made it so alluring, so necessary, but she couldn't think of anything else besides the fact that it was known, safe in its predictability, her comfort zone, as uncomfortable as it might have been. It was certainly not a place where she had felt any less lonely than she did right now.
The difference was that she had never allowed herself to recognize that loneliness – or any of the other problems that made before not at all as comfortable as she had been pretending it was. Revisiting the beach house events in her dreams, she understood now, had actually made that clearer, helped her see past the torture and the pain of those memories and acknowledge everything she had learned about who herself really was. Undeniable as the suffering Eric had put her through was, he had also inadvertently helped her by ruthlessly exposing so many lies she had been telling herself in order to feel safe, but which had come to imprison her.
During her captivity, Olivia had also been forced to confront her vulnerabilities. Through violence, psychological torture and even using Elliot, Eric had hit her in those exact spots, and only then did she acknowledge their existence – when they ached, lessons learned from pain, like the antibodies that could only be synthesized by the body after contracting the disease, the ironic, thin line between poison and antidote. Her eyes had been pried open, and she could no longer buy into her own expired fantasy that nothing could get to her, that she had been able to make sure she had no weaknesses. Nobody could do that.
It had hurt so much, of course it had. Hurting her had always been Eric's purpose, but not in the same gratuitous way she'd been hurt in Sealview, when she had worked undercover to reveal a rapist and almost become his victim. There, she had been a faceless target to a man who felt entitled to hurting prisoners because, to him, they were worthless. To Eric, Olivia hadn't been faceless at all, she had actually been way too familiar. She'd had her own face, but also his face, like a coin with two heads and no tails. The fear of intimacy, the trust issues, the defense mechanisms, the blinding need for control; he had read her so well because a lot of it had been like reciting what was going on inside his own head. He had seen himself in her, and eventually, she had seen herself in him too. They had seen each other through a two-way glass, but one with the window and the mirror mixed up on both sides, letting them also see themselves at the same time, like some twisted self-discovery exercise.
Eric had never allowed that connection to happen with any of his other victims, that mutual contemplation of all the information in the glass, the trick that made it both reflective and see-through. It had been one-sided, like his romantic experiences, except for the fact that he had made sure he had control on his side this time – or believed the illusion of it. He'd seen himself in Angela, Elizabeth and Anna: they'd stared back at him with all the things he didn't want to face about himself, and he'd found relief in redirecting his self-loathing towards his reflections. Maybe by hurting them, he could keep those pieces of himself safely hidden under that coat of hatred; maybe by killing them, he might kill those weaknesses in him too.
With Olivia, however, he had somehow let control slip between his fingers and ended up caught sitting across from her, the glass between them. Seeing his true reflection had pushed Eric over the edge, turned him into the last casualty in his disastrous struggle to stay in control, to remain safe in his uncomfortable comfort zone while, on the other end of the spectrum, Olivia had been given the opportunity to learn from her truth, to see for the first time that control had always been an illusion beyond reach, to question how far she would go in her own struggle for it, when it didn't even really exist.
As terrifying as that idea had initially sounded, contemplating the possibility that there was no such thing as control was also incredibly liberating. It told Olivia what she'd needed months in therapy to accept after her assault in that prison basement: that under the circumstances, there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. It now saved her a long, round guilt-trip, with countless stops in her mind's itinerary, revisiting all the ways she could have protected herself from Eric – she was his reflection in the mirror, and that would always have made her a target, no matter what she did.
While Eric hadn't been able to go on living with the person he had become, the man he saw in the mirror in that last moment, with his faulty logic, his flawed plan, with the same untouched weaknesses he had tried to kill by taking other people's lives, Olivia had finally seen her real self, no shield, no idealization, no feigned fortress, and realized she could live with that version of her, maybe she could even learn to like it. She had seen her vulnerability and was actually stronger for it now. Pretending she was impenetrable was far more dangerous, because it allowed anyone who could see the exposed patches of skin not covered by her armor from outside to strike her where it hurt the most, a debilitating or maybe even fatal blow with the added perplexity of not knowing what had hit her.
Which led her back to Elliot. He had been there through everything, he'd seen the open wound of her vulnerability, he was a big part of it. Maybe that was the reason she had dreamed about him torturing her, helping expose the wound, right after he had made her feel so loved; maybe replaying such literal images of him hurting her physically was the way her subconscious had found to shine light on much more abstract fears. She had told him she wasn't afraid of him, because she knew he would never hurt her intentionally, but he did have, unlike anyone else, the power of breaking her heart simply because he had it in his hand, he'd had it for years. And yet, it wasn't any more his now than it had always been, the only difference was that this truth was now out in the open.
But most of all, her biggest fear was getting used to him there, sleeping in her bed, making her coffee, grocery shopping, only to lose it all when he decided to go back to his role of father and husband. She didn't want to get used to counting on anything he might have to withdraw later. Unlike the general fear of getting close to someone and losing them, a fear of endings, a fear of death, or even the fear of leaving her heart entirely at someone else's mercy, this was a specific fear, a very real and palpable threat that could strike at any moment. He was being impulsive, and she was afraid because he didn't seem to be aware of reality lurking around the corner, just waiting to catch up with him.
