A/N:
I don't know anything about ptsd and I've tried to keep this as accurate as I could based on what I've seen on oc, but some parts are based on my personal experience. I've tried to show Elliot's restlessness and all that he and Liv are feeling; especially Olivia because we don't see much of it anymore. This might be a one-shot, it might note, we'll see… enjoy
When he was a kid, he used to hide in his closet, close his eyes and count to 20; everytime his father used his fists instead of his words. 20 felt like a magic code, that made everything bad disappear. When he grew up a few years later, he knew that hiding away in his closet and counting to 20 wasn't doing anybody any good and he had to step up to shield his mother from his father… his helpless mother. He hated his father for putting that huge weight and responsibility on his shoulders. He hated his mother even more for being the woman she was; for not ever caring about Elliot.
He finds himself counting to 20 these days too, when the pressure is too much to handle.
He lays there, trying to breathe, the cold sweat from the last nightmare still on his chest and face. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be a nice trip, to the city which they used to call home. It was supposed to be warm and cuddly, reuniting with friends and people that once were a part of everything they had. But instead, the cold winter had found a shelter in their bones. He doesn't know where to look for the answers anymore.
The pictures of the case and people and the explosion stare at him all the time. He can't hide from their eyes. But he can't take them down either. They're hunting him either way. No wonder his son moved out to stay with his eldest daughter. He had scared him. Elliot had tried so hard over the years not to be like his father to his kids. But the expression on Eli's face everytime they sat around the table or tried to make small talk, reminded him that his son was scared of him. That made him hate himself to the point where he had often thought about swallowing his own gun… But then everytime he had touched his gun, his fingers lingering on the trigger, feeling the cold metal in his palm, Kathleen's face had appeared in front of him, telling him that they needed him.
He rolls over, trying to stay away from the heavy stare of the murder wall. There has been a shift in the case and Angela's face one the wall is the one making him uneasy. How could he have been so blind? He was seeking justice for his wife but he drifted away. He was starting to let go. He was starting to adjust to the idea that there was this someone who would cocoon him and comfort him when it was too much to handle, without asking questions. He's angry at himself, he needs this to end now; he needs Kathy to rest easy. The clock shows 2:25 in the morning and he can't sleep. He knows that he's already down too low and he's drowning; but he can't find a way out. He can't get out. Maybe the truth is he doesn't want to get out, especially after what he did. Maybe if he let's go, it means he'll move on; and he doesn't want to move on. Guilt is eating him alive. So many things he should've done, he should've said… guilt and regret are his inseparable friends tonight and seems like for eternity.
He sits up and grabs his phone to call his superior in intel. His team is supposed to pick up the person responsible for his wife's death tomorrow but he needs answers now. There isn't any detail that he hasn't gone over a hundred times in the evidence folders; but nothing answers the only question; why? He needs confirmation that everything is right and that Bekher didn't say her name to protect his boss. Elliot checks his phone and dials the number of the superior. He remembers then, that it's past midnight so he hangs up.
He walks to his kitchen for some water. His feet are sore and a short walk makes him feel a little better. He stands by the open window of his kitchen, closing his eyes and letting the cold breeze hit his face. It's so quiet outside. He wonders if it was this quiet when he left too. Did the city scream and bleed or did it mourn in silence when he was fighting a war in his mind? Or maybe it didn't feel anything, maybe it was so quiet and peaceful because it didn't feel his absence at all. He opens his fridge and it's empty with an overstayed take out in it. His mind wonders what Liv would say and he chuckles at his stupidity. Liv. Her name is the one thing keeping him sane now. Olivia…
Back in Rome, he used to say her name in a whisper when he'd sit in the terrace of his house, in the presence of the evening breeze. He had tried to hold onto her face and her name, the way it sounded, how it tasted in his mouth. And he had felt guilty over how good it made him feel to say her name. Months later all he had done was say her name in his head when his wife was sitting next to him in their terrace, and when his family had to be his first choice; even then, her face was more familiar to him than his own. Years later he found himself forgetting how it felt to call her name.
