March 24, 2007

Don't do this, Liv.

She wanted to scream. How did he do that? How could he, with four little words, make her blood boil, make her forget all her carefully rationalized arguments and even more carefully guarded hopes, and leave behind only a sudden, furious need to hit something? How could she care for him as much as she did, long for him as much as she did, and still want to throttle him as badly as she did in that moment? How was it possible that the most infuriating man she'd ever known was also the one man she wanted more than any other?

"Don't do what?" she snapped at him. "Remind you that there's consequences for your actions? Remind you to think before you do something insane?"

The bacon was hissing and popping on the stovetop, and from the way he was angrily toying with the eggs she thought breakfast must have been nearly ready. Breakfast. That's all she'd wanted, when she invited him over. To have a meal, to see his face, to speak to one another quietly, honestly, about what they wanted, but she'd lost control somewhere along the way. When she'd first opened the door and seen him standing there, handsome and smiling for her, reminding her of just what they'd done the last time they were alone in her apartment together, just what they could do together now if they chose, had stirred up the embers of her desire and begun to stoke them into a flame. She wanted him, still; knowing now how it could be, him and her and them together, him above her, inside her, her surrounding him, had left her hungry for more and she had been, quietly, hopeful. But then he'd mentioned work and it all got away from her somehow. Talking about the case just reminded her that he'd been out of his mind when he showed up at her door on Thursday night, just reminded her that he could be unpredictable, just reminded her that if she kept fucking him she'd lose their partnership and her job would be in jeopardy and everything would change. For a few minutes they'd shuffled around each other at the stove and she'd forgotten, but then he'd gone and reminded her, and what hope she'd felt before was lost.

This is a bad idea, she thought.

"Before I do something insane?" Elliot asked her sharply. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

This is insane, she'd breathed at him on Thursday night while they peeled each other out of their clothes. It hadn't stopped her then.

"I just meant -"

"What makes today different from Thursday night, huh? You were all in then."

He could be such a bastard sometimes, she thought, but only because he was right. Because he saw straight through her, read her like a book, because he knew all the excuses and all the blow-offs she used on other men were bullshit, and he wouldn't stand for it.

"It's real, now," she confessed in a small voice.

It hadn't felt real, on Thursday night. On Thursday night his touch, his kiss, his desperate voice telling her that he cared for her, needed her, wanted her, had felt like nothing so much as a dream, a dream she had been longing for, against her better judgement, despite all her attempts at ignoring it, for years now. On Thursday night she had been half-asleep and aching for him, and he had come to her, and offered her everything, and she had taken it all without looking back. But it was Saturday morning, now, and she had to face facts. There was the job to worry about; calling it a job seemed like the understatement of the century. The work meant everything, to both of them, and their partnership was the only thing in either of their lives that hadn't gone to shit. You and this job are about the only things I've got any more, he'd told her that morning on his stoop. But if they kept sleeping together they'd lose that, too, and then what would they have? Some nebulous thing where they ate together sometimes and fucked sometimes and worked with other people? The thought of someone else taking her place at Elliot's side left her feeling nauseous. She couldn't let that happen.

But the only way to avoid it was to make sure she never touched him, never kissed him, never fell under his spell ever again, and she wasn't sure she could handle that, either.

Maybe he'd taken note of the miserable tone of her voice; his shoulders slumped, and the anger left him. In silence he turned off the stove, plated up the food he'd cooked. For a moment she thought he meant for them to take it to the table, to sit down and eat together, but he set the plates aside, and reached for her instead.

Those strong hands landed hard at her hips, as if he meant to draw her towards him; she leaned her weight back against the counter, away from him instead, and watched him, hardly daring it to breathe.

"It was real on Thursday," he said, his fingers tightening their grip as he looked down at her, those blue eyes burning her through her clothes. "You and me, we were as real then as we are right now. This isn't going away, Olivia."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She wanted him in every way she could have him but now she'd have to choose, and no matter what decision she made it would cost her something. Maybe cost her everything. If she gave up their partnership in favor of a relationship they might wake up six months from now hating each other with their careers in tatters. If she chose to put work first, her heart might never recover. He might leave her anyway.

I've lost him already, she realized with growing sorrow as she looked at him. Olivia was an old hand at compartmentalization but Elliot was wide open, and she could see in his eyes that he could never go back to the old way of things between them after this. He'd never be able to put it away, the memories of their skin sliding together, the sound of them begging for one another, the taste of their kiss, and his eyes would grow hard, and angry, and disappointment and frustration would bubble up inside of him until it came tumbling down. If she asked him to step back he would, but he would also implode, and their partnership would inevitably go down with him.

What have I done?