She knew now that he loved her, as she had promised him that morning when he had been inside her for the last time. This was no longer about believing his love for her; she had seen it, tasted it, witnessed it, lived it. But she also knew that his feelings had no standing against what he believed to be his responsibilities, his duties towards his family – reality, still there, lurking, waiting to remind him. Maybe it had already caught up with him right now as she thought about this, he was there now, and she couldn't see him coming back. She couldn't see him leaving his marriage behind.
It was such a concrete thing, and he was such a concrete man. The fact that he was trying so hard was a beautiful testament to his love for her, how real and how great it was, and it filled her heart to know that, it made her feel warm, it made her want to fall back into that place of completeness and safety that she had experienced a few times now, but reality kept pulling her back, and it would get to Elliot too. Reality, concreteness, whatever she might choose to call it. It was that phone that kept ringing, it was Kathy's voice on the other end, the baby's elevated temperature, it was the fact that doing the right thing for other people was who he was.
She could remember, clear as day, when he had told her Kathy was pregnant with Eli, about two years after their separation and just a few months after he had told her he'd signed the divorce papers. She'd known the minute he had said it, but still she had found herself asking him anyway, a shred of hope still there like the shaky flame of a flimsy candle standing before the windstorm: what was he going to do? He had been surprised, annoyed even, because it was so obvious. As always, he had chosen the path of righteousness then, and Olivia was certain he would do the same now. Two years and signed divorce papers hadn't kept him from going back home. She didn't know that anything could.
Days like those would happen too often, when his phone would ring with an emergency, and he would go, of course, and realize it was too long a drive to Queens. He would get there and put out the fire, and then he would look around him and see that he was home. He would sit on his couch to wind down the adrenaline, maybe even lie on his bed to get some rest, or fall asleep inside his wife for some comfort. Even if no accident baby resulted from it this time, something was eventually going to remind him that he belonged there. She knew him too well. It would be stronger than him, it would be like gravity, and he wasn't going to be able to fight gravity for very long, no one was.
But then the night came, and darkness started poking holes in Olivia's cover story, her illusion glowing, revealed, like an invisible bloodstain sprayed with luminol: even knowing better than to expect Elliot to come back, she was still waiting for him. Some hidden, rebellious part of her was defying the beautifully foolproof logic her mind had been working on all day, and even presenting an airtight case, with undeniable evidence and no room for reasonable doubt, the jury in her head had deadlocked. Her unbreakable logic wasn't enough to keep her from waiting for him, it wasn't even enough to cushion the blow now, the disappointment of watching her vacant apartment moving further into the night just as excruciating.
She needed a distraction, a reset button, she suddenly couldn't bear to look at those indifferent walls for another second, their emptiness screaming and threatening to start closing in while the ticking of the clock had become a hammer driving nails into her head. On a whim, she put on a pair of boots and a coat and stepped out of the apartment, the building, started walking outside with no specific destination. The streets were mostly empty, not exactly compelling anyone else to come out; it was getting colder, the profuse clouds hid the moon and the stars in the night sky, the sound of thunder coming from far away like a bad omen.
When the rain began, initially as a light but constant drizzle that drenched her clothes in a matter of minutes, then intensified, making her coat feel more like a heavy layer of ice around her, it was actually a relief. It pulled Olivia immediately back down from inside her head to the freezing water against her skin, bringing such urgent awareness to her body and the present moment. It forced her to stop thinking about the past and the future, and it was always a relief to let go of them, to silence their war in her mind. The present was so easy, so tangible, it was just water making her icy cold lips tremble, it was just the hair sticking to her face, her clouded vision, the much needed silence in her head, this power that water had of silencing everything, washing it all away.
When the rain began, Elliot was relieved they had made it home with Eli hours before a single drop could even consider hitting him. He was relieved that the baby was doing better, that he was going to be alright, scary as the symptoms had been. He was glad he had been able to be there with his child, which wasn't always the case, and it made him want to work on improving that, being able to be more present in his children's lives. He was relieved because he realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't feeling guilty, like he was letting his family down. He was relieved to realize that maybe he could do more by not trying to do everything, all at once, and ending up doing nothing right, only to be resented for it and waste time fostering more resentment in return.
He had sat with the baby long after he had fallen asleep, watching him, relieved to see his small body now in the right temperature thanks to the antipyretics, his breathing no longer labored after the procedures with nebulized bronchodilator drugs, while the infection was already being addressed by the antibiotics in his system. The doctor had assured him and Kathy that giving Eli the prescribed medication and performing nebulization three times a day would make him feel better instantly, but stressed the importance of following the treatment plan to the letter during the whole recommended period regardless.