He scrapes his hand down his face and exhales. He scared her, when the words forced themselves out. He was never the type to let someone see right through him. He didn't mean to say it out loud. He had kept it a secret, had kept it in his eyes and hadn't let anything out for 22 years. But that night, when he looked into her pleading eyes, the whole world around them faded out. It was him, and her and the present time. There was no past, no future, no history… nothing; only her beautiful brown eyes. He didn't see a way out. He needed her to know. He shakes his head to shake the thoughts. He has screwed up once more. That night at Angela's house, he wasn't thinking clearly, yet he was there because he wanted to be. He doesn't know what Liv would think if she finds out. Would she be disgusted? He has confessed his love to the woman he's loved for twenty years and then has found shelter in another woman's arms. He's a mess and he knows it. He can't blame her if she wants to stay away again, if she doesn't want to answer his calls. But he needs her to answer his calls because he needs to hear her voice, he needs her to be near. He needs her. She's his lifeline. This is where the guilt starts to make him nauseas.
And suddenly, ten years away seems impossible…
He grips the surface of the countertop until his knuckles turn white. He takes a deep breath, but it's not enough to calm him down.
Everyone keeps telling him that he needs to get help, that he needs some sleep or else he'll really lose his mind. But what they don't know is that he's afraid of losing his breath, to really suffocate when the water starts to rise. He's already drowning but when guilt eats him fully, that's when he's really gone.
He stands in his kitchen, quiet, with no movement. He needs something, but he doesn't know what it is. It's been sometime that he's felt the need of something. He's felt the void in him grow bigger and bigger to this moment, when he stands in his kitchen, his mind shut down. He needs something to fill that void. Maybe he lost a part of himself in the explosion, and that the blank space in his mind, the emptiness in his soul was caused by the blast; maybe the blank space was already there and it grew bigger when he realized he had been played; maybe he had lost that part when he left for Rome.
He remembers himself waiting for a sign that he had done the right thing by leaving Manhattan, waiting for one shred of hope that he had done good, once in his life. He knows now, that he had done the right thing by leaving; even if it meant that he had to leave behind a part of himself, even if it meant to shatter slowly into pieces and losing the sense of his purpose. He needed to give his marriage another chance; forgetting the fact that they were running out of possibilities that their marriage was worth anything anymore. Yes, they were happy; but the happiness felt empty, just like his soul now.
Back then, he used to know the wrong from the right. Maybe he was a black and white thinker but he knew what he was supposed to do and when he had to stop. Back then, five minutes into the interrogation and he knew if the person was guilty or not. He used to know a lot of things back then. He feels lost now, because he has lost that ability. Maybe this is what ten years would do to you, maybe this is all his fault.
He pushes of the counter and makes his way to his living room. He sits on his couch - which is his bed now- and lets his head fall back on his neck and stares at the ceiling, leaning back. This couch is the most tangible thing in his life right now. It holds his darkest secrets and nightmares, one last bit of hope that he'll be able to finally forgive himself. Forgive himself for loving another woman. Forgive himself for doing this to the woman he loves.
He knows that he has missed out on so much of her life. ' Liv moved on… it took her a minute but she moved on' something died in him a little when he heard Fin say that she had moved on. A part of him whished that she would never move on; but he knows that he has absolutely no rights to her… not anymore. He is afraid that he has been gone for so long that she no longer needs him.
He sinks more in his couch. The memories of that night at Angela's come rushing to him. The way she had assured him, the way he had trusted her. They keep fogging his mind and he doesn't know when to yell stop at them. The explosion is all a blur now. His wife's face is fading away and he needs this to stop. Whoever is doing this to him needs to stop right now; this is a sick joke.
He leans on his knees then, holding his head into his hands. He tries to take a deep breath. It seems too easy for a man who is guilty of so much; so he holds it in.
He talks a lot more to himself these days. He tells himself that the coldness and numbness in his hands and feet are because of the winter that has already seeped its way into him. But he acknowledges that his skin had been cold even when the summer had come. He exhales so sharply finally, that he can feel the air swirl in him.
He remembers that once in Rome, in a nice afternoon Kathy had looked at him longer that she usually did. She had just come out of a long shower, her hair still damp. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with her hair. When he had asked what was bothering her, she had answered "Do you ever think about going back to New York?". He had felt the hesitation in her voice, like there was more that she wanted to say, but had held herself back. He had known that she had wanted to ask if he ever thought about Olivia and that she had thought about asking about it, taking a lot of time in the shower, when she usually didn't. The truth is he had… more than he would ever admit. He used to picture what Olivia's life was like without him. He used to think about who made her laugh, who took care of her, who she loved and if she was happy. He had given up a while later, because the thought of Olivia doing just fine without him, had taken his breath away.
