She sits there holding her empty glass of champagne, watching as the lights illuminate Fin and Phebe and make the whole thing heavenly. Fin wasn't the guy for weddings and first dances and matching clothes, but for some reason, now, Fin looks the happier he has ever been, dancing his first dance to Phebe. Phebe is supposed to know the drill, that cops are not a huge fan of romance and "I love you"s, but in this very moment, they are not cops... none of them are.
Olivia plays with the solid form of the empty glass in her hands as she watches the two of them sway to the music. The slight breeze of the afternoon dances with her shoulder length wavy hair and makes her shiver a little.
The garden is beautifully designed for the evening, festoon lights brightening the mood everywhere.
Her emerald green velvet dress is showing her gorgeous collarbone and shoulders, glowing under the dim lights. Her touching her chest time to time makes it seem like it's from another universe... makes her seem like she's from another universe.
Her son is happily running around and so are the other kids. Everything is loud, the hum of conversations, a lot of noise floating around. But it's not too much. It's just perfect.
She wants to close her eyes, to take in all of it. There has been too much loss and death and tragedy, too much rain in one place in the past few months. All she wants, all she needs is this moment-right here, in the presence of the slight breeze and the dim lights.
She closes her eyes and let's it all sink in. The world starts to move slow and all the sorrow and loss seems far away from her.
She knows that he's there. Standing few feet away from her, watching her as she gives herself in to the aroma and the atmosphere. She doesn't turn her head though. She's not ready yet. It's been long after they'd last talked and he had said some things... things that had clouded her mind and not clarified anything. They both had. And the letter? It makes her heart sink everytime she thinks about how his hand moved the pen to write those words.
She can sense his bold presence despite the crowd in there. He's always had a huge presence. The sight of him knocked the air out of her the first time she saw him tonight. He has shaved his scruffy beard, which had been sitting on his face for weeks. He's dressed in a black suit, white shirt under it, its top buttons undone, his chest showing off, that she had taken a glance at. That is his style… it has always been whatever he wanted it to be.
His broad shoulders, which were fragile first when he had come back, now have a source of power in them. His chest rising and falling evenly, no sign of tension or anxiety. She knows better though, that the PTSD is still there, buried deep into him.
She can feel him approaching her, walking slowly towards her, two glasses of champagne in his hands.
It's too soon for her to turn her head, to look at him, to look him in the eyes and try to not give anything away. Just like when they used to play the same game. The game of pure temptation. Only difference now is that they have said some things since that day at the hospital that the rules in their game never allowed them to. She can see from the corner of her eye that he's getting closer with every second she takes... but she needs another minute, hell let it be a second but she needs another moment as if 10 years of being apart never prepared her for it.
They had gazed at each other through the ceremony, stared into each others eyes then broken the eye contact. Up until that moment she had forgotten how looking at him used to make her feel. She doesn't know now, how she has survived without him beside her, to look at him every now and then, to feel his presence guarding her back. "I'll always have your six". She knows that she doesn't need anyone shielding her and being her rescuer; but something in him makes her want to feel weak, vulnerable around him; for him to cross every line just to get to her and hold her in his arms, shield her from everything.
He approaches her and stands there for a second. Then stretches out his hand, offering her one of the glasses. She turns her head and tries to take his huge presence in all at once. She takes the glass and whispers a little "thank you"... he's always had her back, even when it came to alcohol.
She takes a glance at him. His eyes. The lights reflecting beautifully in his irises. She studies his face when he looks away. The lines on his face are the tale of the emotions that he has buried deep inside of him all these years. She follows the lines on his face to his lips and wonders, when was the last time she heard him laugh out loud... not the nervous laugh, not the sad chuckle... but the laugh full of heart and happiness and smiles and sparkles. Tonight he's different though.
