Notes: Wow. So, the response to this story keeps blowing me away. Thank you so, so much for the feedback.
This chapter has been a back and forth, especially between yesterday and this very moment, but it was good.
Ames: Thank you for navigating this one with me. *hugs*
Triggers for:
PTSD
(implied) rape
violence
She got in one hour before Elliot woke her up as he promised he would. According to him she'd started to moan and jerk, and through the haze of desperately needed sleep, she'd felt the familiar clutches of a nightmare pulling her under.
There was nothing she remembered at that point, and yet, when her eyes snapped open as Elliot shook her gently, coaxing her awake with calmly spoken words, her chest had felt tight, her heart had hammered. She'd found herself staring into his eyes, reminding her that she was with him and safe. Still a cold sweat broke out, dampening the expanse of her skin head to toe, as she blinked herself to full consciousness.
It's after eight by the time Noah's tucked in and asleep, and Oliva stumbles towards her bed, worn-out. She downright drops onto the mattress, hitting the pillow face-first.
Elliot and Eli left a few hours ago, and her energy levels had been depleted before they were out the door. She's not sure how she made it through until now.
She'd tried not to calculate how many hours of sleep she's gotten in since Friday, 5:30 in the morning. She'd tried and failed miserably. Five out of sixty-three hours. She can, positively, say it's a sad record for her. It also doesn't take science for her to know it's not just unhealthy, but bordering on dangerous.
Her eyes burn to the point she's tearing up when they are open for longer than five seconds, but the moment she closes them, she sees the outline of Lewis' grotesque face. There's also the remains of caffeine pumping through her system, making her jittery and nauseous. Her stomach hurts from the acid, making her wonder if she shot her stomach lining to hell.
Pulling her knees up to her chest Olivia exhales shakily. A couple of tears seep into the pillow, and all she can think is how she's so, so tired and can't sleep. By now she is so overtired, her body can't shut off, can't switch into rest mode. Trying, it seems, is pointless, even yawning several times a minute doesn't change that.
She busies herself with her phone for a couple of hours, mindlessly scrolling through text first, the news, several apps. She even attempts keeping up with the book she's currently reading, but nothing but a jumbled blur of black letters registers in her brain.
For the entire weekend she has done what she could to make sure the pictures wouldn't haunt her, but now, alone in her room, they flood her mind relentlessly. It's the first time she's not been busy, or in company, except for the few hours this morning.
She'd successfully outrun the PTSD that had spent the weekend trying to rough her up, which is an accomplishment in itself, but now she can feel in her bones that it's going to backfire, terribly so. For as long as Elliot was here, she at least felt a sense of safety from Lewis' ghost. Now she doesn't even feel safe from herself, from her own head. From what her brain will conjure up once she does fall asleep.
Fuck, she wants Elliot. More than that, it crosses her mind, she wants Lindstrom, but they parted on poor terms, so, as much appeal as his emergency number in her contacts holds, calling him is not an option. Neither is calling Elliot. He'd only be worried and haul his ass right back here. While she wants that, maybe even needs that, it wouldn't be fair to Eli. It's not El's job to sit by her side to fend off her night terrors.
By eleven, still no sleep in sight, Olivia's head starts to pound viciously. She'd felt the headache coming on for a while, and deems it stupid that she hasn't taken the precaution of popping a few ibuprofen. As hard as it's coming on, the analgesic isn't going to do anything for her, so she merely groans and buries her head further into the pillow. She fears she's going to deal with a full-blown migraine by morning, brought on by lack of sleep and distress. It's a goddamn catch-22, because she still can't sleep, can't destress.
She needs to use the bathroom, finding herself almost surprised when she makes it there. She flushes, then grips the sides of the lavatory hard, squeezing her eyes shut. Nausea, headaches, stomachache, fatigue and the ever present threat of nightmares looming? Not a good combination.
Small, bloodshot eyes stare back at her as she looks into the mirror. Then her reflection starts spinning and blinking rapidly, Olivia shakes her head and groans. To hell with washing her hands, she just needs to make it back to the comfort of her blanket and pillows, because she feels like she's going to pass out any moment. As she staggers back towards the bed in the darkened room, bile comes up and she swallows it back down as she crawls onto the mattress. Her throat burns. Everything just… burns. And then, blessing or curse, she's out.
It's the same thing, the same dream she has. She was back in her old bedroom, on the bed, and to her right side Lewis stood, grinning at her.