Elliot takes another breath and holds it. He wants to see how long he can survive without the oxygen. He wants to see if oxygen is the one thing keeping him alive, because something else seems to be his lifeline; someone else. And he wants to see if he's actually alive, and that all of this is not the aftermath of whatever he's in.
He exhales then and it comes out sharply again. They'd had a fight before the explosion, and he had turned away. He had turned away and he had given her the keys. It was his fault; Kathy being the target or not, he deserved to burn, not her. His throat locks and he can't breathe. He had turned away from her way before the blast; when in the late night, the only thing visible in his eyes was Olivia's solid figure sitting across from him. ' I spend more time with you than my wife and kids'
He had turned away once more when he had let Angela in. The woman was so kind to him, her voice so soothing that made him forget all of this ever happened. He had blindly fallen into her trap and it hadn't even hurt, because she knew what she was doing. He wants to know if all of the talks and the gazes lingering on eachother was a part of her game too. Usually, he would be so good at profiling that kind of a suspect; what happened to him, he doesn't know.
He slams his fist down on the table. He needs stability, this is driving him crazy. He needs a solid ground because the one beneath his feet is shifting. His kids deserve closure more than he does. He needs to know that it wasn't his fault. That he didn't kill her. His pulse pounds in his temples, in his neck.
And the memories come to him again:
The words, her coat, her blond hair, and the noise. The size of the blast. And then it's suddenly dark eyes, dark hair, and words of reassurance, comfort, smiles…
The water starts to rise. His mind is giving up. Giving in. He can't take anymore of this sick joke. He hunches over, and the noise is suffocating him. He presses his palms hard into his eyes and he feels nauseas. Maybe he's exploding just like her.
He needs to get away. Just run. Hide. Count to 20.
The sound of the explosion pierces his ears. His head is splattering into pieces. 'Angela Wheatley gave the order' He can't breathe now. Goddamn it he needs air. He is powerless. His lungs have already given up. They're failing. He's longing for more air but he doesn't have any more fight left in him.
There is too much noise in this quiet apartment and he needs to cover his ears. He needs a way out. There must be an exit. He feels his cheeks burn and he lets out the noise, the pressure he's been holding in his throat for so long. He realizes that he is crying. Sobbing uncontrollably. He can't cry like this. He's too loud, louder than the noises. He's crying and he can't stop himself. It's not soothing, it's not coming softly, it's not calming. His eyes burn and his throat locks and he's crying.
This is the final step… he has to let go
It's bringing all the pictures back and he can't go on like this. He's been a fool, too blind. He shakes his head and presses the heels of his palms hard into his eyes. There is no stop to it. It pours out of him and the way he cries, seems like he's letting all the heaviness of all those years go… he's letting them out. But in fact it bottles more inside of him. He's never felt like this, ever.
He's crying through his eyes and his throat and his gut but he still doesn't feel empty, relived.
He knows that he can't control everything. He's known for a while, yet he has wanted to. He has wanted to look unbreakable, despite the destruction he's felt inside. He's wanted to stop the storm with a wave of his hand but he knows that he can't. He can't even stop the storm that he has caused. Maybe this is the coast he has to pay for failing everyone around him. He's failed… He can't save himself, how does he expect to save anyone else?
Maybe this is the coast he has to pay for leaving her. He left her. He knew what it would do to her.
And he left her.
He can't breathe. And he can't hear anything because everything is suddenly muffled. Filtered. The noises coming from outside seem too far away and he's losing his balance.
He is cold.
He registers that much, but beyond it he doesn't feel anything.
The voices in his head are too loud. Louder than them is the sound of the explosion. The colors of that night are brighter than they should be. He blames himself for so many things. He blames himself for being grateful to be alive. He feels guilty because his wife is lying six feet under and not him. He blames himself for falling for the one who killed his wife, for finding comfort in her. He also knows that he's hurting everyone with this kind of indecisiveness… after all does he want to breathe or lay next to his wife?
He grabs the edge of the table and the memories come rushing in again. He knows that he needs to stay calm because the more he stresses over this, the more he'll fuel the fire inside of his lungs. His vision starts to blur and the room sways, he falls on the ground. He sees red and then suddenly white is all over his apartment. The world around him doesn't stop moving and he needs it to. He needs everything to just stop. It feels like he's wrapped in a tight plastic wrap and he can't breathe. He clings to his head and presses his palms in his eyes. He's panting now and his chest hurts.