"Am I that scary?" he asked her. Slowly, very slowly, he leaned towards her. Rationally she knew she ought to push him away. They were obviously fucked; both their lives were going up in flames around her. Letting him take more of her now would only give them both cause to hope, and a little bit of hope was a dangerous thing. She should have stepped to the side, told him to leave, but he was close, and warm, and his hands felt right, resting on her hips, and she remembered the way her heart had soared when he kissed her, and she wanted to take his certainty for herself, wanted to believe, as he did, that they could have everything they wanted. His forehead came to rest against hers, gently, and almost without realizing it her hands reached for him, gathered in the material of his grey t-shirt and clung on tight.

"Terrifying," she confessed. He'd never hurt her - not with his hands, at least. With his recklessness, with his words, with his pride, he had hurt her before, probably would again. But those hands of his, those broad, strong hands so accustomed to violence, so comfortable holding a gun, throwing a punch, wrapping around a throat, those hands would never hurt her. She wasn't afraid that he'd hurt her; she was afraid the strength of her own yearning would break her clean in half. She was afraid of admitting, once and for all, that she needed him. She was afraid of needing him, and losing him, petrified that if she let him have her, let him see her as she was, he'd change his mind, and take all of her with him when he left.

It's too late, the thought swirled through her mind as she felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek, his nose nuzzling gently at hers. Elliot wasn't some guy she'd gone out with a few times, some new acquaintance slowly learning the pieces of her. There was nothing he did not already know, not one ounce of her he did not already possess. Her mother, her father, Simon, her track record of disastrous, short-lived relationships, her fears, her desires; he knew it all already. Why should she be afraid to let him in, when he was already borrowed so far beneath her skin that nothing, not even running away to Oregon, would be sufficient to dislodge him? It was scary, needing him, but she'd needed him before he turned up at her door; the need was nothing new.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her, very quietly. His lips brushed hers as he spoke and her chin lifted reflexively, chasing a kiss he hadn't given her.

"With my life," she answered honestly. There was no one she trusted more.

"With your heart?"

That was the question, wasn't it? With guns in their hands, facing down demons, confronting the most terrifying shadows the world had to offer, she trusted him with everything she had. Safe in her apartment he was asking for a different kind of trust altogether, and she wasn't sure yet if she could give it to him. Elliot thought they could do this, sleep together and work together, and keep doing it until in the future became right now and they were both ready to choose each other over the job one last time. He believed it, as much as he believed in the Bible he kept beside his bed, as much as he believed in the crucifix he had tattooed on his arm. Maybe that was her problem; Elliot knew how to have faith, and she'd never learned.

She didn't know how to answer him. She didn't know how to explain it to him, the dichotomy between what she wanted and what she thought she could have. How could she look at the one person she cared about most in the entire world, and still feel doubt, and how could she tell him that without wrecking him?

Maybe he didn't need her to tell him; maybe he decided that what she needed more than words was proof. He ducked his chin and brushed his lips against hers, and then she was falling. It had never felt like this before; no one had ever made her feel like the world had vanished out from underneath her feet with just a kiss. Elliot did, though; Elliot kissed her, and she went back for more despite the protests of her fears, pressed her lips hard to his and let him slip into all the cracks of her like water over crumbling stone. He stepped up close and her arms wrapped around him, his chest pressed hard to hers, his tongue chasing after the taste of her, and suddenly he was there, Elliot, Elliot who never should have touched her like this, Elliot who she couldn't get enough of. No one else had ever made her feel like risking everything she had, everything she was, to chase the promise of something better, but he did.

He did, and he knew it. Maybe he felt the same way, felt the same electrifying, dizzying, freefall sensation every time he touched her, and maybe he wanted it as much as she did. The longer he kissed her the bolder he got; he captured her bottom lip with his teeth, gently, a reminder of just how forceful he could be and how tender he chose to be instead, and her hands tugged at his shirt while she arched towards him and he grinned against her mouth. Maybe he took that as permission; those hands of his began to wander, one sliding down to grip the swell of her ass, rocking her against him, while the other reached up to clasp the back of her neck, holding her in place, holding her against him, somehow possessive and protective both. The desire she thought she'd left behind her roared into life again in a moment, and nothing else seemed to matter, then.

He'd said they could decide later, and maybe, she thought, maybe that's what they ought to do. Maybe they didn't have all the answers right now, and maybe that would be all right. Maybe she was just making excuses for herself, because now that he was kissing her the last thing she wanted was for him to stop. For now, just for this moment, this breath, this morning, she wanted him, and he was offering himself to her. She'd take it.

"Make a believer out of me," she whispered against his mouth, one of her hands reaching up to run over his hair. She wondered if he knew what she meant, what she was trying to tell him, what she was asking for. She hardly knew herself.

"Oh, I will," he growled, and then he kissed her harder, held her tighter, and in the swirling tide of passion that had begun to rise between them the moment his hands landed on her lips they were both swept away.