The first two times, she pulled herself out of there, woke herself up just in time. It's not restful sleep, and once she's awake, she doesn't easily fall back asleep, but eventually she dozes off, slips into a slumber for the third time.
Third time is the charm. Even when it comes to nightmares.
She feels raw and exposed on this bed. Her shirt and bra are up, her slacks and panties down. Her entire body is littered in bruises. In burns. She oozes pain, and even the stuffy air settling against her wounds hurts. She can literally feel dust particles seep into the open, weeping flesh, and yet it's not actual dirt that makes her feel so filthy, so soiled.
As excruciating the pain is, Olivia doesn't moan, doesn't make a sound. Lewis stands to her right, grinning. His eyes rake over her body slowly, taking in his handiwork. She breathes in and out, slow, labored breaths. She's hurting, but she's also at ease, almost peaceful, even when Lewis' eyes land on hers.
A sensation of complete serenity overcomes her here, in Lewis' makeshift torture chamber.
Liv senses his presence before she sees him, before it occurs to her to turn her head to the left.
When she does, there he stands. Tall, broad-shouldered. Rigid. He's perfect.
For the first time since he left, her heart is beating in a rhythm that feels right. A rhythm that belongs to him. A rhythm that is theirs.
He's got both hands shoved into the pockets of his denim, and finally, she thinks, finally he came for her.
He came for her.
She bathes in the warmth his mere presence provides. It permeates her skin like a soothing salve. For a moment nothing hurts. She's safe now. She's going to be okay, because he's going to make it so.
"Elliot." His name drops wistfully from her dry lips. She reaches out for him, wants to show him how she is in dire need for his proximity, his touch. The safety his being here assures. Her fingertips prickle with the vast anticipation of feeling his skin beneath them.
Elliot exhales, expels a bated breath, but he doesn't move towards her. He just keeps standing there as he finally speaks.
"What did you do, Olivia?"
There is no mistaking the tinge of disappointment in his tone, the scalding accusation of his gaze. His eyes are the shade of muddy waters, instead of familiar deep blues.
In response Olivia's stomach plummets into a freefall.
"Look at you."
Shame tinges her cheeks, her cleavage a deep, hot red. She feels cold, exposed, humiliated and ashamed. She thinks with him in this room she should feel safe, and the realization that she doesn't is momentarily paralyzing her body, her mind.
"How do you manage to get yourself into these situations? You are useless, Olivia. You should know better." He shakes his head, the space between his eyebrows creasing like crumpled-up paper. "I taught you better."
The words sink in but all that reverberates in her head is a conversation from years ago: "I can't keep looking over my shoulder, making sure you're okay!"
She wants to speak, but the chokehold of utter shock, won't let her.
"I froze, I froze, I froze," she wants to tell him but realizes it proves his point, and, with it, her utter incompetence. As a cop. As a woman.
As his partner. The one thing that has defined her entire existence for so many years.
He told her then, and she had rejected his accusation, but he was right all along. She always had a way of putting herself in harm's way. She'd failed. She'd failed her mother. She'd failed him, herself, the NYPD.
"I'm sorry," she chokes out, her eyes pleading for his forgiveness.
A sickening feeling settles in Olivia's gut when Elliot suddenly refuses to look at her.
This is not how it's supposed to go.
She trembles under the weight of the implications of his open disregard to her current state. She wonders if he's disgusted with the missteps that got her here, or with her body that's a fresh roadmap of horror. She's now the epitome of broken, she thinks. Broken skin. Broken bones. Broken spirit…
She swallows, her eyes filled with tears to brim and the tickle in her nose turns into a burn. Already sore and weakened, a cleft splits her chest.
...broken heart.
The wounds his absence left in her life rip open. This sudden feeling of loneliness is overwhelming and complete, even though he's right here.
And yet.
She feels herself lose him all over again.
Oh God. She's not going to survive this.
He is supposed to make her feel whole. Instead he goes on to deepen the rift between them.
"You know this is why I left, right?"
"What?" Her voice is weak wail. Behind the tears, she can't see him clearly, his colors bleeding into the semi-dark of the room.
Elliot's hands come out of his pockets and he puts them at his side. He now focuses on Lewis, who still stands in the very same spot, no less amused than before. While he isn't doing a thing, she can sense the threat of him looming. Her body jerks with trepidation. She's too aware what he is capable of, the things he can do with his hands, his teeth, his torture tools. But it's not the fear of what else Lewis is going to do to her next that sets her off into a state of frantic panic.