'… and you just disappeared'
He can't sit because the room around him doesn't stop moving. 'mom said that you weren't doing any dangerous jobs'He wants to rip the plastic wrap open, to just breathe. 'Angela Wheatley gave the order' He keeps clinging to his head. But he can't get out. He wants to goddamn it; he was wrong, he needs to get out, he needs to let go.
But it's too late… his vision goes black.
In the calmness of the night, Olivia hears a very loud noise. She shifts in her bed, confused. At first she thinks she's dreaming but she hears it again. It's louder than the noises outside. She checks her watch then and it's after 3 in the morning. The loud noise is coming from outside, someone is banging on her door. She opens her nightstand drawer and grabs her gun. Her first instinct is to check on Noah. Seeing Noah sound asleep, she walks to her living room then, the trepidation permeating her skin, her gun in her hand, ready to unload it on whatever might threaten her and her son. She slows down her steps when she reaches to her door, wanting to catch the person off guard. The person on the other end is still banging on the door and it's loud enough to make her aware of the situation. She peers out the viewer. What she sees wrenches her gut. She lowers her weapon and drops her forehead, pressing it to the cold wood of the door. She exhales sharply and she steps a little back and opens the door, to find Elliot leaning in the doorframe, trying to catch his breath, his shoulders heavy. She looks at him then, realizing it's too late for thinking what she's going to say to him.
He lifts his gaze a little to look at her and she sees it right there. He looks exhausted. His eyes are bloodshot red, his irises too monochromatic. His face seems worn out, tired; like he hasn't slept in years. He's pale and she can see him shattering slowly. He blinks once, twice, almost as if he is fighting the pressure of his heavy eyelids.
She stands there watching him in shock. She's seen victims fade away little by little as exhaustion takes over and let them fall too low. But this is something else.
Elliot doesn't have the same light he used to have in his eyes. She's seen it go out day by day when he came back. His shoulders are fragile, hanging low. He seems small, powerless, too tired to keep up the fight. He can't seem to be able to keep his eyes open.
"I'm not okay Liv" He says in almost a whisper. His words come out slowly, like he struggles to speak them. He shakes his head like he's trying to chase away his thoughts "I'm not okay".
And in that moment, Olivia sees the once commanding and strong man who used to sand with his untouchable looks, shatter in front of her. The way his voice breaks makes her stomach turn inside out.
"What happened?" Is all she can manage to say. She's shocked. Dizzy almost; because she had told him that he seemed better and she had believed it. Thoughts start rushing through her mind. She had thought he had listened to her and that he was making progress. But the truth seems too far from what she had imagined.
"I don't know" He whispers. If the hallway wasn't so quiet she wouldn't be able to hear what he just said. He drops his head now. Olivia takes a long look at him from head to toe. He's wearing a gray hoodie, probably NYPD she thinks, but the logo on it has faded away. His hoodie is unzipped a little and she can see him wearing nothing but his t-shirt underneath. Her eyes gaze lower and she sees him wearing sports shorts, his bare feet barely tolerating his weight. This is not the Elliot she knows. What happened to him? He looks like he's disappeared from the face of the world, his eyes holding all his failures and defeats in them. He's shaking, shivering.
It's freezing outside and all he's wearing is this. He must've lost his mind. And he's panting. She can see him struggling to breathe and she can hear the weariness in the shallow, shaky breaths he's taking. She feels guilty suddenly, more than ever. She could've stopped it but she didn't see it coming.
She then rushes aside, grabbing his forearm, dragging him inside. He gives in to her force and almost falls onto her. She leads him to her couch and sits him down, then goes back to lock the door. She puts down her gun on the counter of the kitchen as his eyes follow her every movement, then sits next to him, facing him.
"What happened?" She asks again, this time much gentler, with a calming, soothing voice. Olivia doesn't know this man. This man who apparently ran to her house in the freezing cold weather. The man who flat out told her to back off only to pour out that he loves her. The man that didn't take his eyes off of her the entire time they were working together.
"Tell me what happened Elliot" She keeps her voice low, just like when they talk to the victims. Victim. Thinking of him like that makes her throat lock, her mouth dry. She knows that at the end of the day, the one ending up being hurt is always her, but she can't fight the urge to be the pillar of strength that he needs to lean on right now. After all, she's in love with this man; she has always been.