It wasn't the first time one of their kids had bronchiolitis, but it didn't make this time any less scary; in a way, a new baby years after considering that four kids were enough kind of felt like having his first baby all over again. Elliot watched carefully as Eli slept, wary of any unusual movements, but he was already feeling much better, as the doctor had predicted, and was clearly exhausted, both noticeable by the peaceful look on his face and the fact that he hadn't moved at all since being transferred from Elliot's arms to the crib. As he watched him breathing, thanking God for his little lungs filling up with the correct amount of oxygen, that got him thinking that life was short, and way too fragile.
This little baby that he loved so much, that was a part of him, had already confronted that inescapable truth that day, and now, he didn't even need to wake up from his contented sleep to show Elliot that life should be a lot simpler than he was making it out to be. This baby knew that he needed oxygen, and food, and for as long as he was provided that, everything was right in the world. He knew love in its purest form, bared of the filters and measurements adults assigned to it, devoid of the conditions grown-ups surrounded it with, like it was a contest to be won, a test to be aced, a rare chance not everybody had.
Baby Eli knew that he didn't have to do a damn thing to be loved, he didn't try to please anyone, he wasn't responsible for anything. He didn't even know what judgment was, and he certainly didn't worry about whether he was acting the way he should to be considered good or not. He hadn't yet learned to assess love through actions, so he fully accepted being loved only for being him, not for what he did, and loving people back the same way. He didn't know yet that it was possible to put someone else's needs above his own, so his only agenda was having his needs fulfilled. It was a wisdom that he would lose as he grew up, like everyone else. Elliot knew that he needed a bit more than just oxygen and food, but he couldn't help but wonder how things went from this, basic needs and pure love, to such complicated relationships.
When he came down the stairs to tell Kathy the baby had been sleeping sound for the last hour and a half or so, she gave him a long hug, a relieved one, one of complicity, a mutual recognition that they were the only two people in the world who knew the panic they had felt that day over the health of this specific small human being, a testament to this bond between them which would never fade for as long as they lived as parents to the same five children.
"You should take some rest," he said as he pulled away, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Now that everything was fine, her exhaustion was blatant. "I'll sleep in Eli's room to watch him."
"You don't have to do that," she said, calm, her hand squeezing his shoulder and patting it a couple times before breaking contact. "Don't worry, I got it from here. It was just a scare."
His forehead creased; it had seemed obvious to him that she would expect him to stay, he hadn't even considered leaving. "Are you sure?" he asked, scrutinizing her for any signs that she hadn't really meant it, but he found none. "You're tired."
"Yeah, I'm sure," she nodded, then looked up with her eyes slightly widened, like she had suddenly remembered something. "You do have a place to stay, right? I just assumed..."
Olivia. Elliot's heart skipped a beat at the thought of going back to her place, still being able to see her tonight, hold her. With the state of alert slowly lifting inside him, he realized there was nothing he wanted more right now than to see her. Food, oxygen… His need for Olivia was suddenly that crucial. Was it too selfish to simply fulfill his need? Leave his child behind, the minute his fever was down? Kathy surprisingly didn't seem to think so.
"Yeah, I do," he said simply, nodding reassuringly, his eyes darting away from hers for a second as the corner of his mouth started turning upward involuntarily, but coming back in time to register the acknowledgment in her eyes, a hint of a bittersweet smile across her features for a second. "Call me if anything happens," he requested. "If he sneezes, I wanna know about it."
He figured this was the time she was going to make some passive-aggressive comment about him not having picked up his phone earlier, maybe she would even mention having to turn to Olivia in order to reach him; but strangely, she just smiled.
"He's in good hands," she reminded him, only exhaustion coloring her smile; no score being kept, no snide remarks, no blame game.
"The best," he completed, his honesty triggered by her lack of pettiness, and her smile widened.
Elliot was in awe. He couldn't remember the last time Kathy had spoken to him like that, unarmed, like she wasn't looking to collect everything he owed her and the kids or at the very least make him feel guilty about it. Or, to be fair, the last time he had spoken to her like this, like he didn't simply take it for granted that she would take care of everything without any of his help, just because she always did.
"I'm glad you came," she nodded, pressing her lips together and taking a deep breath. "It meant a lot that you could be there."
"It's my kid, I had to be here," he shrugged.
"Definitely," she raised her eyebrows emphatically with a hint of a smile, making it clear she wasn't thanking him, just acknowledging how he had done what was minimally expected from him for a change – but not even that sounded like a provocation or criticism.
"Fair enough," he smiled, and there was a moment of silence, both nodding their heads.
Kathy broke it, starting to move towards the front door. "Now go, it's late... she must be worried," she grinned, checking the time on her watch. "I would know."
There it was… It would have been too good to be true if she hadn't said anything at all about it. "Kath…" he started to protest, but she shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, waving her hands dismissively.
"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," she rushed to clarify, looking like she really regretted saying it, seeming intent on keeping the peace. She stopped by the door and looked back at him. "I guess it's too soon to joke about it, isn't it?"