His eyes have a special kind of peacefulness in them tonight. She remembers him being the one who had it together. Not always, but pretty close to always, all the time. And when she had seen him that day, at his house during the intervention, falling apart slowly, it had made her stomach clench. That was when she had realized how much he had changed. The unsteadiness in him had made her want to stop everyone from talking and hug him. But she had to remind herself that she was there for his kids. After all, he had told her to stay away… to back off by all means. And then… he had said those words. Those three words that she had heard often but they had never made her stomach clench, had never made her skin flush and her pulse pick up pace, had never made her feel like she could hold her breath as long as she was willing to because there was somebody else breathing for her. Something was always missing in all those I love yous throughout the years. But the way he had looked at her the first time he had said I love you, had made her realize that he was the only one that she wanted to hear the I love you from. He has always been the only one she has ever wanted to hear him say he loves her.
Her eyes linger on his lips a little longer. She can't keep her mind from wondering how soft his lips are, would they ever be harsh and hungry against hers or soft and slow. It's then when the corners of his lips lift up. Her pulse picks a pace. He smirks and she doesn't know if he felt her heavy stare on him or he's smiling because he finally can. Because he's finally willing to. He hasn't done that in the past few months.
She steals her look away, something reminding her of their game. He doesn't look at her though. He's fascinated by something in the sight. If she has laid herself bare before him since the day in the hospital, open to her feelings and her scars, the game might not mean anything after all.
She remembers the time when the wounds of him walking away hadn't healed yet and she could still see him in the precinct, the voices in the squad room making her desperate to hear his. She remembers how fast time had passed and how she had kept forgetting that he had left… and how she had used to take a glance at the door every second, waiting for him to step into the room. The squad room held his ghost but was still empty… empty of his presence. She would sometimes lie to herself saying that he was probably taking time, that he was still her partner and that he would call, he would finally come back. But who was she kidding right?
After sometime, the daydreaming had replaced the hope and the lies. She remembers how she used to daydream about his skin that she never got to touch fully, only touched when she was required to, because he got shot or when they were undercover. Her bed had felt empty even though he had never laid on it. She remembers how much she had wished that she had kept his voice mails so she could listen to them at night, when she felt unsafe, unsure. She needed his voice to ring in her ears as she slept…
She remembers how time had passed and the squad room had filled with new people, people who didn't know who Elliot was… they hadn't seen him in the precinct to know who he truly was. It used to make her blood boil when she saw that nobody needed Elliot anymore. Nobody ever talked about him; it was like he had never existed. But she needed him. She had wanted to yell at everyone for forgetting him so fast. He wasn't a ghost. He wasn't buried 6 feet deep under the ground. His body wasn't cold yet. He still had life into him.
Time had passed and the anger had replaced the daydreaming. She had been angry with the world for making him leave the job. She was the job so he had left her. The thought had wrenched her gut. And she was angry with him. For not thinking about her. For not noticing how she needed him and how he was all that she had. "You were the most-single most important person in my life…". How could he be so ignorant? How could he not see all the signs of him being the single most important person to her?
Even though anger had made her sick to her stomach, she had held onto his mini badge and his semper fedelis medal. She had kept wearing it every day to work, to bed… she never took it off; his mini badge was glued to the bottom of her gun.. She felt safe with a piece of him always with her.
She remembers how she used to roll up her sleeves because that was what Elliot used to do. She had tried so hard to keep the piece of him that once existed, inside of her. But time had passed, and with time things had changed. She had let another man in; not immediately. She so desperately had wanted Elliot to be there to make her stop from what she was going to do. The man, had been kind to her. He was tall and average looking. But he wasn't Elliot. There was no peace in his eyes like Elliot's- which made her want to thank the universe for how lucky she was to sit across from him everyday. Time had passed and she couldn't hold onto his face. She had started to slowly forget it completely.
He finally looks over at her, and then looks away. He points at something in the sight and his smirk grows. He pauses before he says anything and she just watches him, waiting for him to make a sound. He finally sets his drink down and comes to stand before her, stretching out his hand, gesturing her to stand up and saying" this song..." and smirks again, nodding his head knowingly. "… we gotta dance to this song"
She knows now, what exactly he's trying to do but this is so new that she needs a moment to adjust. He makes a gesture again in an attempt to hold her hand and lift her up from her seat.
"Oh no, no Elliot" she says shaking her head.
