He gasped for air, bolting upright on the couch. The room was dark, shadows lurking everywhere. A sheet and blanket were crumpled at the end of the couch, having been kicked off as he tossed and turned. The fabric scratched at his skin, unfamiliar.
He scrubbed a hand across his face as he tried to even out his breath. New York. He was in New York.
Kathy.
Kathy was...
The sob racked through him, his body lurching forward. No sound came out and for that he was thankful, thinking of his son in the other room waking him on more nights than he could count, telling him that he was shouting again.
But no, Eli wasn't there. He was with Maureen. The memories drifted back, fragmented. The lies about how often he was having nightmares; the concerns about whether he could take care of Eli - Kathleen's concerns, his own concerns. Liv.
He had told Liv to back off, laughed when she said that he had PTSD. He wasn't sure how to sort through everything that had happened, everything that he was feeling. He didn't know how to accept... anything.
But Liv had said she was worried about him. And it had felt good, he admitted, to hear her say that. It had felt good to know that as much as he wasn't sure how to deal with the pain - the trauma, he was seen. So many things were changing. They had changed - he knew that. He knew that it was his fault, that he had prioritized himself when he needed to and couldn't bring himself to face her no matter how much time had gone by.
He tried not to feel selfish as he picked up the phone.
"Elliot?" Her voice was surprisingly clear, no traces of sleep in it, and the fog rolling through his mind began to clear. He wondered how often she got calls after 2am, whether she was up expecting a call from someone else. He wondered whether he had earned the right to think that way, if he ever had that right, but it was a welcome distraction.
"Liv," he said. "I," he hesitated, unsure how to put words to it.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I needed to hear your voice," he told her.
"El," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes closed, the rasp of his breath loud in her ear. Her thoughts swam, the memories of their conversations rushing forward, never far from the surface. There had been a gravity to his words as they sat in the hospital; they had been weighing on her ever since. And here he was reprising them.
The urge - the need - to go to him was overwhelming.
"I need you."
His words broke something in her. Maybe it was the wall she had been building up, her resolve not to get too close to him again. She had felt him slipping through the cracks; she had let him, because she knew how painful it was to feel his absence. There had to be some balance, she thought. But it was the middle of the night and despite it all, because of it all, she knew that things were shifting. He wasn't the only one slipping.
"I'll be there as soon as I can," she told him.
xxx
His eyes were rimmed in red, bloodshot too. The sleepless nights were etched into his face. It wasn't easy to see him like this, the grief and the guilt pouring out of him.
The door had barely closed behind her when he reached for her. "I'm here, I'm here," she told him, trying to reassure him. Her mouth hung open as he clung to her, but she pulled him in closer, cradling his head in her hand. She could feel the tension in him, his muscles tight. It rocked her, ready to bowl her over if she let it. She took a deep breath - for herself and for him.
"You're okay," she said, willing it to be somewhat true. She was relieved that he had called her. He was too stubborn for his own good; he could be too proud too.
When he pulled back he didn't meet her gaze.
"Hey," she said, her hand traveling to his cheek.
He looked at her then. "Thanks for coming."
"Of course. Do you want to talk about what's going on?" she asked.
Turning from her he walked to the couch, balling the blanket and sheet up before moving the pillows to make room. She scanned the apartment, taking in the take out cartons on the table, the state of the wall behind it.
"How's Eli doing?" Her voice was soft, edged with concerned.
"He's staying with Maureen for a while," he told her.
She schooled her expression, nodding. She sat down and he followed. He was so close to her that her knee knocked against his. She didn't want to push him, not after he had told her to back off. Calling her was a good step, one that she hadn't been expecting. She knew that she had to let him lead this.
His hand was on his lap and she took it in her own. He sighed, eyes blinking as if he was trying to keep back tears.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "I don't know how to let you in." He dropped his head into his other hand. "I don't want to be a burden to you. I don't want to be a burden to anyone. The kids -" he paused, trying to collect his thoughts. He didn't want to pull any of them down, down into this abyss with him.
She squeezed his hand, letting him know she was there in the silence.
When he turned toward her he thought maybe he didn't have to find a way to voice it, not yet. There was understanding in her eyes. And it felt like coming up for air, like he had been drowning in it all and there she was to help lift him out of it.
Even that he wasn't sure how to process. He had hurt her more than he could have imagined. He had known when he left that he hadn't handled it right with her. There was so much he wanted to say to her, more than he could articulate. He had tried in the letter he had written, tried to find the words to explain how much she had always meant to him. He had told her that day in the car that she meant the world to him. But those words paled in comparison to the way he felt. He thought he could spend another decade trying to tell her - he'd like to have the opportunity to try if she'd let him.
Slowly she stroked his hand with her thumb, her skin warm against his. He leaned his head against the back of the couch, his eyes closing.
xxx
She woke up before him, neck sore from the awkward position she had fallen asleep in. She took him in, his features relaxed. He looked different - peaceful. It was the stark contrast between the man who had opened the door when she arrived and the man next to her that made her chest ache. She still worried - how long would it last? Would he be calling her again tonight, his world upside down? Would he ever stop blaming himself, for what happened to Kathy, for all of the years that he had missed?
She thought of the wars that raged within her, the temporary truces. Peace was fleeting: It was clinging to the positive moments when she could, trying to leave behind the things that haunted her.
He turned toward her, still asleep. They had been there for each other through so much. There were things that she would never be able to give him; there were things that he would never be able to give her. But now that he was back he would be the person she would call in the middle of the night too, she realized. It was possible that neither of them would know true, lasting peace. But it could be enough to try to find pockets of it together.