"I always knew you'd end up like this, Liv," he sighs, and he sounds like he's physically aching. His hands clench, unclench. "I couldn't let it happen under my watch. I couldn't take it anymore. Your neediness. You are so much effort."
Olivia's blood rushes to her head and rings in her ears.
He seizes an envelope from the inside of his jacket and she recognizes it as the one holding the photographs Lewis took. Her teary eyes widen, because nothing makes sense anymore, not time, not space. Her head starts spinning, and the rush she gets from it is more nauseating than the one she got from the meth.
"You chose this." His fingers fish for the pictures, and his face contorts as he pulls them out, takes in the image before he shows her. It's the one depicting her in the very same position she is in now, except there's duct-tape covering her mouth.
"No," she cries out, fresh tears burning as she vehemently shakes her head. It's not true, she wants to say. He's got it all wrong. She did not choose this. She did not want this. But nothing more than a few desperate sobs come out.
Carelessly, he flings the picture at her. It lands next to her head.
"You wouldn't stop until you were one of them." Another picture is tossed at her. "Just as weak." Another hits her stomach, slides down. "Just as pathetic."
Each word cuts like a knife, and she crumples.
He doesn't throw the next photograph at her, instead he stares at it for a long moment, his face contorting, showing her just how sickened he is.
"Just another victim."
"No," she wails, her breath staccato.
"Told you, I can always smell a victim," Lewis pipes up for the first time, his feral smirk mirroring how highly he's satisfied with this little display between the former partners. "It's him, isn't it? That one person you'd do anything to see just one more time? I can see it in your eyes. That longing. That pain. It's delicious, Olivia. Or should I call you Liv?"
Lewis' hands drop to his belt, starting to undo it. The leather slides noisily through the metal buckle, seals her fate.
Olivia jumps. Her stomach revolts. This can't be happening. She desperately wants to wake from this nightmare. But it's entirely real; the overwhelming pain tells her that.
"Detective Stabler, would you like to enjoy the show?"
"Elliot," she pleads frenzied, and once more his eyes find hers, but instead of doing anything, instead of coming to her rescue like he's supposed to, like she always knew he would, he just shakes his head sadly.
"I'm sorry, Liv." He sounds like broken promises. And suddenly, despite the impossibility of it all, he turns his back on her and walks past Lewis, towards the door, setting fire to the ruins of them.
"No!" she exclaims, her voice shrill. "No! Elliot!"
Without looking back Elliot crosses the threshold and disappears from her view. Lewis' pants drop, and as he walks closer and climbs onto the bed, she is in complete hysterics, screaming for dear life.
"No! Elliot, don't do this! Please don't leave me! ELLIOT! ELLIOT!"
She jerks awake, already weeping and shaking. She gasps for air but her chest is so tight, she can't breathe.
She's had nightmares for years, terrifying and crippling, but never anything like this. No amount of dreams reliving the torture, the paralyzing fear has ever pulled her apart like Elliot finally coming for her, only to then turn his back on her. Allowing Lewis to have her. To rape her.
The more it sinks in, the more nauseated Olivia feels, until she starts gagging and eventually dry heaving. Waves of anxiety crash into her, and she can't deal with this, can't catch her breath, can't move. Logically she knows this was just a dream, that there is no way in hell Elliot would have let that happen, left her there, to Lewis. But he had left. He'd left her, as his partner of thirteen years, as her friend, her confidant, as the most important person in her life.
He'd walked out on her, and she didn't have anyone, anything left.
She loves Elliot, but sometimes the cold facts still haunt her. She's forgiven him. Completely. But the hard part is that as much as she wants to, she can't forget.
It's hard to comprehend that this feeling of betrayal has now intruded into her dreams and, with Lewis, adding up to something that's more frightening, more harrowing than the physical torment she endured.
Olivia folds her body, hugs herself, and cries until there are no tears left to cry. She is still beyond tired, but doesn't dare to close her eyes, instead she stares at the window, watching the early morning sun rise. She's cold, spent and frozen. Literally frozen, unable to move even when her alarm goes off. She lets it blare for an eternity before forcing an arm to move, grab the phone, and turn it off, but she doesn't get up.