Elliot didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry…" he whispered, not sure what part of it all he was apologizing for; he had the night with Olivia in the cribs on his mind, but it could be anything, big or small. It could be over twenty years of big and small things, so he figured she could take her pick.
"We'll figure this out," Kathy guaranteed. "Today was a great start, don't you think?"
He nodded his agreement. "This is good," he gestured from him to her and back. "I hope we can go on like this."
"Me too," she said, but quickly looked away; maybe this was hard for her, which only made Elliot appreciate her effort more.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" he insisted one last time.
"Hundred percent," she assured him, opening the door and then folding her arms around her, still pretty much avoiding his eyes.
Elliot was still having a hard time believing there was no resentment in her voice about him leaving – or about anything else, for that matter, but he figured maybe her resentment had always been a reaction to his unwillingness to recognize his faults or change his ways, in and endless cycle in which she would blame everything on his absence and he would retaliate by becoming even more detached, a silent war of negative feelings triggering other negative feelings, until they could no longer remember what had started it all.
A great start… Maybe she was right. That day, they'd been able to find some middle ground and fight on the same side instead of against each other, and it had been the best thing not only for their sick child, but for themselves, to be able to have an ally through a tough situation. Elliot hoped they could both always remember that, not only after long, hard days like this one.
If they could partner up, mutually respecting each other, Elliot figured it would be a much better scenario for their kids than if they'd gone on pretending they still wanted to be married, acting only on feelings of obligation while secretly blaming each other for their unhappiness, making their children witness fights, resentful remarks, or, on a good day, two distant people who had trouble communicating and retreated to their separate corners.
"Call me," he insisted as he passed by her, only turning away when she nodded her acknowledgment. "Good night."
"Night," she said behind him before closing the door.
Elliot stood there for a second, looking at the closed door, the lights on in the living room and the bedrooms, everything there without him in it, and when he ultimately turned to walk away, he realized this was probably the first time in more than twenty years that he walked out of that house without feeling like he was letting anyone down.
When the rain began, quite suddenly, he had just reached the car. He paused for a second, holding the handle, feeling the cold drops on his head and experiencing a rare sensation of freedom. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin up, allowing the rain more access, amazed to find out that it was possible to walk away without feeling in debt to anyone, feeling like he wasn't doing anything wrong, when a few weeks earlier, he wouldn't have been able to imagine himself leaving the house and getting in his car to go see Olivia, the woman he had forbidden himself to have feelings for, recognizing that was what he wanted to do and actually doing it without any feelings of guilt.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Elliot snapped as soon as their eyes met, grabbing her arm and starting to yank her back towards her building.
Olivia couldn't quite believe it; she had finally found some peace walking in the rain, the only thing that helped pause the endless stream of arguments with herself about him playing over and over again in her head, and there he was, ripping her away from her distraction with a firm grip around her upper arm and clear rage dripping from his stance, when he wasn't even supposed to be in the city.
"I'm just walking," was her delayed, silly reply. She looked like she hadn't been expecting to see him, as well as surprised by his outburst – he was a bit surprised himself, but it was way beyond his control now.
He had been just about to call the precinct to report her missing when he saw her approaching from down the street, no umbrella, no rush. Something broke loose in him, and he just charged towards her, rage flowing through his body like searing lava. After the day he'd spent at the hospital with his feverish baby having trouble breathing, he was way too tired and in no mood for Olivia's little disappearing act with a chance of pneumonia as the cherry on top.
"You trying to get sick?" He shoved in the front door he'd left wedged open with such strength that it bounced back towards them; he contained it with one hand as he pushed her inside before him with the other, like that millisecond was going to make a big difference. Inside, under the brighter light, he noticed she was shivering, her lips pale, and it only made him angrier. "How long were you out there?"
Elliot was livid, and his rage triggered Olivia's. She hated it when he got like this, acting like a jerk, taking his frustrations out on her – especially when his frustrations were actually about her. She didn't need him to scold her for being out in the rain, she'd never had a father to do that and her mother had never cared enough. She'd been in charge of taking care of herself all her life, and he should know better than to yell at her when he thought she wasn't doing a good job of it.
"Save it, all right?" she finally spoke again, annoyance superseding her initial astonishment. Her voice came out as shaky as her body though, despite the effort she put into making it sound harsh. She tried to free her arm, but he wouldn't let her. "I just took a walk to clear my head, I do it all the time."
"In the rain?" he raised his voice even more as they climbed the stairs. "At almost midnight?"
"Will you keep it down?" she demanded, her clenched teeth chattering slightly, her head spinning; he wasn't supposed to come back. "What were you doing in front of my building anyway?"
"I was trying to get home, but you were supposed to be there!" he exclaimed with frustration, looking away from her, clearly focused on getting to the apartment as soon as possible.
Home. His choice of words caught Olivia off guard, especially because he didn't emphasize it, he just said it like it was simple fact, universal truth. Trying to get home. But this wasn't his home, and he was needed in his real one. "What about Eli? Why aren't you with your son?"
