A/N: Originally I was going to post one long chapter of EO's conversation, but I decided to break it up into two. So here is part 1, and look out for part 2 later this week. Thanks so much for reading!
Sunday rolls around much too quickly for Olivia's liking. She could have used another week—hell, another month—to prepare. In truth, she has no interest dredging up the past with Elliot. Why revisit all of this now? Does he really need to know? Does he have the right to know? The thoughts rattle around her brain.
Elliot arrives at her apartment promptly, a small white box in hand. She looks at him, then the box, inquisitively.
"Peace offering." He hands it to her.
She cocks her brow, opening the package. "Cannolis?" She looks at him. "You brought me… cannolis?"
"The plural is actually just cannoli." He mocks.
"Oh, fuck off, Italy." Olivia grins, setting the box down in the kitchen. "Well, thank you." For bringing an Italian dessert to talk about my abduction and torture. "Noah will be thrilled."
"Yeah? He like these?"
"He likes anything with sugar."
"My kinda kid." Elliot smiles. "You know, I'd love to get to know him better. If—" he pauses. "If that's something you'd want."
"I do." She replies cautiously. "Elliot, I do. But I need to make sure—" You don't leave again. "Your head is screwed on straight before we do that."
"I get it." He does, but it hurts.
"I can handle any version of you." Olivia clarifies, acknowledging his disappointment. "But Noah, he's just a kid."
"Liv, I get it." He interjects, a hint of sharpness in his tone. "Really." He sighs, softening. Of course, she's protective of Noah. She's his mother. He forgets sometimes that Olivia is a mom now; feels guilty about that, too. "It's okay."
"Okay." She accepts his answer.
"I just wanted you to know that I do…want to."
"I'm happy to hear it." She's warmer now. "He'll like you."
"You think?" He perks up.
"I do." She nods. "You want something to drink?" She changes the subject.
"Nah, I'm good."
She pours him a glass of water anyway; any excuse to stall for even few seconds more. "Can we…?" She moves to the sofa, motioning for him to join her. He does—albeit hesitantly—and sits in the same spot as Friday night.
Neither one of them speak. It's awkward and tense. Elliot wonders if this whole plan was a mistake.
"Before you say anything," Olivia starts. "I need to apologize."
"Come again?" He scrunches his brow.
"The other day," she gestures, her eyes darting. "I was angry. Some of the things I said were out of line."
"No, you—"
"Let me finish." She holds up a hand in protest. "You need to know that I don't blame you. Not for any of it. You didn't know, and it's not your fault that—" you weren't there. "It's just not your fault."
There was a time—a long time—that she did blame him. Logically, she's always known it wasn't his fault. Of course, it wasn't. Yet she still believed it, somehow; that maybe if he had stayed things would have been different. She's since worked through those feelings, though, and has no intention of backtracking now.
"I appreciate that." He tries to make eye contact, but she avoids it. "Don't deserve it, but appreciate you saying it."
Elliot stays quiet, giving Olivia time and space should there be anything else she needs to say.
"You know," he starts. "I've been wracking my brain the last twenty-four hours trying to figure out what I would say to you. How I could possibly explain why I did it. But the truth is…Liv, I was angry too."
She's surprised by this. He can tell by the way her eyes widen.
"I told you to back off." He scratches his neck. "Told you to leave me alone, but you wouldn't. You say I'm stubborn? You are too. You were just so," he searches for the right word. "Persistent. And it pissed me off. I felt like you had no right telling me how to grieve, or to come at me with this…" he gestures at nothing in particular. "PTSD shit, because what did you know?"
"I knew about PTSD long before Lewis. You know that." She chides, defensively.
"I know. It was wrong—is wrong—but my head, you said it yourself. It hasn't been screwed on straight since—" He leaves the thought incomplete. "Anyway, I was angry. So, I looked into it. Looked into you." He shakes his head. "It was stupid and selfish, but it's what I did."
Olivia is quiet, turned away from him.
"And I know it's fucked up and doesn't excuse my behavior, but the other night you asked for honesty. So, there you have it." He takes a drink of water, his throat suddenly dry.
"That was…hard to hear." She takes a moment to process. "I pushed you, I'll admit that. It was just—your kids, El—how could I ignore it? Ignore them? They just lost their mom and I—" she sighs "I just got you back. I couldn't let you self-destruct."
"I know. Liv, I know."
"I appreciate your honesty, though." She rotates to face him. "I do. A hell of a lot more than some bullshit excuse."
"I'm so fucking sorry, Olivia." He uses her full name as if to make a point that he's serious.
"I know you are." She reaches for his forearm and gives it a gentle squeeze. "It all just feels, I don't know, unfair." She leans back, enveloped by the couch cushions. "There needs to be a written record of everything, I know that. Obviously, I know that." She reasons. "But it feels like such an invasion of my privacy that this…this file even exists, you know?" Her tone is barely above a whisper. "And the fact that you—of all people—you, read it? After all these years?" She chews her lip. "It's just gonna take some time."
"I can be patient." Olivia gives him a look. "What? I said I can be, not that I am." Elliot reasons. "When it comes you, I can be patient."
"I hope so." She half-smiles, looking down.
"You asked when I was gonna tell you." He shifts in his seat. "If I was gonna tell you."
"Yeah." She remembers.