He leans over his knees, his head between his hands. She rubs her hand on his back, in slow circles. She sits closer to him and feels the cold skin of his legs. In this moment she would give anything to just go back. Doesn't matter how long but to just go back, even a few days. It physically aches to see him break in front of her eyes.
"I uh… i…I … I think I passed out" He says, with an unsure tone, scraping one hand down his face. Her body stiffs. "You think? Was anyone there?" She manages to stay calm despite the fear and anxiety creeping into her. Elliot shakes his head and leans back. "No, no one was there" He whispers, his head back, staring at the ceiling. She can't tear her look away from him. Her eyes burn and her gut is wrenching. He was alone when he passed out.
"I uh, I passed out and then I came straight here." Elliot says. "I don't know how I got here Liv" He whispers, his voice breaking and she sees his eyes fill with tears. The Elliot she used to know, never stuttered, was never jumpy. But ten years changes you from inside out and she's not sure if this is what those years have done to him or is it something else. She closes her eyes shut. It's too much to handle. Her head is pounding, her whole body aches and she needs this to stop. She doesn't even want to ask him where he got her address from. She can feel the anger build up in her, that acidic burn in her gut. She's angry at herself for not seeing this coming. She's angry at herself for ignoring the signs… and she's angry at him for getting her here, and for coming back.
I was doing fine without you
She needs to keep herself together for him. She knows that she doesn't owe him anything, but she can't just let him go. She's so inseparably linked to him that she couldn't unravel from him if she tried to. She knows better how to handle him when he's angry. When he festers in his rage, she knows exactly what to do. But this Elliot sitting next to her, this is new and terrifying.
"Did you hurt yourself? Do you have pain?" She tries to keep her voice steady but it breaks eventually. He looks at her then" I don't know… I don't feel anything… I don't know Liv" She can't look at him for too long because the exhaustion that is so obvious in his face makes her feel like someone carved her open. She tries to calm herself down by breathing slowly and deeply. She doesn't know what to say. He has no expression on his face. But she can feel the exhaustion radiate through his skin, his eyes. She's scared that she might break him even more.
He leans over again, his elbows on his knees, pressing his forehead into the heels of his palms. He's shaking and it's more visible now. She needs to get him warm. It's evident form his eyes that he's been crying. She needs to get him warm, she'll take care of the rest later. She touches his bare knee and the coldness of his skin makes her skin dot in goosebumps. She needs to get him warm. "You're freezing Elliot" She gets up and walks to the kitchen to make some tea; but she keeps her eyes on him. She presses her fists on the countertop and tries to breath. She needs to breathe. But she can't seem to be able to without reminding herself to take each breath, without reminding herself that he's here, he's safe at least for tonight.
Olivia sets the kettle on the stove and stands there, her head bowed. She can see him shaking from where she stands. He's leaning forward, his arms wrapped around his waist and he's rocking slightly. She has to fight the urge to not reach to him and hug him so tight that the world can't touch him anymore.
She fights the air and wins, exhaling despite the constriction in her throat. He is way too stubborn to give in and ask for help; but for some reason tonight, he's here, sitting on her couch and telling her that he's not okay. She wants to shield him from the monsters inside of his head. She wants to protect him with all that she has. His eyes tell her that this, whatever is happening to him has been there for a long while; even before the explosion.
The kettle starts to whistle and she pours some of the hot water in a cup with a tea bag in it. She wishes that this whole situation, her making tea for him, sitting next to him on her couch, was under different circumstances. She has no idea what happened during these ten years that changed him; but she wishes she could take back some of the resentment she felt over the past ten years. A part of her wants to shut him down completely, because he wasn't there when she needed him the most; when all she wanted was his presence and his warmth. She has shut down that part of her heart, the part where belonged to Elliot and his eyes, the part where reminded her that she needed him; and she can't let herself go back there. She wants to help him, because in all her surprise, she still loves him; but she also wants to hide away, keep her walls up, because he hurt her the most, and she's scared that he might hurt her again.
She's getting hopeful, he's giving her hope with the words and the gaze, with the way he whispers to her… He's giving her hope that this, whatever it is, might work between them, and that terrifies her.
She walks to the living room slowly, careful not to spill the tea. She sets the cup down on the table and goes to her room for a blanket. Then comes back and sits next to him, the blanket on her lap. He's leaning back now, sinking into the couch, staring at the ceiling, his eyelids heavy, his breathing shallow. He hasn't stopped shaking though, but it's less than when he first knocked on her door.