"I was until now," he said, dry, dismissive. "He's fine."
How could he be fine? Enough for Elliot to leave his side? Leave his side to come here? He's here, she remembered, but what did that mean? Was reality just staking him out a little further down the road than she had thought?
He stopped at her door, his fingers still curled around her elbow. "Keys," he commanded, before she could think of opening the door herself. When she didn't respond in any way, he turned to look at her; each time he laid eyes on her colorless, trembling lips, he got angrier.
He wasn't supposed to be here. But he was. Olivia's mind was shorting out, trying to process that anomaly. He was holding out his open hand, waiting, so she pulled the keychain from her coat pocket and slapped it into his palm so that at least they could take the shouting inside. He's here. Yes, he was, annoying her, disrespecting her, shouting in the hallways, her neighbors could complain. He had no right to treat her like this. Where was he all the other times she had walked out in the rain or cried alone in the dark?
Elliot couldn't get the lock open soon enough, his haste making him lose precious seconds. When he finally managed to turn the key, he pulled at Olivia's arm to direct her, but now she forcefully freed herself from his grip and entered the apartment on her own. He slammed the door on his way in, anger getting the best of him.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled. "Are you trying to get yourself killed now that you survived a fucking serial killer?"
"Killed?" she sneered; this guy had seen her in countless life-or-death situations in the field, and now he couldn't trust her chances against a little rain? He was making her feel like a a teenager who had sneaked out on her parents. "I was just trying to clear my head! I needed some space."
"From what?" he inquired, like he didn't believe her, with an intimidating step in her direction, inquisitive hands on his waist. "You were alone in here."
"Exactly," she grinned to herself; if he had any idea how much she had needed some space from herself. "Just drop it, all right? This might come as a shock to you, but I was always able to take care of myself."
His eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth rose in a crooked, mocking, infuriating smile. "I can see that, great job. You want a medal?" He was running his eyes over her wet, disheveled hair and her face still drained of color and wondering if she realized how much her current state was undermining the credibility of her allegation. But he didn't have time to say anything about that, because her hair was wet and disheveled, and her face was still drained of color. "You're freezing," he rasped, grabbing her arm again. "Come on."
"What are you…?" Olivia mumbled, but then he was once again dragging her like she was a spoiled brat. He simply hauled her through her bedroom, without a word, in a sudden rush. "Elliot…" she started asking, but he just towed her into the bathroom. She raised her voice to get his attention. "Elliot!"
"Shut up for a second!" he yelled back at her, stunning her into silence and stillness as he let go of her to operate the shower. When he seemed satisfied with the temperature of the water, he turned to her again and unceremoniously started working on stripping her down.
"Hey, what the…?" she breathed, astonished. "I can…"
"...do this yourself, I know," he completed, pausing for a moment to stare at her with that sarcastic smile again before resuming his work. "You can take care of yourself, you did it your whole life, 'cause you have no one and all that crap. This is getting really old! How long are you gonna hang on to Downey and his goddamned profile as an excuse?"
"What?" she replied, outraged that he would mock her about this, knowing how much that had always hurt her. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about how you never let anyone get close to you," he said firmly, in a disapproving tone, as he clawed at her wet clothes to remove them. "How many guys must have been out of their minds in love with you, and the minute it got serious, you shut them out like you've been trying to do with me?"
"Now you're starting to sound like him," she said, her voice choking with bitterness, hurt because of the truth in his words, because of the judgment, like he didn't know why she did that, like he didn't understand. Eric had said that on purpose to torture her, what was Elliot's excuse?
It was a punch in the gut, but Elliot knew she was comparing him to Downey on purpose to get to him, to make him feel guilty again. He softened his tone. "I just can't understand why go through all this trouble to get away from me."
"Don't you have it all figured out?" she snapped, slapping his hands away and taking over the task of undressing. "You're right, I ran from every guy who's ever wanted me. It's all me, I like fitting Eric's profile. I like being all alone in the world. Right? Isn't that what you said?" Her voice was coming out louder with every word. "If I didn't like it so much, I could be married and have my own five kids by now, it's that easy. It could have happened with any one of the dozens of men crazy in love with me chasing me around. Or maybe I should have married one of the pervs who just wanted to go to bed with me because I catch rapists." She was down to her bra and underwear now, and she didn't know if her shaking was from the cold or the outrage. She took another step, standing only a couple of inches from him now, and resumed her yelling. "Guess I should've just held onto one of the good men who wanted to role-play rape fantasies with me because that's all they could see when they looked at me!"
He had been watching her, paralyzed, in shock not only at what she was saying, but also at the anger, the hurt; he wondered how long she had been bottling it up inside. He swallowed hard, a bitter mixture of guilt and rage in the back of his mouth.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That's not what I meant... If you give me those clowns' names…" Both of his hands balled into fists, his fingernails stinging against his palms with fury as he tried to suppress the images of the encounters she'd just described.