"Been thinking about that a lot, too. Truth is, I don't know that I would've had the guts."
"You wouldn't have."
"No? What makes you so sure." He angles his head to the side.
"Because, Elliot. You don't want to hurt me again." His jaw tightens at the word again, but she doesn't waver. She isn't here to sugar-coat the truth. It hurt when he left—it really hurt. "The other day, you brought it up because you were trying to help." She reassures. "You did a shit job, but your heart was in the right place."
"If I knew," he starts.
"We've been over this." She groans, not wanting to talk in circles.
"I would've—"
"Don't." She warns, her tone quiet but sharp. "Don't say you would've come back. Left your family abroad to check on me. Don't say it."
"If I knew how bad it was? What he did to you?" His eyes shine with tears. "God, Liv, I would have been there." He whispers, realizing that flying back to New York may have been unrealistic, but he thinks—he knows—he would have found a way. "I would have."
"I had people." She takes a deep, shaky breath. People is about as much information as she's willing to divulge on the subject. He doesn't need the specifics of who those people were. "I got through it. And if what you're saying is true, I'm glad you didn't know."
He looks at her, perplexed.
"If you had come back, on top of everything else? I don't think I could have handled that." She shakes her head, fidgeting with her hands. "I was…barely hanging on." Olivia admits, taking another breath. "It would have been too much."
He rests his head in his hands, taking a moment to find his breath as well. This conversation is heavy. It needs to be, but that doesn't make it less exhausting.
"Can I ask you something?" She asks, her voice light. Friendly, almost.
"Yeah, sure."
"Do I seem different to you now? Be honest, I can handle it."
"Where is this coming from?" He questions her insecurity.
"It's a valid question, really. Do you see me the same way you did…before?" She gestures, not entirely sure what before she's referring to: ten years ago, or last week? "Or more like a—" Victim, she thinks, but won't say it. "I don't know, just different."
"Christ, Liv, give me some credit here." Elliot reddens, running his palm over his head.
"I just need to hear you say it." Her voice is small; face flushed with embarrassment.
"I said this the other night but clearly you need to hear it again. I respect the hell out of you. I—" love you, he wants to say, again. "—always have. Nothing," He catches her eye, snakes his head around so she can't avoid his gaze. "Nothing is ever gonna change that."
"Okay." She stands, unsure which direction to take the conversation next. There are so many routes, but none are particularly appealing.
"Liv." He tries to get her attention.
"I don't like that you know my triggers." She states, turning to face him.
"Can I ask why?" He challenges.
"I don't know, makes me uncomfortable." Makes me feel weak, she thinks. "Most days? I'm good. I've done the work: gone to therapy, talked about it, journaled." She emphasizes as if journaling is the most shocking part. "And I know," She paces, raking her fingers through her hair. "It may not seem like it, because the other night? That was…challenging. But only because I avoid vodka. So, when I tasted it I wasn't—I didn't expect it. That's why I—" She shakes her head. "I'm usually fine."
She stops and looks at him. "You believe me?" It comes out a little too desperate.
"I believe you." Elliot senses her growing more agitated by the second.
"I avoid vodka." She repeats, back to pacing. "Whiskey, too. Those are easy. Just don't order them, right? Certain uh," she rubs her eyes. "Certain pills used to be a problem. Not so much anymore, but sometimes—sometimes I still can't swallow them." Her voice cracks, but she forces herself to continue.
"Liv." Again, he attempts to catch her attention.
"And sometimes…it's the strangest thing, really. I'll come home from work. Everything is normal and fine." She gestures, a bit frantically. "Then I'll go to put my—my key in the door?" Her breath is more erratic now. "And suddenly I'm there and the key? It feels like it's burning my hand, even though of course, it isn't." She reasons. "It just feels like it is and I—" She stops, two fingers over her lips.
"Olivia." Her back is to him, but Elliot practically feels the escalation of her heart rate from where he's sitting.
"I don't—El, I don't think I can do this." She whispers, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. "I'm sorry."
He rises to meet her where she's standing. "Look at me." She doesn't. "Olivia. Look. At me." He's firmer now, more authoritative. "Not there, here." He directs her darting eyes to meet his. "Focus on me."
"I'm so sorry." She whispers, gasping now.
"Stop it. You have no reason."
"I said we'd talk."
"I don't care what you said." He holds both of her shoulders now. "I only wanted to talk if it made you feel better. But this? Liv, I don't want this."
She allows Elliot to lead her back to the couch. He kneels in front of her, clasping her hands. "When I go there, it can be…it can be so hard to come back."
"I know." He does know. He's living it. "Don't go there. Stay here, with me. Right here, okay?" He moves one hand to her face, unsure how she'll react. She doesn't protest, so he lightly brushes the side of her cheek. "Olivia, okay?" He needs to know she hears him.
"Okay." She nods, feeling his warm skin against hers. His touch grounds her, so she focuses on it.
They stay quiet. He's gentle with her and she allows it. Allows him to see her—really see her—in her grief. Maybe this quiet moment of vulnerability and trust is more valuable than Olivia disclosing every detail of her assault. Elliot already read about it, and maybe that's enough. Maybe this—this moment—is exactly what they need to heal.
A/N: Thank you for reading! I very much appreciate it. Again, there will be one more chapter.