She touches his forearm slightly, wondering what he's thinking about. He tilts his head a little just to look at her, barely managing to open his eyes. He blinks once, twice and looks away, at the ceiling again.
"Have some tea, it'll help you warm a little". She squeezes his forearm a little and he closes his eyes shut, letting out a sharp exhale. The day that she had told him that she was worried about him, he had somehow shown the same reaction. She wants to know what it is in her that makes him so vulnerable. But she has to remind herself that it's not the time, there will be a moment when she will yell at him for leaving and will tell him that she loves him. But now, she needs to get him warm.
He doesn't shift though, he stays still. She feels debilitated because she doesn't know what to do. It's a terrifying feeling that leaves her paralyzed and unsure of what comes next. She's been a fool to think that leaving him alone to figure this out on his own would make everything better.
She then slides her hand to his bare knee slowly and once there, makes circular motions on his skin with her thumb. She can feel his skin dot in goosebumps under her touch. "Cmmon Elliot, drink some" She whispers. There is no expression on Elliot's face, just pure exhaustion. To her response, Elliot tilts his head to the side to look at her again. The expression on his face changes then. She doesn't know what it is and it terrifies her a little. She's searching for an answer in his eyes, and he lets out "I'm so tired Liv". She knows that this is beyond the physical exhaustion that he's been trying to deny all this time. She knows that this is the weight of the obligation he feels towards his kids. "I'm so tired" He says again, his voice cracking. He starts sobbing then. It comes slowly at first and then emotions rush in. His tears fall and she can't witness this. The pressure against Olivia's breastbone is unbearable. She has to fight the urge to cry. She needs to be the strong one now, for both of them. "I.. I uh don't know what to do anymore" he says in between his tears and hiccups, almost chocking on the air. He scrapes his both hands down his face and shakes his head. His tone is too familiar to her. That's the tone the victims use when they can't distinguish the known from the unknown. She remembers feeling the same way. It was terrifying when she thought she might never know what to do.
She sits closer to him, closing any space between them and wraps her one arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer, cradling the back of his head with the other, her cheek pressed to the back of his head. He sobs in her arms and she holds him closer, tighter. "I'm here, I'm here" She whispers, pressing her lips on his hairline. She's trying to coax him, ignoring every line she has ever drawn around their relationship. Back then, when they were partners, the line was clear; they were partners and friends. Her feelings for him were the unlabeled ones in their partnership that were never spoken about. He was married and had a family. Holding eachother for one minute was already too much, illegal. It was so clear for her, for him, what they had to mean to eachother. They both knew they meant more, but it was what it was… he was married and had a family.
She can feel him struggling to breathe, his head tucked under her chin. She starts to make small circles on his back. "Breathe for me El, just breathe". He hiccups again and she holds him tighter. "You're okay… I'm not going anywhere". She remembers wishing to hear those exact words from him when the darkness used to scare her. She presses her lips to his temple and almost kisses him there. It's absurd how she can hold him like this and not apologize later. It makes her die inside when she thinks about this strong man admitting that he's tired; tired of all of this, whatever this is.
She exhales and realizes that she's been holding her breath for too long. Elliot is shaking violently in her arms and she knows that he's trying to gain control of himself but he has no power. She wants to protect him from anything that will threaten his life, she wants to chase away all the monsters under his bed, especially the ones in his head.
She starts to caress his head gently while her cheek is still pressed to the back of his head, his head on her shoulder. Elliot's neck is warm and if this was under different circumstances, it would knock the air out of her. He starts to relax then, his breaths become deeper, calmer. She can feel his body letting go of all the tension and give in to the warmth of her grip. He exhales sharply but stays in that position. She wants more. She wants to be the one melting in his grip. She wants his lips on her skin. But she knows better.
After a while of them holding eachother, he tries to sit up slowly. Olivia knows that talking about how he just broke down in her arms is going to break him even more; after all his pride is all that he has now.
He sits up and wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. Then reaches for the teacup on the table and takes a sip. His face frowns "it's cold" and he lets out a low chuckle. She can see it then, that the heaviness in him is fading away slowly. It' going to take a lot of effort, patience to get to the bottom of all this sorrow and grief. But she knows that he's going to get there, and she's going to be there for him every step of the way.
