Notes
Scenes from an absolute mess of a situation.
I don't own these characters, but they sure own me.
There will be more. How much more? That's up to the muses.
Chapter 2
It had been two weeks of the most ridiculous nighttime routine either of them had ever engaged in.
It would start with dinner.
He'd pile two plates of whatever someone else had cooked or - more likely within their circle of friends and colleagues - ordered and dropped off quickly in lieu of knowing what to say. Then they'd go through a charade of trying to have a proper meal. Brian racing to get more than half his plate finished before the anticipatory knots staged a coup in his stomach. And Olivia? She would pick up the fork with her good arm, and eventually, the food looked slightly different from how it had originally been placed on the plate.
An apologetic look signals to take it away, him telling her she's doing great as he moves swiftly to remove the plates and busy himself in the kitchen as she heads to the bathroom.
On a good day, she'd be preparing for a second shower. Today was not a good day. This would be number four courtesy of a second 2-hour session with the psychiatrist in as many days. While the NYPD was footing the bill for the psychiatrist, Brian facetiously wondered if it might be worth sending his future blown-out utilities bill their way too.
He gave Olivia her space and privacy at this point in the routine, after their disastrous first night home where her eyes had gone dark and helping with her sweater resulted in a split lip for him. But he also knew her body was attempting a lot of healing, and she was taking the bare minimum of painkillers prescribed, so felt compelled to eventually call out the offer to help each night just in case.
"It's fine!" Was always the response after a beat or two. Tonight was no different.
The undressing, or whatever the hell she was doing, usually took as long as the opening and draining of his first beer before the water would start running. Then he'd reach into the fridge and grab a second, making his way down the hall to sit against the bathroom door. An unshaven, pathetic sentry.
Most nights he would hear her cry harder and more freely under the protective veil of the falling water. Some nights, like tonight, his breath would also hitch and his own tears fell until pulling himself back together, finishing the beer, and standing up to tap on the door.
"Babe? It's time." He waits to hear the water shut off and after leaving the empty beer on the kitchen counter heads back to the bedroom armed with a mental checklist.
Both bedside lamps on.
Water bottle full.
Window locked.
The last item always felt like it was done in vain, but just in case -
Pills ready on the nightstand.
Eventually, Olivia makes her way into the bedroom already clothed in a loose long-sleeved top and pajama bottoms, kissing his cheek softly in thanks. "Your turn. I'll be fine."
He knows there's no hot water left so simply brushes his teeth, splashes his face, checks the front door is locked and chained (he knows she'll ask), and heads back to the still illuminated bedroom for the part they both dread the most.
They lie there with lights on and eyes open, usually for hours. Sleeping pills still untouched on the tabletop, she won't sleep until she's no longer capable of the fight against her exhaustion. He won't sleep until he sees her chest rising and falling gently in a calm rhythm. It's a restful state she won't last long in, so he turns his own lamp off - never hers - and wills himself quickly into his own slumber.
Being woken by her screams doesn't get easier, just unsurprising.
She's sitting curled into herself at the head of the bed and staring trance-like at whatever darkness had followed her out of the nightmare. He sits up, placing his hand palm up on the bed between them. "Hey, Liv. Liv! You're safe. It's just me, Brian. You're safe. I promise." His lamp is switched back on and her eyes glisten with tears as she finally seems to register his presence and the safety of it.
"I'm here. I'll always be here," he whispers, trying to soften his own facial expression from the horror he felt to the comfort she needed.
It's when she reaches out and takes his hand that he lets go of the breath he'd been holding. The last few nights she'd started to let herself move closer, and tonight she moved to crawl into his arms and press her face against his neck, mumbling into his warm skin.
"Why can't he just leave me alone?"