She had, of course, been depressed and exhausted after Lewis, but she had never once been unable to get out of bed. Now her body is heavy, gravity exerting such a force that she can barely lift a finger to press the phone display. It's 7:23 and by now she should be on her way to school with Noah. Her bed, though, is almost soothing, slightly soft, sheet cool against her cheek as her breath shudders jaggedly. She'd be crying again if she had the energy, but instead that energy goes to reminding herself to inhale. Exhale. Breathe.
Noah, it crosses her mind again, through the thicket of exhaustion and anxiety.
He can't find her like this. He wouldn't recognize her.
It takes a couple of tries to get the phone on, to dial Elliot before she's caught in the desperation of breathing. She nudges the phone so her ear is lying on it and holds on tight to the comforter.
He picks up on the second ring and from the background noises she can tell she's either on the streets, or in the car.
"Hey, Liv. I was about to call you myself, how was the night? Did you finally sleep?"
There are too many questions, and she's too debilitated to unpack them, so she sticks to the coherent thought she can hold onto.
"Noah. Can you...he has school?"
Her voice sounds hollow and raw, she doesn't recognize it. To Elliot it seems to be a huge red flag as well, because he's far from calm and back to asking too many questions.
"What? Noah to… shouldn't you be…" He lets it hang. "Liv, what's going on?"
And under the weight of his worried voice she breaks, bursting into tears, unable to give him an explanation that makes sense because she doesn't know. She has no idea what the hell is going on, why she is like this. All she can muster is: "I c-can't. I...just...please, El?"
"Shit," he says sharply, then, much more softly: "I'm on my way, okay? Give me thirty."
XXXXXXXXXX
He doesn't know what he expected. Maybe that she'd tell him she finally slept through the night, nightmares included. That she didn't sleep all that much, perhaps. He'd have some sort of response to these scenarios. Her sounding like an open wound, asking him to take Noah to school and sobbing into the phone that she can't? What is he supposed to do with that?
He's driving too fast as he calls his Sergeant, telling her he will be late for an important Task Force meeting; hangs up on her before she can react. There's no place for whatever the hell Bell thinks about it. For now all he can think of is Olivia and how she is not okay, maybe the furthest from okay he's ever seen her.
When he steps into the apartment it's too damned quiet. He checks the bedroom first, taking long quick strides, finding Olivia on the bed, facing away from him.
He instantly flashes back to his childhood, his youth. His mother.
How she'd spend days, sometimes weeks at a time, never leaving her bed, except to use the bathroom or get something to drink. To draw the blinds when it was too bright.
It was always too bright.
It's somewhat familiar even these days, because although Kathleen's well adjusted to her medication and responding well, she is still prone to depression, especially when she's under too much stress. The difference is that he usually isn't witness to it, and he hopes to God that this is not what it seems.
Noah is not to be seen, not to be heard, so the logical conclusion is that he's still asleep.
"Liv," he breathes and walks around the bed, finding her pale and puffy-eyed from crying. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here," he tells her, sitting down, reaching out to gently stroke her hair. Liv's eyes lock with his and fresh tears spring, making him all the more worried.
"I'm sorry," she chokes out, and at least she's talking to him, which is good.
"No. No, don't be. It's okay, honey," he assures, grasping for her hand. It's hard to think straight, but he tries to assess the situation anyway. "Is Noah still asleep?"
Olivia nods, sniffles. "I think so."
He nods back, deeming it a blessing under the circumstances. No need for him to see Liv like this. "Okay. Can I leave you alone?" He's reluctant to do it, but he wants Noah in school and has this one meeting to attend that he shouldn't even be late to.
"Yes. I'm just... so tired," she whispers hoarsely.
"Did you sleep at all?"
"A little."
"Nightmares?" He inquires, his voice taking on an extra careful tone. The quiver of her chin and the tears the mere word summons, is all the confirmation he needs.
"Y-yeah," she weeps, her fingers fisting the pillow harder, her knuckles protruding.
They must have been horrible, and he feels guilty for ever leaving for his own home. He should have been here. They spend too little time together, they are used to spending a lot of time apart, but for this he was needed right here. He can't help feeling how he let her down, makes a silent promise that he won't allow for it again.
"Okay, Liv, listen. I'm going to wake Noah and get him ready for school. I'll be back around noon, is that okay?"
He hates this. Absolutely hates it, but feels out of options. Noon is the very best he can do. When she doesn't respond he prods gently. "Okay, Liv?"
Nodding into her pillow, she exhales shakily.
