A/N: Thank you, thank you, for reading. It means so much. In this chapter, Liv and El talk. That's literally all they do and it might just be my favorite chapter yet.
Same trigger warnings apply (mentions of past assault).
Tonight shouldn't be so difficult.
It's supposed to be light and airy, filled with good food in the early evening and sex—great sex—later on. Olivia was especially looking forward to the latter and certainly hadn't planned on enduring a panic attack alone in her bathroom while her son essentially interrogated Elliot about their relationship.
Once Noah's in bed, Olivia feels exhaustion creep through every bone in her body. Anxiety is tiring, but panic is entirely consuming and exhausting. She kisses him goodnight, then leans her weight against the outside of his door, one palm pressed flat to cushion her forehead. She breathes slowly, closing her eyes because she's struck with another wave of dizziness. Maybe it's because she barely touched her dinner. She tried, but was still in the throes of panic and only managed about two bites before the nausea overpowered any hunger pains. Elliot understood implicitly. He didn't shame her, but rather saved leftovers for her in a tupperware should she get hungry later.
He's always been good to her, but never like this. Never this sweet—this doting. Olivia believes she deserves it, but occasionally questions if it's genuine or a coping mechanism for his guilt. Maybe it soothes him to take care of her; to feel like he's making up for lost time.
Olivia focuses only on her breath when she feels a light tug at her elbow. She doesn't startle, which is surprising since she's so on edge. Instead, she allows herself to be pulled away from Noah's door and into Elliot's arms. He wordlessly holds her, pressing their bodies as close together as possible.
For Liv, comfort has always felt like something she's meant to give and not receive. It's unfamiliar and often unwelcome, but she lets Elliot hold her because he knows—he knows—how strong she is. How she's capable and in control. How her trauma doesn't define her because she's a good captain and an even better mom. She has nothing to prove to him, so she allows herself to accept his comfort.
"Come here." Elliot whispers, releasing her from his grip and guiding them toward the living room where he pulls her into his arms again. He notices the tension in her shoulders and wraps one arm protectively around her while his other hand gently massages the base of her neck.
She sinks into his chest, breathing him in. Honestly, he smells like tomato paste, but his presence is soothing enough. His arms around her mean security, but her mind is racing too quickly to comprehend it. She has so many thoughts but she's unable to cling to any one of them. Utterly overwhelmed, she pulls Elliot closer.
Her tears are warm against his chest, dampening his t-shirt as he settles them on the couch. He isn't sure what's bothering her more: her conversation with Noah or her anxiety. Likely both, he thinks, pressing his lips on the top of her head. She looks at him, her tears already slowing because she doesn't actually need to cry, it's just an outlet for the myriad of emotions she can't place.
"You did good, Liv." He's referring to the way she handled Noah's questions.
"Hope so." Her palm brushes against his chest and her head rests below his shoulder. "He's at such an impressionable age, you know?"
"I do." Elliot lets out a small chuckle. "Believe me."
"Of course you do." She sighs, remembering that he has more experience parenting than she does. She's envious, sometimes, that he's already been through it. Every child is different, but Elliot's certainly at an advantage. "I'm sorry he interrogated you."
"He's just curious." Elliot brushes it off.
"Yeah? He want to know if your intentions are pure?" She smirks.
"Good thing he didn't ask." His fingertips trace down her spine. "Because they definitely are not." He teases and she rolls her eyes. "But I mean it. You did good." He sobers. "That kid loves the hell out of you."
Such a way with words, Olivia muses.
"He likes you too, El." She manages a smile and glances in his direction.
"Eh," Elliot's eyes search while he crafts a response. "He likes that you like me, I think. Just wants his mom to be happy."
"No." She disagrees. "He likes you. For you." She emphasizes and kisses his collarbone. "I like you, too."
"Oh yeah? Do you?" He dips his chin and savors the taste of her when their lips meet.
"Seems so." She hums, pulling away and snaking her hand around the back of his neck, her thumb tracing small circles. "Thank you for watching him while I—" she pauses, taking a moment to exhale. "Just, thank you for doing that."
"I wrangled five of my own." He shrugs. "Watching one isn't a problem."
"Still." Olivia sighs, breaking eye contact and resting her head against his chest. "I appreciate it."
"Liv," he says. "You gonna tell me what happened tonight?" His lips graze her shoulder. "What set you off?"
Olivia wrestles with his question. Old habits die hard, and talking about herself—especially this part of her—is challenging. What happened isn't her fault. It's taken years of therapy to accept, but it's the truth. Lewis was a monster. The things he did were evil and unspeakable, but she survived. She survived because she had to and Elliot's so proud of her for it. He loves her and gives her no reason to shield him from her pain, but it's hard to break down walls she's spent years building.
"It's stupid." She mumbles.