He finally takes her hand, and lifts her up, dragging her to the dance floor where the "Quiet and Cold" is playing as so many couples have already started moving to the rhythm. It always knocks the breath out of her... Him always being irresistible and doing whatever he pleases...
Her skin warms to the instant touch and comes alive. Her pulse picks up pace with need and adrenaline. She looks at his hand holding hers. She's not surprised that he did this. Well, not after what he said in front of his kids. She has to admit, she likes this new kind of intimacy that they have developed. She slips her hand out of his but he grabs her fingers gently, not letting her go.
"Elliot-" she whispers, jerking her head" No. Cmmon-"
His fingers brush the surface of her hand, caressing it gently. Her body covers up in goosebumps, she's nearly dizzy with the realization that he's indeed holding her hand.
"A little dance won't hurt anyone" he almost whispers as he steps closer to her, sliding his left arm around her waist. She tilts her head back, still resisting. He grabs her right hand and puts it on his shoulder. She can feel her hands shake a little due to the easiness of him touching her like that. Her hand slides a little down to his shoulder and she grips his bicep, afraid of losing her control. She looks up at him as he starts moving lightly. His hand rests on her back as he takes her other hand and holds it up, near his chest.
"Everyone is watching" she says with an insisting tone, looking around. Their faces are only inches away and she can only focus on his mouth. She doesn't want to look him in his blue eyes, glittering with mischief. His soft eyes that radiate pure warmth and comfort. He looks at her as if she's a big part of the chemicals in his body, as if she's entered every bloodcell and is producing warmth trough his veins.
This complexity overwhelms her and now she's grateful for the hand on her back. She grips his bicep tighter as she feels lightheaded with the instant realization that she's swaying in HIS arms, holding onto him like that.
"Let 'em talk" he says as he nuzzles closer and presses his cheek to her temple, pressing her more to his chest. She stirs to the touch, to the way he does all of this like it's an everyday thing. With the pressure of him staring at her gone, she allows her eyes to linger on the perfect lines of his shoulders and neck. As his partner, she had never allowed herself to hold him more than a minute, to sway in his arms as they both breathed the same air. As his oxygen became hers and hers became his.
She used to ask herself what it meant to love someone so heart wrenchingly, when the night was dark with no shimmer of light. Years later, she found herself asking the same question:
"Is this how it feels like? Gut wrenchingly loving someone so it... it aches when you don't see them or you see them with someone else? Touching someone else instead of touching you? Them being so close but so distant at the same time?"
She knows now, that it's exactly how it feels when you are the other woman...
It was always Kathy's place. His arms and his warm skin. It was never meant for her. She was meant to be his partner, somebody who always had his back, who gave him stability, a shoulder to cry on. But now, she doesn't feel like a cop, there is no badge, no tension at this moment, she's not the other woman anymore... she's just a woman, floating in her own femininity.
Elliot untangles her left hand from his which he had griped tightly moments ago and puts it on his right shoulder without breaking away, and holds her closer. "You're killing that dress" He says smoothly. Olivia wants to tell him to stop and that it's too soon and that she can't- but her face flushes and her chest fills with fireworks and butterflies desperate to break out and her skin heats up. She wants to grip his bicep but her fingertips are aching with need- the need to touch his broad shoulders, his lifeline on his neck, his neck standing tall. The way he slides his hand lower on her back, close to her hips and pulls her hips closer, sends a shiver down her spine.
She wants to tell him how his presence makes everything alright, how she loses herself, forgets everything, even breathing when she hears his voice.
It doesn't take long for them to move in sync and her to stop resisting. They move in slow motions and she almost drifts away to the comfort of him. "Always so in sync" she chuckles in her mind on the thought of it. How Kathy had said it like there was nothing more true than that. The only difference now, is that they're holding each other like this without judgment, without fear, without their overdeveloped sense of honor.
She tilts her head to the side a little as she slides her hand to his collar slowly and holds onto it. Her nose is touching his skin now, and she can smell the aftershave on him... but beyond all that, it's his scent that drives her crazy and she has to press her lips to the material covering his shoulder to not make a sound.