Olivia nodded, victorious. She wanted him to feel guilty for what he'd said, but maybe guilt was contagious; she remembered that she had blown off good guys, because they were good, but they weren't better than him. She remembered how she would debate it in her head, reminding herself what an asshole he could be sometimes, judgmental, prejudiced, headstrong, and yet, the most gentle, caring guy wouldn't measure up, as much as she tried to pretend Elliot wasn't the reason, that she hadn't made that comparison, that he wasn't the parameter she was measuring everything against.
"You know what Eric told me?" she looked up at him, her voice now barely audible. "He said… that maybe the reason I was attracted to you was because you represented everything I've never had… a father… a family. Someone to look out for me, to protect me."
Her voice failed upon saying those last words, which came out as little more than a whisper but echoed loud in the emptiness they evoked inside her. The loneliness. She had no idea why she was talking about this. Elliot hadn't been in the room when Eric had said those things, and she wouldn't have wanted him to hear it, it was too shameful, but now she just couldn't contain the urge to tell him. Elliot smiled, though, only adding up to her confusion.
"That alone proves him wrong, because you never let me," he said, but she wouldn't look at him, too far gone in her own head now. "Liv… when are you gonna stop torturing yourself with what that guy said to you?"
"He said I secretly wanted to destroy your family, just because I didn't have one," she added, ignoring him. She looked up again, smiling, eyes welling up. "How's that for psychoanalysis, huh?"
Elliot shook his head. "I thought we were supposed to be trying to forget what happened there. Isn't that what you asked me this morning? To forget?"
She raked his face for any reactions to what she had just told him, any sign that he agreed, that he was somehow affected, but she saw none. "What if he wasn't wrong?" she insisted.
"It was a mind game!" he raised his voice again, irritated. "And it's still working, 'cause he already checked out and there you are, still listening to him." He waited for her to say something, but she didn't. "Maybe he was right about some things… And not about others. And what the hell does it matter anyway?" He softened his tone "You're just… gonna have to let it go."
She looked at him, her eyes wide, like a little girl's, and she didn't have to open her mouth for him to understand she wanted to ask him how to do that. He didn't know, but right now, he needed to warm her up, so he took her wrist and led her into the shower, driving her right under the stream of water without much chance to acclimate.
Olivia gasped loudly, her eyes shutting tight, when she came in contact with the hot water, her body so cold against it that it initially made her shake even harder, her muscles tensing up, her arms curling up around her to try and cover themselves, and as the water forcefully warmed her up, waves of painful relief rippled through her.
Elliot's hand was still firm around her wrist, like she might sink and drown if he let her go, but even in the middle of their fight, she was glad for the connection. She was still shivering, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw it as he joined her, standing close, still fully dressed.
"You'll get wet," she said faintly, in a reflex, realizing as she spoke that he was already wet from meeting her halfway on the street.
Without any warning, he wrapped both of his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, squeezing tight. She felt instantly warmer, and only then realized how much she had craved this contact, how much she had missed it. He's here, she remembered, already waiting for her mind's retort, but it never came. Just silence. The water, once again, bringing her back to the present, a present in which he was here, holding her until she got warm. Her mind had run all the possibilities, calculated all potential outcomes, but never this one; she'd been so certain that he wasn't coming back.
And then it hit her: without noticing, she had slipped right back into it and just done it again, tried to exert some control by using the past to predict the future. She had pretended that knowing what Elliot had done in the past meant that she knew what he was going to do in the future, because she'd needed to know sooner rather than later, even if she had to decide the outcome herself. The fact that he was there now was proof that there was no way of knowing what would happen. Even now that he was here, how was she supposed to know how long he was going to stay?
She let her weight rest against him, shamelessly breathing in his scent, suddenly so familiar, so reassuring. It was like coming home, it was as if she was remembering something she didn't even know she knew. She felt one of his hands coming up to cradle her head, while the other moved up and down her back, in a soothing motion.
"You scared me," she felt more than heard him say into her hair.
"I'm sorry," she said against his chest, her voice already a bit stronger. "I didn't mean to."
"Just glad you're okay," was his barely audible answer.
She curled her fingers around the hem of his t-shirt and started rolling it up, pulling away when she needed his help to finish removing it. Before helping her, he threw her an inquisitive look, and her reply was to pull him flush against her, their chests and stomachs connected under the stream of water; she wanted access to his skin, and he granted it, holding her tight again once the piece of clothing was gone.
Elliot watched it as her shaking slowly subsided, felt it as her skin recovered its warmth; he pulled away slightly, relieved to see the color back on her face. Her eyes fluttered closed in response to the water drops, and he brushed her hair away from her face as he pulled her slightly away from the spray.
"You wanna know what I see when I look at you?" he said, making her look up at him. "I don't see the tough cop who catches rapists. I don't see the girl who made the best she could out of a really bad deal. Not even just… the beautiful woman I see guys drooling over every day. Not at all. I see… The best person I know. The first person I wanted to see tonight as soon as I knew my kid would be okay. The first person I wanna see when something bad happens, when something good happens."