"Okay." He presses his lips to her temple, pushes some hair out of her face, and whispers declarations of love before he lets go of her. "You call me if there's anything you need, you hear me?
She agrees, mumbling her confirmation into the cotton of her pillowcase. It's past eight and he really needs to move.
Noah sleeps like a stone. Sirens could blare right next to him and the kid wouldn't even stir. Once Elliot gets him up he's pressed for time and ushers him along, gives him clothes to dress, fixes his toothbrush and puts it on the dining table. He almost forgets the kid must be fed for breakfast so he grabs the peanut butter and jelly and slaps two slices of bread together for him to eat on the go.
They are out the door before Noah goes to pee, which backfires in the car, where he also dishes the boy a lie about why his mom isn't taking him to school.
His next stop is the 1-6. He bursts through the door like he's a person with authority here, headed straight for the Sergeant's desk. Fin looks at him, gets up, his face impassive. Elliot puts both his hands on top of his desk and leans in, so their conversation will be private.
"Hey, Liv's not coming in today. It's been a rough couple of days, she needs some time." He sticks to the mere facts without giving anything away. Hell, he couldn't if he tried, for now he has no idea what exactly they are dealing with.
Fin's facial expression changes just enough for Elliot to pick up on how deeply concerned he is about her.
The man has known Liv for nearly as long as Elliot himself. What they share goes far beyond a work relationship, possibly beyond what the word friendship encompasses. He's fairly certain it doesn't apply just to Fin. Olivia is loved by everyone. Those she's working closest with genuinely care about her health and happiness.
Fin's eyes quickly scan the room and his eyes briefly lock on something. Or someone.
"I know, Liv texted me ten minutes ago."
Elliot nods once, swallows. "Okay. Good."
"You tell her to take as much time as she needs."
"Will do. Thanks Fin." With that he retreats, makes his way towards the exit where Rollins catches up with him and gets in his way, reminding him of the second time he met the blonde detective after his return from Rome, just after the tail end of a fight he had with Liv in the Captain's office.
Maybe it wasn't a fight. There was yelling from Liv's side, but he figures he'd pushed too much, too soon. She'd merely put him in his place by pointing out, if not in so many words, he hadn't yet earned the right to be privy to everything he missed during his ten-year absence from her life, before telling him: "Go, Elliot!"
He did go, empty-handed, heavy-hearted, once more with nothing to show for his attempts to get to know her again, make things right.
He never expected easy. He never expected it to be this hard, either, if he were to be honest.
On his way out Rollins had passed him, almost casually so, lifting her eyes up to meet his en route to the elevator.
"William Lewis," she said, like it was supposed to tell him something, as if it would point him towards some huge revelation bound to make it all make sense.
The name didn't ring a bell.
"What?"
"William. Lewis." Rollins put extra emphasis on the both names, blinked once, and then pivoted with what looked like a shrug.
She hadn't been casual, he realized later. There'd been a heaviness, a seriousness surrounding the letters forming a name that to him was nothing but a big question mark.
It's like that now, and he wonders if Amanda, once more, will be the one to give him guidance. Instead she asks the inevitable.
"Is Liv okay?"
He swallows. His jaw feels like it's locked, teeth grinding as he chews on the guilt he sees with her. With him, too.
Elliot sees the genuine concern behind the blue of Rollin's eyes, and yet the anger simmers in his veins, reminding him how they are both accomplices to Lewis' crime.
If he were to think rationally, logically, he'd see how misplaced that blame is, that none of it is theirs to carry, any more than it's Olivia's.
But you found the camera. You wanted that film developed, whispers the regret that lives within him.
And she's been the messenger, the bearer of bad news.
He sees them both at fault here, and he isn't ready to forgive her any more than he is ready to forgive himself.
When he answers, his voice is rough. "No, she's not."
XXXXXXX
Olivia is still in bed when he gets back to her place, rolled up in a fetal position, eyes tightly shut. For a moment he just takes her in, lets it sink in. Elliot fully expected a crash, but he couldn't have imagined this, and quite honestly, it scares the crap out of him. He takes slow, cushioned steps towards Olivia, and the closer he gets, the more worry spreads within him.
"I'm back," Elliot announces, seeing her flinch before she groans. He only realizes now how she's cradling her head and rocking herself. He bends over, lowering his voice. Is it a headache?"
"Migraine," she whimpers, and the fragility in her voice goes under his skin, makes it crawl. Olivia swallows visibly and audibly. "Think I'm gonna puke."