He looks at her then, and she thinks there it is; his genuine and elusive smile that makes her chest explode with joy and sadness; sadness, because she has lost a decade of this smile. He takes another sip and his face frowns again, as if he just forgot that the tea has gone cold. He sets the drink down then and looks at her again. She locks her gaze with his. None of them breaks away. She likes this kind of intimacy they have developed over the past month. She can look at him without being afraid of the boundaries they have to set. He looks at her as if she's the only one who makes him hopeful these days. She held his hand the other and he didn't let her go. She wanted to pull him in, in that moment and hold him tightly. But she could do so much at the time. He didn't let go, instead he pulled her a little closer; just a little bit, to let her know that he didn't want to let go either.
She held his hand…
She doesn't want to ask him about the case, because she doesn't want to ruin what they've accomplished in the course of an hour. She doesn't want to ask him if it was the pictures that haunted him or the hole in the wall. She needs this moment to be just them, looking at each other.
"You feel better now?" She asks, her voice still low. He had shielded her body with his in the car the other day, when she was so close to getting shot. He had jumped on the sound because it had remained him of the darker days. But he had protected her anyway. Later on she had doubted the fact that he still has her back. She needs to remind herself that this was the reason that she fell for him in the first place; him always putting her first. She has to learn to trust him again, even now when he doesn't say a word, just looks at her. She reads his face immediately. He's saying that he's fine and that she's the one who makes him better. The realization makes her skin flush. She gives him a soft smile. This smile should tell him things that words can't tell. Her smile lights up his face and it seems to her that he's coming back, the better part of him is starting to take over the part that is still grieving.
You're doing this to him
They're falling into their same old dynamic; just like the other day when she met the taskforce. They had read eachother's minds. 'always so in sync'
Elliot is leaning back now, his left arm around the couch, close to her face. He's sitting straight, his body relaxed. His breaths have evened out now and he seems calmer, better. She takes a deep breath and nods slightly, an errant of her hair falling on her face and before she can reach for it, his hand slowly comes closer to her face, and with a light move, he gently swipes it away from her face, his fingers brushing her cheek slightly. Her body dots in goosebumps, and her skin flushes. She wants to look him into his soft eyes but the touch is too much and it makes her feel intoxicated with need. His touch makes her drowsy, her skin heated. She holds her breath. She wants to feel every second of this, she wants to remember this. She had initiated the first touch, the first time they flirted it was her. Now it's his turn.
His palm flattens against her cheek and he makes circular motions with his thumb slowly. His thumb is so close to her lips and she wants it there, filling her with need. Only if he knew that she is coming awake beneath his fingertips, that she wants more and that she's trying to control the shaking. Only if he knew what he does to her.
She slowly opens her eyes, the moment making her drunk with pleasure. If the smallest touch does this to her, what would it do to her when they make love? Make love… she hasn't used that word in quite a while.
She looks at him and finds him scanning her face, then her neck and then he's back on her face, his gaze lingering on her lips. This makes her lose her mind, because Elliot Stabler, the man whom she had wanted this with for so long, is doing this to her and she can't scream, she can't want more because they need to find the solid ground first. She can feel the way her breath hitches with every touch; the way her body craves his.
She wants to take a deep breath but she's afraid he might stop touching her. So she lets it out slowly. His hand slides lower, his palm barely touching her skin anymore. She flats her eyes open, fear creeping into her that he's hesitating, that he's not sure and he might not go on; but the expression in his eyes are telling a different story. He slides his fingers to her neck then, his eyes studying her neck carefully. Her pulse picks up pace and her heart is beating faster. She feels like his fingers are going to brand her skin and that she will wear his marks on her for the next few days, until they fade away and fill her skin with need for new ones.
His fingers tap on her skin gently, as if he's playing an imaginary instrument on her neck. It hitches her breath and she parts her lips. The fire in her chest is smoldering, and she's afraid if she opens her mouth she will set her body on fire. She follows his gaze but she so desperately needs to close her eyes. A small noise escapes her moth, loud enough to drive him to explore deeper. The backs of his fingers dance under her jawline and her neck, and when he traces her jawline, she lifts her left hand and brushes her fingers against his palm. He lifts his gaze then and looks her in the eyes. His eyes are brighter than usual and the expression in his eyes drives her even crazier.