Olivia opened her mouth, but nothing came out; she felt stupid now for having said all that stuff, trying to make him feel guilty. It seemed so irrelevant now. He went on.
"I wasn't trying to say you should have married any of the bastards you've dated, I'm sure not a single one of them deserved you."
Olivia chuckled wryly. "Okay, it's either an endless line of great guys I blew off before giving them a chance or no one is good enough for me," she mocked. "Choose one, you can't have both."
Elliot grinned, a weird mixture of sadness with something she couldn't quite identify. "I'll pick number two."
"Nobody deserves me?" she pushed, still kidding. "Not even you?"
He shook his head, slowly, defeated, and gave her a sad smile. "God knows I don't think anyone deserves you. Especially me." He was very serious now, no longer joking. "Nobody deserves you, but you deserve to have whoever you want and make whoever that son of a bitch is the luckiest guy in the world."
Her breath hitched. "And who do you think I want?"
She regretted asking instantly; what was he supposed to answer? They both knew who she wanted, but that didn't change anything. He stared at her, his eyes intense, never faltering from hers, his proximity making her swallow hard; she waited for him to say something, but he didn't, he was just watching her, wondering what she was going to say now to defend herself, to deny she wanted him.
She shook her head, sighing, too disoriented. Just an hour earlier she had been sure he had already decided to go back home to Kathy, but he was here now, and she didn't know anything anymore. Her voice was small, bare, and that gut-wrenchingly sad smile formed on her lips again, her eyes watering slightly. "I don't know, Elliot..." was all she managed to say.
"Right," he said. "This is about what you said this morning, isn't it? That I was going to realize staying married is the right thing to do."
She waited for him to say something else about it, whether to confirm it or refute it, but he didn't. He just removed one of his hands from around her waist and reached for a bottle of shampoo. Her brows snapped together, wondering what he was going to do with it. He opened the lid with his thumb and took a sniff at it.
"Smells good," he said, smiling, freeing his other hand while she still secured them together with her arms around him.
Olivia watched him with curiosity, but showed no sign she intended to interrupt him. He pumped a good amount of the liquid from the bottle, then put it down so he could rub his hands together to produce foam. Next, he used his forefinger to lift her chin slightly so gravity would keep the foam from running down her face and started applying the shampoo onto her head carefully.
"I have daughters," he smiled at the question-mark look on her face as she watched him, but she wasn't doubting his skills at washing a girl's hair.
In reality, she was amazed, watching it as he thoroughly took care of her, and in that moment she felt loved. It was so powerful, so overwhelming, it made doubt sound like a silly, unimportant voice inside her head as it kept insisting he might not want this tomorrow, but he was rubbing his fingers against her scalp so lovingly that it made her not think about tomorrow. Her mind threw at her once again the memory of him going back to his wife the other time they had separated, but his expression was so focused on what he was doing that before didn't matter either, and suddenly it didn't matter that she had never had a father who held her like this, who worried about her getting a cold, who washed her hair, because she had Elliot now, and now was all she really had any relevant access to.
"Close your eyes," he instructed, moving her carefully towards the water and tilting her head further back, one hand on her forehead to shield her face while the other hand helped the water remove the foam from her hair.
It was the best feeling in the world, the hot water, his hand through her hair, her eyes closed as she focused on receiving this, on letting him take care of her, letting him love her. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it wasn't so hard. Just because she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, that didn't mean she couldn't just let someone else do it for a change.
Once he was done, he put the shampoo back where he'd found it and started checking the other bottles. Upon noticing he was having some difficulty, Olivia turned her body slightly, using one of her hands to choose the right bottle. Elliot thought she was going to apply the conditioner herself, but she just gave it to him and put her arm back around him; he could tell she was amused watching him, and smiled. She smiled back as he pumped the conditioner into one of his hands and then rubbed them together again, but didn't tell him he didn't have to do that – him trying was too cute, she didn't want to criticize him.
"Not on the roots," she instructed, amused, mostly to tease him, see what he would do.
"Why not?" his forehead creased with genuine curiosity, and she laughed.
"I thought you had daughters," she teased.
"They don't tell me all the secrets," he smiled, applying the product from the mid-shaft down to the ends of her hair as instructed. "I've been thinking about it, and you're right," he said casually, paying attention to what he was doing. "I always have to do the right thing."
Olivia sighed, disappointed with the subject change. "You do," she confirmed with resignation.
"But Liv... You're forgetting that sometimes there's more than one right thing to do," he explained matter-of-factly. "And also… I've realized that doing the right thing for the wrong reasons kind of defeats the purpose."
He removed his hands from her hair and held her gaze intently, watching his words reverberate in her, her mouth half-open, her eyes slightly wide, but she didn't say anything. He gestured for her to step into the water again; she closed her eyes and did as told. Elliot followed, untangling her hair with his fingers as the water took care of taking away the conditioner, and Olivia felt like he was also untangling her thoughts, letting them wash away.
