March 24, 2007

Made it.

Elliot sat on the end of his bed, staring at the text message. It was the only communication he'd had with Olivia since they'd parted ways at the station the night before; he'd asked her to text him when she got home, and she did, and since then, silence. Oh, he'd answered - good. Let me know if you want to talk - but that had been the end of it. At the time he'd expected more, expected her to make good on the insinuation in her words when she'd reminded him that today was Saturday, a day off for both of them, a chance, maybe, to see each other outside of work again, but she hadn't said a word. It was driving him out of his mind, but he was trying to exercise some patience with her, trying not to crowd her, and so no matter how much he wanted to call her, to show up at her door again and demand to speak to her, he held himself back. Didn't call her, didn't text her again, didn't get in his car and drive like hell to see her. He just had a beer, went to bed, woke up, went for a run, and now here he was, at not quite eight on a Saturday morning, wondering what he ought to do next.

Prudence said he shouldn't do anything. Olivia and commitment were oil and water; they didn't mix. Too much pressure, and she'd run. But his heart was screaming at him, terrified that if they didn't face this now they never would, worried that she needed more from him to convince her to take this risk, and that if he didn't give it to her she'd retreat, again, and everything would sink back into an unbearable status quo where he wanted her the same way only worse because now he knew how she felt wrapped around him and he was dying for another taste of her. It had only been one day but they'd worked together well, wrapping up the Royce case, and it gave him cause to hope. His hands hadn't reached for her more than they had on Thursday, and her eyes hadn't been more scared than they had been on Wednesday, and it made him think that maybe they could do both, at least for a little while. Maybe he could fall asleep beside her and wake up and go into work with her and maybe they'd be all right, and they'd handle the you can't sleep with your partner issue further down the track, when they were a little steadier.

But what if Liv had already made up her mind? It was Liv who'd asked him if they'd made a mistake, Liv who'd said I don't know yet when he asked her the same. She was only trying to be honest, he knew, wasn't deliberately trying to drive him insane but Christ, this woman was so afraid of him, of them, that he was beginning to wonder if he'd been stupid to think that he could convince her the reward was worth the risk. Now he'd gone and left her alone overnight, and she'd probably gone and worked herself up over it, poured over all the worst case scenarios until she'd talked herself out of it. He never should have left her alone, he realized, he should have insisted that she talk to him, should have refused to walk away until they'd faced each other again. He should have -

The phone in his hand buzzed, heralding an incoming text message, and he opened it eagerly. It was one word, just one word, but it came from Liv, and that made all the difference.

Breakfast?

One word had taken him from devastation to elation; she was gonna be hell for his blood pressure. But this was Liv, reaching out, making the choice to see him, and he knew how much that meant. It meant he was in with a chance.

Usual place? He typed back.

No, she answered. Come to mine. Bring eggs.

He was grinning like a fool. There was never any food in Liv's apartment, and they both knew it. But she didn't want to go out, didn't want to sit in a crowded place and keep their voices low and their hands to themselves, and he took that as a good sign. Liv was inviting him over this time, asking him to join her in her personal space, giving him a chance, and he took it, with both hands.

I'll bring bacon, too. See you in half an hour.

She was fully dressed when he knocked on her door this time, black yoga pants and a plain white t-shirt that hugged her figure like a second skin, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her bangs in her eyes. The moment he laid eyes on her he wanted to kiss her, but he wasn't sure he was allowed just yet, so he only smiled, a bit stupidly, and held up the brown paper bag of food he'd taken out of his own refrigerator.

"Breakfast," he said.

"Thank God," she answered, and her smile was sweet and shy like he'd never seen it before. He didn't even know Liv had it in her to be shy, and he found himself wondering what other secrets were lurking in her heart, what other mysteries he'd be able to unravel if she only let him.

"Do you have a pan in this house?" he asked good-naturedly as he stepped through the door, as she closed it behind him. There was a moment when he passed just next to her and he caught a whiff of something that smelled like coconuts and Liv that made his knees go weak, and it occurred to him that despite his run that morning it wasn't food he was hungry for. Touching her, holding her, rocking against her, had wakened something inside him he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to tame, a need to have her, again and again, the memories of the night - and the morning - they'd spent together assaulting him suddenly. He could hear it, the sound of her breathy moans in his ears, could feel her hands on his back, could feel the way she shuddered beneath him when he slipped himself inside her and it took every last ounce of strength he possessed to keep from throwing the groceries away and slamming her back against the door.

"Hey, the kitchen is full service. You just gotta bring your own ingredients."

For a heartbeat she leaned back against the door, looking up at him through thick eyelashes. Maybe he should have kissed her anyway. Maybe she wanted him to.

"Lucky for you, I always come prepared," he told her. There was a box of condoms in the bag, too. Pill or not, Liv deserved more care from him, and he was determined to do better by her in the future. He'd been out of his mind on Thursday night, hardly even knowing what he wanted from her, what she'd let him have. He had a better idea, now, and he wasn't gonna make another mistake like that one.

She pushed herself up off the door and his gaze flickered reflexively to her tits; he caught himself and jerked his eyes back up to her face, and found her watching him knowingly.

"Come on," she said.