"All right," he thinks out loud. His first action: he draws the curtains, so minimal daylight filters into the now-darkened room. Next he gets the orange bottle he stores in the small toiletry bag he keeps here at Liv's and takes it with him to the bedroom, gets a glass of water, a wet, cold washcloth. Back by her side Elliot tips one of the round, beige pills with the Z emblem into his open palm. He's been prone to migraines since he can remember, and thank God does he store some Zomig here, because Tylenol or Advil is not going to do anything in terms of pain relief.
"Liv," he regards her quietly, gently running his knuckles across her cheek. "Come here, take this. It's gonna help with your head, I promise."
In the semi-dark he can see her blink her eyes open and closed. She looks absolutely miserable, and he wishes there was more he could do.
"Can you sit up?" He grasps her elbow for support as she pushes up on one arm. Olivia grimaces and he can tell how every movement, every sound, is making her head throb more. "There you go. Here, let me help you." He touches the pill to her lips and Olivia accepts it. "Some water. Try to take at least a few sips," he whispers, assisting her as her hands shake just holding the glass.
He takes off his shoes, his jacket, and haphazardly discards it over the backrest of a chair in the corner. The tie comes off, and, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up, he settles in next to Olivia before gently pulling her close.
"It's okay, I'm here now," he whispers and puts the cold washcloth against her forehead. "Try to sleep."
It takes probably forty minutes but by then he's sure she's asleep, because she no longer moans or moves, or shakes. A few times within that short period of time she'd jerked awake before she finally settled down, relaxed. He figures it has a lot to do with the zolmitriptan taking effect.
Some of his worry eases. Elliot is convinced that sleep is the thing Olivia is in need of first and foremost. Everything else, he hopes, will figure itself out once she's not completely wiped out from sleep-deprivation and the havoc all the caffeine caused on her system.
He blames himself for this, thinks he should have seen this coming from miles away. She was in no condition to be left alone, he'd sensed that. He can't even say what made him think it was okay to leave with Eli while Liv was in a state of crisis.
He wakes her after an hour, only to make her take another Zomig to get that migraine under control. She's hardly fully awake as she swallows it, some water dripping from the corner of her mouth. His shirt absorbs the liquid, and her head is back down against his chest.
She sleeps for a solid three hours until she starts to fuss and he shakes her awake, making sure she's not going to be exposed to yet another nightmare. Olivia blinks her eyes open, and stroking her hair, he gives her a few moments to come to.
"How's the head," he inquires once she's fully there.
"Better." Her voice is still thick and scratchy with sleep. She rubs her forehead and licks her lips.
"You need something to drink?" If she's anything like him, her mouth's as dry as a bone.
"Please."
He brings her a bottle of water, and Liv drains half of it within a few minutes, even just taking small sips. She's still weak, tired, somewhat out of it. The little sleep she got is a drop in the bucket, so Elliot is still worried, strategizing how to tackle the situation.
Even with him here now, he doesn't think she's in the right place to take care of Noah. He wants her to rest, and he wants to be by her side for it, figuring they need a short term solution. However, he can't and won't make decisions over Olivia's head.
For now he's glad that Noah is at dance practice until five, giving them a couple of hours to talk about options, if Liv is open to it.
Despite the urgency Elliot feels, he wants to ease her into the conversation, not just drop a bomb on her and make it seem like he thinks she can't be trusted around her kid.
He gives Olivia a few more minutes. Watches her head to the bathroom on wobbly feet, helps her settle back into bed and against him.
"Are you ready to talk about what happened this morning?" Elliot coaxes. "Was it exhaustion? Fatigue?"
"Uh," Olivia starts, rubbing the underside of her nose. "I don't know, to be honest. I think it was a little bit of everything." she swallows, looks at him briefly. "Or is." She starts picking the blanket, coming off nervous and insecure. "It kind of came crashing down on me last night and then the nightmares-," She purses her lips, the corners of her mouth quivering a little with emotion as she exhales through her nose and shrugs.
"Wanna tell me about that?"
"Not really," she manages thickly. "Not right now at least." She draws up her gaze and smiles at him sadly, the drooping of her eyelids not lost on him. She must still be incredibly tired. "My therapist? He made me write a journal kind of thing for them. What they were, if they were recurring, if there were certain patterns as to when I'd have them, what prompts them," she tells him and exhales shakily. "I haven't really needed to use it in… God, six years?"