"Olivia." Elliot's brows knit. Self-deprecation usually isn't her thing and he doesn't like it.
She pushes off of him, crossing her legs and shifting her position so they're facing one another. She runs her fingers through her hair, eyes fixed on her lap.
"El, does it ever—the PTSD, I mean—does it ever hit you so hard, so…" she gestures vaguely, her eyes fluttering. "Out of nowhere, that you ask yourself," her voice breaks. "You ask yourself: will I ever feel normal again?" She pauses to take a slow, controlled breath. "Or am I just stuck here? In this...place. Maybe for good this time." She hastily swipes a few lingering tears.
"All the time." He searches for her but she won't look at him. "But we always come back." He reasons, though it sounds more like a promise. "It passes, and we come back."
Elliot has a rich understanding of PTSD, both textbook and his own. His symptoms differ from Olivia's, but he knows exactly what she's talking about. He loses himself too, sometimes. Experiences panic attacks and nightmares, triggers and moments of pure desperation. They both use the job to cope, but he fully immerses himself in it in a way that she doesn't. He'll ignore everything—everyone—in his life, becoming so engrossed in a case until there's no room for anything else. He'll do this because if he doesn't he risks becoming so wrapped up in anger, so blinded by his own rage, that he hardly recognizes himself. He's always had a temper, but this is different. It's deeper, and it scares the hell out of him.
"It was the fucking sauce." She lowers her chin, mindlessly picking at her fingernails.
"Sorry?" He cocks his head.
"Before," she motions toward the kitchen. "When I leaned over to smell it, some splashed up. Hit me." She says casually, running her fingers over her chest. "Maybe if I cooked more often I'd know better, right?" She attempts humor but it falls flat.
"It burn you?" Elliot's eyes narrow as he runs the back of his palm over her cheek. When she finally meets his gaze, her eyes are glassy and tired. "Liv." His voice is impossibly soft and delicate, especially for him. "Did it burn you?"
"Hardly." She purses her lips. "Should be fine in a day or two."
"Let me see?" He moves his hand from her face, gently lowering it and stopping at her shoulder.
"Elliot," she sighs. "It's really not a big deal."
"It is to me."
She does her best to stay composed, but his unwavering sincerity brings her to lower her v-neck and expose the already fading mark on her chest.
"Christ." He reacts. "So close to—"
"I'm aware, thanks." She bites, releasing the grip on her shirt.
"Sorry." He sinks into the couch and closes his eyes for a few seconds.
His first instinct is to apologize again. To say he should have warned her or turned down the stove. That this, though clearly an accident, is somehow his fault. That everything is his fault because he decided to leave ten years ago and never bothered to look back. He could easily spin their conversation to center around him. He's done it before, and she allows it because she can't stand seeing him in pain. Knowing this, he tentatively reaches for her hand and asks the one question he already knows the answer to:
"You okay?" It might as well be rhetorical.
She silently shakes her head because no, she isn't. She's clawing her way out of a memory she'd much rather forget and it hurts. It hurts so much.
"Can I?" He scoots in closer, careful not to encroach on her space but implying that he'd like to hold her. "Please."
She nods and his arms around her again; strong and steady.
"I love you." He soothes when he feels her body tremble.
"I know, I—love you, too. It's just been," her voice is heavy, weighed down by the endless emotion coursing through her. "Tonight's been a lot."
"I know." He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Too much."
"Too fucking much." She agrees. "But I'm—Elliot, I'm okay. Will be, anyway."
"I know you will." He reaches for the blanket she keeps on the couch and drapes it around her shoulders. "You cold?"
"A bit." Olivia yawns. "Tired, mostly."
"Takes a lot out of you." Elliot affirms.
"Mmhmm." She hums. "El," she nuzzles into his side. "Thank you for dinner tonight. And before—" she presses two fingers over his lips to silence him. "You tell me I didn't eat any of it, I did. I had two bites." She smiles and he sees a faint spark of light back in her eyes. "And those two bites tasted better than anything I've made."
"You know, that really isn't saying much." He mocks. "But I'll take it." They kiss, his lips moving slowly and deliberately with hers. "I asked Noah if it was better than Carisi's." He says when they break apart. "Kid told me it was different but good."
"Ah, he's very…" Olivia searches for the proper word to describe her son.
"Honest? Yeah, I got that." He lets out a quiet laugh. "Said he likes hanging out with me though."
"Really?" She tilts her chin to look at him.
"Don't act so surprised." He grins. "Kids like me."
"Sure, but." She finds his palm, lacing their fingers together. "My kid likes you."
"I'm in this, Liv." Elliot speaks with an air of certainty and confidence he hasn't felt in a long time. "With you. With Noah." He continues. "I'm in this."
"I know you are." A slight smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "I trust you." She kisses him. "And I love you."