So he did. He followed her into the kitchen, set the bag down on the counter. She'd already made herself a cup of tea, but she hadn't forgotten about him; the coffee pot was brewing, nearly ready for him. It was a little thing, but it was reassuring. They just worked, the two of them; they made room for each other, anticipated each other's needs, moved in lockstep, always. Even now; he was unpacking the food and she was pulling pans out from the cabinets and they were shifting around each other, comfortable. Easy. On the job no one meshed as well as they did, and now he knew they meshed pretty damn well out of it, too, and on the whole he was feeling rather more hopeful now than he had for a long, long time.

"How do you want them?" he asked, waving the carton of eggs towards her. "Scrambled, over easy, what?"

"Scrambled's fine." She'd laid out all the accoutrements and reached for her tea cup now, leaning back against the counter beside him. God help him but she was beautiful like this, soft and easy in the morning, talking about normal things, not blood and death and rape and hate. Just breakfast.

"Good, 'cause that's the only way I know how to make them."

She rolled her eyes, and he couldn't stop smiling. When was the last time he'd smiled this much? He felt like a kid, excited, happy, hopeful, like he'd forgotten how much love could hurt, how much he was risking being here with her like this, how it tore him apart when she ran away and how scared he was that she might do it again. In the soft light of a Saturday morning she didn't look like she was running away, and all he could think was how bad he wanted to kiss her again.

Gently he nudged her out of the way with his hip, and she went, and he settled himself in the middle of the stove, turned it on and cracked the eggs into the pan.

"So I was thinking," he said, because he was fairly sure she hadn't just asked him over so he could feed her, "we did pretty good yesterday."

If he'd been looking at her he'd have seen the way her eyes went dark, troubled, but he was laying bacon in the pan and keeping an eye on the eggs, and he never saw it at all.

"You think that was good? Elliot, you went completely off the rails. What you did with Royce-"

"All I did was get a confession. Like we always try to do."

His smile was gone. For a few minutes his life had felt like something from one of those goddamn Disney movies his girls used to love, but now he was defensive and uneasy, reminded of the darkness they'd faced less than twenty-four hours before. Reminded of Liv staring at that picture of Cynthia Yellin like she thought they were the same, homewreckers who were going to get someone killed for the sake of their selfish desires. Reminded him of the way she'd pulled out of his grip, like she was already slipping through his fingers when he'd only just managed to grab hold of her. Reminded him of standing in that hospital room with Malcolm Royce, and thinking about ending the whole damn thing right there. Liv hadn't even been in the room, hadn't seen what went down, but there was an accusation in her voice like she'd already made up her mind about what happened. She was right, but it still rankled.

"That wasn't what we always do, El. That was personal."

"It is personal. You gonna look me in the eye and tell me that case wasn't personal?"

He looked up from his work and found her staring into her teacup, that little pout she sometimes got when she was upset and trying to hide it tugging at her lips. He could have kicked himself; how did we get here? This wasn't what he'd wanted when she invited him over. He hadn't wanted to talk to her about work and he damn sure hadn't wanted to fight. He just wanted...he just wanted to hold her, wanted to feel, at least for a few minutes, as if everything was gonna be all right.

"Let's not do this," he said. That kind of avoidance never worked with Kathy but he was desperate enough to try it with Liv. It was something they did all the time, bury a grievance so they could focus on the task at hand. It was necessary, some days; they couldn't hash everything out all at once or they'd tear themselves to pieces. If she wanted to discuss his interrogation methods they could damn well do that at work; right now, in her home, making breakfast, didn't feel like the right time for that conversation. She didn't protest, and he took a deep breath, and tried again.

"I was just trying to say, I think we handled it well, personally. You and me. I think we did a good job working together despite...what happened."

"Yeah," she said, softly. "We did all right."

"And that's a good thing, yeah?" It was important to him that she hear him, that she understand what he was trying to tell her. That they were safe, that they could do both, that having sex didn't have to spell the end of their professional careers. That maybe they'd be better off, even, now that they weren't holding back from each other in any respect.

"Is it?" She asked, and he grit his teeth in frustration. "I don't like lying to everyone, Elliot. I don't like the thought of sneaking around. I mean, have you even thought about how you want this to go?"

The answer to that question was a resounding yes; he wanted her to be his partner on the job because no one had ever worked with him as well as she did, and he wanted to sleep with her every chance he got because no one had ever made him feel the way she did, and when he thought about it, the future, what came next, he saw them, together, in every way, strong and happy. But he could hear doubt in her voice, and it scared the shit out of him, because what was it going to take to convince her? Would she ever just let herself be happy? Or did she just think he wasn't worth the risk?

"We said take it slow, right? So for right now, that's all I want. I want to see you outside of work like this. I want to...I want to kiss you, if you'll let me," he felt like a teenager just saying it, but it felt necessary, somehow, "and I want us to work together, and then in the future, we can decide."

Wasn't that what she wanted to hear? That he wasn't pressuring her, that he wasn't looking at rings, that he wasn't gonna walk into Cragen's office on Monday and ask for a new partner?

"In the future," she repeated, and heard it in her voice, the way she was starting to rethink everything. She'd been smiling when she opened the door, and they hadn't even been together long enough for him to finish scrambling the damn eggs, and already it sounded like she'd changed her mind. How did she even think that fast?

"Don't do this, Liv."

It was the wrong thing to say.