It makes sense to him. She probably knew what triggered nightmares and didn't need to update the journal.
"You still got it?"
"In my drawer." She looks up sheepishly. "Somewhere."
He'll give her some alone time later, just in case she feels the need to put the dreams down on paper. Not to sound sappy, but he'd found pouring his heart out in a letter to Liv therapeutic. He'd felt lighter, despite not knowing at the time if she'd ever read it.
"I've told Eli I won't be home tonight. Our neighbor is going to check in on him."
"El, he's fourteen, you should… I appreciate it, but you should really be with him."
"It's okay. If he changes his mind about staying alone, Dickie can pick him up. I'm not going to go anywhere tonight. Or tomorrow."
Her head snaps around, and she looks at him incredulously. "Elliot-"
"I'm not. Going anywhere," he repeats with extra emphasis. "We're never really off, I don't feel an ounce of regret over taking a day or two. And I don't think you'll be ready, in any shape or form, to go in tomorrow, either." He doesn't want to upset her, but sugarcoating is not the way to navigate this situation.
"Probably not," she mumbles into her fist, which is testimony how terrible she must feel. At least, he thinks, they are on the same page about this.
"Noah," he opens the further string of the conversation, instantly seeing she's alarmed by the way her eyes darken.
"What about him?" she asks hesitantly, rubbing her temples. He's sure the headache will stay with her for the rest of the day.
"Obviously it's up to you, and I'm not going to fight you on whatever you decide, but I really don't think that being here right now is in his or your best interest, Liv," he says carefully, seeing her struggle with the mere idea. However, she doesn't downright refuse. Seeing her mouth twitch with emotion, Elliot rubs her shoulder, which only seems to fuel her reaction. Tears roll down her cheek, and he pulls her in, whispers words he hopes will comfort to her.
"Just for one night, Liv. Just enough so you can get some rest, hm?"
"I can't do that," she sniffles. "How can I just do that to him?"
"You're not doing anything to him, Liv. It's really no different from him having a sleepover for any other reason," he assures, squeezing her.
"I can take care of him," she argues, wiping at her tears, and he gets it, he does. There's more parental guilt over feeling unable than there is when you're working or have other obligations that require a sitter.
"You can," he assures her. "This doesn't make you less able, or a bad mom. It's just that right now, I think you need to take care of yourself first, Liv."
"Where's he even supposed to go?"
He knows Noah has stayed with Rollins before, so there's that. But he introduces a different idea first. "I told Maureen I'd have to discuss it with you first, but if it's okay with you, I'd take Noah out of school tomorrow, so he can stay with her and Matt."
"Did you tell them-"
"I didn't tell them anything," Elliot assures. "Anyway, Maureen said it would be okay, and they could pick him up later." He holds out his open palm. "Totally up to you, Liv. If you want him here, I understand, and we'll manage."
She bumps her head back to his chest and cries as he caresses the back of her neck with his thumb, giving her time to make her decision. It can't be easy, and yet he's convinced that her only focus should be dealing with what she's been running from all weekend. She takes her time even after she's calmed down and only sniffles against his shirt occasionally.
"Okay," she whispers eventually. "One night."
"One night," he promises, reaching for his phone to give Maureen the go ahead.
XXXXXXXX
There's not a single doubt in Elliot's mind that Liv's nerves are shot, because ever since she agreed to leave Noah with Maureen she's been either silently crying on and off, or she dozed off only to jerk back to consciousness. She's admitted a few more times, in tears, that she's so unbelievably tired, but for the moment it's not enough for her to fully drift off. He's pretty sure the emotional turmoil surrounding Noah doesn't help. She wanted to see him off, and he got that it was important to her, so once Lucy dropped him off, Liv spent some time with him after Elliot explained that his mom was having pretty bad headaches.
Maureen asked what was going on, of course, but he'd told her he couldn't say, thanking her instead while Noah got his backpack and went to hug Liv goodbye. However, judging by Maureen's face, she understood it was serious and her help greatly appreciated.
For lack of anything that seems suitable to eat on a queasy stomach, Elliot orders some Pho Ga for the both of them, then makes her some tea. Surprisingly he finds her asleep, stretched out on her stomach on his side of the bed.
He leans against the doorframe and watches her for a long time, just taking in the way she breathes, rests. Since Friday he'd felt he should talk to her again about the pictures, but the right moment didn't seem to present itself. He regrets that now. That, and that he even suggested Eli come over, because otherwise she would have gotten some sleep that night.