She knows he loves her, and he's holding her like this. She doesn't know what she's done to deserve to be in this moment, in his arms.
It's a rare feeling that gives her the sense that they are healing through each other, with the help of each other, chest to chest, breathing each other's oxygen. Being each other's air. It's more than love... it's the connection of two souls and the process of them becoming one.
There is no sense of responsibility at this moment, no moral compass, no boundaries. They are just two people, holding each other.
She inhales his scent once again and then she holds her breath because all of this is so familiar yet brand new. It's then when she starts wondering, how she has survived all these years when he was her air and oxygen and he wasn't anywhere near her.
He finally breaks away an inch to look at her. She can see the gratitude in his eyes. The sense of admiration that pours out of his kind eyes... his ocean eyes. His mouth lifts and he starts to smirk. Out of all of him, she had missed that smirk the most, which formed on his face time to time and lit up every room he stepped into. His face is still inches away from hers but she's not afraid to look him in the eyes anymore. They are still moving in sync and slowly.
"You were right. Everyone is looking..." He says grinning with the corner of his mouth."...they're looking at me". She chuckles low and says "You are such a self-centered bastard". She steals her look away for a moment. But she can't look away for too long. Who can? She thinks. She turns her head to look at him again and finds him staring at her. His irises darken and the mischief in his face sends her mind to many directions. She wants to cry because of the fact that they have come so far, she wants to cry because this man is holding her as if she's his.
His...
She wants to cry for how normal it sounds in her head.
He's back.
She's his and he's hers.
She wants to curl deep into his scent, crawl into his warm grip again. His eyes though, they are swirling with something she can't explain. Need? Pain? Joy? She doesn't know. Whatever it is, it makes him pull her into a hug slowly and sway with the music again. She knows that he loves her. That's what's killing her. She wants to tell him she loves him and that she has loved him all these years and maybe… maybe she loves him more than he does. But she also wants to scream at him, beat him and tell him she never wants to see him again because he left her… because he was her lifeline and he walked away… because he hurt her so bad that she nearly died.
"Thank you" He whispers into her hair. She tilts her head back so she meets his eyes "For what?" she says. "For not hating me" he closes his eyes then. Her eyes fill with tears but she holds herself back. She wants to tell him how much she hated him when he walked away. But she can't... because the truth is, despite how much he has hurt her, she never hated him, she could never hate him... he's the love of her life. He has always been. And she knows now that she can never completely untangle herself from this man. So she nuzzles her face closer. He tightens his grip as she holds onto his left bicep with one hand, and grips his collar with the other, pressing her cheek to his. She can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers. Her fingers are tingling with need and she wants to explore more of him. She wants to press her lips on his cheek, right next to his ear. She wants to crawl deeper into his grip. But she can take so much at the time.
The night that she saw him for the first time in ten years, she felt the urge to ask him why? why did he come back? That she was doing fine without him… she built a life, she has a family. Why would he wanna coma back now?
But the priority was his wife. So she kept quiet.
"You remember, when I said you were the longest relationship I had ever had with a man? It is true you know" She says in almost a whisper. She remembers that night. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. She remembers how she had tried to stay on the subject of them being more than partners, but it never made any sense back then. That was her way of telling him she loved him. Maybe that is her way of telling him she loves him, even now.
She can feel him smile into her hair. Now, instead of the trembling of hands and goosebumps, she feels strangely calm. No care in the world about who is watching them and that probably half of them are already talking.
All she cares about right now is him... his presence. His arms wrapped around her. His scent and his comfort.
"Good" he finally whispers into her hair. She smiles and her chest fills with butterflies; as if she's a teenager.
The music has stopped playing already but they're still swaying, frozen in time. She doesn't see anything else, at this moment… it's just him. This man is all that she can see, all she can hear and taste. And she wants to tell him how enough it is for her.
They keep swaying lightly, as people rush into the dance floor to start partying again. She doesn't want it to end yet. It has been only a second ago that she wanted to refuse to dance with him. Oh how glad she is now, that she didn't. How she wishes they could stand here for eternity…