"All done," he said, watching it as she opened her eyes again, ran a hand over her hair. When she looked at him again, he spoke. "So… Unless you tell me you don't want me here… I'm not going anywhere. Because you can't tell me this is wrong. You and me. Can you?"
She looked for an answer, but after a while she just shrugged. "I can't tell anymore," she said.
Elliot sighed. "I can't stay away," he continued, sounding a bit impatient. "I tried. And I succeeded, for years. But I can't do that anymore. You're gonna have to convince me you think this is wrong, or that you don't want me here, otherwise I'll just stay. Do you want me to go?"
Olivia found herself at a loss for words. This was it, he was giving her an out. And as much as she knew that he could smell her bullshit from a mile away, she also knew that, if she preyed on his fear of scaring her, on his guilt over the beach house and so many other things, she might actually convince him to go, and end this right now, her last chance to take control. She faced herself in her mental mirror, but she saw Eric blowing his head off, his last desperate act for control, his last act at all. How much further was she going to go in her own struggle for control? A mantra in her head.
She knew now that there was no such thing as control, but it was easier said than done. She was a junkie, and she wasn't just going to go cold turkey all of a sudden; she had actually just relapsed, trying to convince Kathy to take him back, trying to convince him he would eventually want to go back, trying to convince herself that this was it, that he was gone. But the truth was there was nothing she could do to relieve the fear of losing Elliot, whether to Kathy, to a bullet, like in her dream, or to anything else.
There was no such thing as control, remembering the past didn't mean predicting the future. There was no way of knowing what was going to happen, or when; the future was beyond her reach, she couldn't touch it, she couldn't skip to the last page to read the ending, there was no fast-forward button available at the touch of her hand. Why was that so hard to remember sometimes? She had been so worried about reality catching up with Elliot, she hadn't realized she was the one that needed to catch up with it: the only reality that existed was the present, and in the present he was here, with his arms around her, washing her hair, trying to make her let him take care of her.
So, right now, in the present… Did she want this? Or did she want him gone? He was saying he didn't have the strength to stay away, well, she didn't have the strength to make him. She was only human, after all, and she couldn't undo this, couldn't unsee this. Maybe she was the one fighting gravity, and she was tired of kicking and screaming while she fell all the same.
She had tried everything, gone out of her way to try and keep this from happening, but he was there, and she'd run out of excuses. She was delivered, in his arms, surrendering. She was so tired of fighting. She decided that, at this point, fighting was more painful than anything that might eventually come to happen, her worst fears couldn't surpass the pain she was in right now, the pain she was putting herself through. So she was done. She was done fighting. Whatever had to happen, she was just going to see it through, however long it lasted, whether a week, a year, a lifetime. The only answer at hand was letting go, putting down her sword. Surrendering. Letting the warm water bring her back to the present and wash everything else away.
So no, she didn't want him to go. She shook her head to answer his question, because keeping it still was so painful and exhausting. She shook it, because letting him stay was such a relief, it invaded her with such joy, such happiness, to know that she was letting go, that there was absolutely nothing that she could do, that she didn't need to do anything besides standing there, in his arms, and letting him stay, not move a muscle to resist him, not say a word to convince him, to stop trying to hold back the flood, to realize that she could simply let go, just let go, just open her hands and finally let the illusion of control slip away with the water, let go of the weight – and she felt so light.
"Good," Elliot smiled, invaded by her relief and his own. A moment later, he turned off the shower. "I think that's enough water for you."
He reached for her bathrobe hanging from the wall and helped her into it, and she acknowledged how good it felt to be surrounded by something dry. He also took the same towel he had used that morning and started drying himself off. Olivia was suddenly hit with the awareness that he was there to stay. Trying to get home, he had said. So that was it? After all the doubting, the wondering, the fighting… A million doubts started attacking her – well, she knew that was going to happen. Fear would come, and then the need to take control. She would have to be vigilant, and she was going to need his help.
"So that's it?" she said softly, making him look at her. "You're just gonna… stay?"
"Yeah," he said, like it was obvious. "I mean, I intend to get a place of my own, but... "
"Elliot," she called in a warning tone, so serious that his brow furrowed. "I just…" He noticed her eyes were glistening, and her voice broke slightly when she spoke. "I don't think I can take it if you wake up one day and realize you made the wrong choice…"
He paused for a second, then smiled lightly. "I won't," he promised.
A tear finally made it out and rolled quickly down her cheek. "If you change your mind…"
"I'm not going to," he stressed each word, taking a step closer and watching the last of her defenses all falling down. He wiped that tear lightly with the pad of his thumb, then cupped her face with one hand, shrugging. "That all you got?" he teased. "I thought this was gonna be harder."
Olivia smiled. "Give me some time, I'll think of something," she bantered back.
"No," he rasped, his voice firm, wrapping her in his arms. "Time's up."