She focuses on his hand. The lines inside his palm. The softness of it. Her fingers are dancing along his palm and then the lifeline on his wrist. She wants to kiss him there; because that's what is keeping them both alive. His gaze is following her fingers as she traces his palm again. His fingers bend a little so hers can touch his. Their fingertips bump against eachother and it feels like a massive explosion, two galaxies colliding; the sort of thing that they need to write in papers and talk about it to eternity. Her skin heats up even more, fireworks exploding in her chest. Her gaze lifts then, looking him into his eyes as he follows her moves. His eyes are softer now, and the sight makes her dizzy. She realizes that she's panting a little. They're sitting too close now. It knocks the breath out of her that this man is back, he's sitting so close to her, his knee touching hers. She has thought a lot about this. The way she would touch him, how it would feel; and she had to stop her mind everytime, from thinking more, sinking deeper. But this is nothing like her imaginations. The woman that she has become, wants her lips on his, she wants to open her mouth to let him in slowly, but fully.
Their hands are in the air, close to her face. He laces his fingers with hers finally and makes the butterflies in her chest go wild. The world suddenly makes sense. She can't think clearly because the comfort of this man is clouding her mind. He then lowers their joint hands to his lap, his eyes following them, as hers follow his moves. She can feel Elliot's veins beneath her palm. She resists the pulsing urge to untangle her hand and slide it upwards, towards his elbow and further.
Olivia wants to ask him when did this all become normal to him? She wants to ask him if he has ever thought about them like this, like she's done. She wants to know if the thought terrifies him or if it makes his skin flush just like it does to her.
But then, it's Elliot of their twelve years. Her partner. The one she wasn't supposed to touch, the one who only existed in her memories for the past ten years. She knows this man too well to know that he has thought about them like this.
She then lifts her gaze, her skin heated up by the touch, by the way her nerves have come alive. The way he looks at her, makes her forget that anything before this ever existed. It makes her want to touch his face and learn all of the lines on his skin.
She lifts her right hand and reaches for his temple slowly. She's feeling brave this time, maybe a little reckless. Back then, when they were partners, she wasn't supposed to touch him like this, she was supposed to keep it all to herself. But this isn't back then, they're not partners anymore, she's just a woman and he's just a man.
Her forefinger traces the cut on his temple lightly. She traces the cut, and her mouth wants to be there, to feel its roughness. She wants to be serious. She wants to be cautious and not make an absolute fool of herself when he stops her. If he rejects her, she'll die.
But then, when her expression changes, Elliot seems to have read her mind because he whispers "I'm okay Liv, I'm okay now" and he smiles lightly.
'I'm okay now'
It makes her want to cry because she's the reason he's okay. He was a wreck an hour ago and now he's smiling at her.
"Promise me you'll take care of yourself. Would you do it for me?" Her voice breaks despite her efforts to keep it steady. He looks down at their joint hands and swallows hard. It's not easy for her to see him struggle. After all this time, it still kills her.
"Because i… I need you here" He looks up and she can see his eyes fill up with tears gradually. He squeezes her hand and she drops hers on his shoulder. This is a lot to take in. This is the new them; Benson and Stabler. She needs time to adjust to all of this. This is a lot, but it's not too much; not after two decades of anticipation.
"I can't lose you again" escapes her lips. She knows that it was probably for the best not to say it out loud, but it seems like the rules have the opposite effect on both of them. She has so many things to tell him. She wants to tell him about her worst nights, and that he was the only one that she saw during those nights, walking through the door to take her home. She wants to tell him about her happiest times, and that she had once stood behind her kitchen counter, watching her family, and wished that he was there. She needs him to be okay and that's what she tells him. No more bottling it up inside and wishing it was different, she has wasted too much time already.
"I need you to be okay" She say after a long silence. He looks up at her again and whispers "okay" His eyes filled with tears. She nods slightly. They sit in silence looking at eachother. The way he looks at her makes her blush but she doesn't look away. He caresses her skin with his thumb gently and makes every nerve in her body alive again. She wants more, she needs more but tonight is not the time. There will be time and she's sure of it.
"I'm not letting you go back to your place like this" She says after a long silence. His face lights up again, the corner of his mouth lifting a little, he nods. "I don't want to".
He doesn't want to leave
She gives him a light smile before trying to get up to give him the blanket and get him a pillow but he doesn't let her go. "Not yet" He says. He pulls her closer, his eyes pleading with her. So she sits again, even closer this time. They sit there in the silence of the apartment, their hands tangled as they breathe the same air…