The pictures.
It occurs to him that he has no idea where they are now. By the time he woke up Saturday morning, they no longer were on the coffee table, and he hadn't dared ask. Certainly somewhere the kids wouldn't accidently find them. Where he wouldn't, for that matter.
He kills the time until the food arrives with a quick shower and more comfortable clothes. He opens the window for some fresh air in the room, thinking that's going to benefit Liv's headaches. Unsurprisingly she's up with the doorbell.
"Who was that?" She asks when he returns to the bedroom. She's smoothing the fingers of both hands across her eyes, and yawning.
"Delivery service. I ordered pho, thought that would be easy on your stomach. Want some?"
Sitting up she nods, and Elliot thinks he can hear her stomach growl.
"In bed or are you good to eat at the table?"
"Bed," she replies after a moment's hesitation. "If that's okay."
"More than okay," he smiles. "Want to watch something on netflix? I can carry the tv over, make ourselves comfy here. What do you say?"
By the looks of it she isn't going to make it through the duration of an entire movie, but she seems to be enticed with the idea, because she smiles back at him feebly as she sits up against the headboard.
"That sounds wonderful," she says quietly, her voice still rough with sleep.
"Kay. I'll be right back. Maybe get into your PJ's," he suggests with a wink. Her clothes from yesterday can't be too comfortable.
"Maybe I should shower too," she mutters under her breath, looking down at herself. "I feel gross."
"You good?"
"Yeah. I'll manage."
"All right."
An hour later they are both sated and overall comfortable, watching a soothing documentary about corals. Elliot had checked in with Eli, who promised he's doing just fine.
Olivia nods minutely toward the screen, murmuring, "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
He thinks how one day he will take her snorkeling, take her to see this beauty in person. Olivia's in his arms, half awake, half asleep as his fingers draw lazy patterns on her arm and back.
"Liv?
"Hm?"
"I was really worried for you this morning," he admits, fully letting himself feel it for the first time. When he got here he was on autopilot. It's only now, so many hours later, that it all sinks in.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"I've been thinking… is there someone you can talk to? I know you have a therapist and maybe-," he's cut off.
"Had."
"Huh?"
"I had a therapist. We're… I'm no longer seeing him. I can't see him, it… there was a work thing and everything just-," Liv sighs heavily. "I can't go there anymore. But I've thought about it, too."
"Okay. Is there anyone else you can talk to? Obviously this is a pretty big deal, and I'm… I know it's not the same as what was going on with my mother, or Kathleen but... "
She turns and tilts her head up to look at him. "I should have slept," she tells him point blank, quietly. "I didn't want Eli to feel unwelcome, but I wanted you here, and I didn't deal with anything that happened on Friday, not in a healthy manner. I mean, diversion tactics are helpful, but I should have expected they'd backfire with everything else going on. I'm not… I'm not saying I'm not at all sad, or… depressed, if that's what you wanna call it. But I'm not… I really think I got caught up in a bad combination of… stupid coping mechanisms and sleep-deprivation," Olivia explains, sounding like she needs to get it all out before she'll change her mind about talking to him about it. "And a really… one of the most scary, horrific nightmares," she adds, her voice trembling as she flinches and closes her eyes. "And I'm still sleep-deprived, and I think I'm going to cry again," she rambles on.
"Okay, okay," he mumbles and rubs his palm across her back in big circles.
"I guess what I'm wondering is… how you feel, you know?"
She shrugs a little and takes a shuddering breath, and he's acutely aware that ten years ago she would have put on a brave face, telling him she's fine.
"Not well," she admits, and by the way her hand comes back up to her face, Elliot knows she's wiping at tears.
As Elliot pulls her even closer, and tucks the blanket more tightly around her, she hides her face in his neck, fists his t-shirt.
"Wanna sleep?" he asks, his free hand cupping the back of her head, starting to rock her gently.
Her only response is a small movement of her head, nodding into his shoulder, so he turns down the volume of the TV, and sinks further into the mattress with her. He inhales her deeply. Her body wash. Her cucumber and green tea-scented shampoo. Enveloped by her he braces himself for the hours to come, standing guard to wake her before her dreams do.
"I've got you, okay?" he whispers as the TV bathes the room in the bright, waving anemones and tropical fish amidst overwhelmingly beautiful colors of coral-reefs.