A/N: Not the final chapter after all. Your girl got wordy and I couldn't write everything I wanted to write. So there will be at least one more (a good thing, since I'll miss this story so much when it is eventually done). Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely reviews. I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
He's always quiet after sex.
Elliot says plenty during, but once he's finished he finds peace in the stillness; in those rare moments of calm defined by his slowing heartbeat and gentle return to reality. He holds Liv close, his fingers lazily combing through her hair as she finds her breath.
"You good?" She's given him no indication that she isn't, but he needs to check. He needs to be sure.
"Mmhm." She hums. "Are you?"
"Me?" He squints.
"Unless there's someone else in this room?" Her tone is still rich with sensuality. "In this bed? Under these sheets?"
"Alright, Liv. I got it." He reddens. "I'm good. I'm—fuck." He clears his throat. "I'm really good. That was—you were—Jesus."
"Breathe." She teases, her lips smooth against his shoulder.
"Why'd you ask?" He searches for her eyes.
"You're quiet." Olivia shrugs. "Quieter," she clarifies. "Than usual."
"Oh." He exhales. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"I don't know. Bunch of things." He's well aware his answer won't suffice.
"Elliot." She confirms his suspicions.
"Thinking about you." He admits. "And all the things," his voice dips. "I want to do to you over the next two days."
His blood runs cold, struck by his choice of words. What if Lewis used similar language? He had her for four days. Four fucking days. Did he verbalize the things he wanted to do to her? Tease her about it? Taunt her? He sexualized her torture, this Elliot knows for certain, and he sincerely hopes—he prays—he hasn't said the wrong thing.
"That so?" Her lips curl, clearly unbothered. "Care to elaborate, detective?"
"Nope." He's relieved but silently vows to be more careful. "Leave it a surprise." Heat returns to his body, settling between his legs. "You'll find out soon enough."
"Mm not tonight, El." Olivia responds when she feels him against her thigh. "Tired."
She'll never admit it: not to herself and certainly not to Elliot, but she's depleted. Physically and emotionally drained. He understands, as well as he can, that tonight was difficult for her. Being seen without the protection of darkness; exposed and vulnerable in every sense.
"I know." He whispers, listening only to the sound of her breath. "Me too."
"Oh, yeah." She rolls her eyes. "I can tell you're very tired."
"You know, I'm also thinking," he changes the subject. "About how proud I am. Of you. For tonight. For—" This, he thinks, is why he prefers to stay quiet after sex.
"Don't hurt yourself." She humors him. "I get it." Reaching for his hand, she intertwines her fingers with his. "Thank you for saying that."
Olivia appreciates his sincerity. Of course, she does. She loves him for it, but also struggles to accept it. What is he so proud of? That she has scars? That she finally let him see them? That she let him put his hands on them—his mouth on them? Maybe she should be the one feeling pride, but she doesn't. Relieved, yes. In love, absolutely. But proud? No. Not yet.
"I know," he interrupts her internal monologue. "Olivia, I know that wasn't easy for you." She stiffens and he bites his tongue. "I mean, I don't know, obviously. I'll never—God, I'll never know in the way you need me to. In the way you deserve."
"No." She disagrees, her tone heavy but firm. "I would—Elliot, I would never want you to know like I know. To get it like I've been forced to. I'd never—" She props herself up on her forearm, her eyes boring into his. "Ever." She emphasizes. "Want that for you." Her breath lingers. "You understand me?" Their lips meet. "Never."
Protective. Always so fiercely protective. Of him. Of Noah. Of everyone but herself.
"Okay." He studies her, acutely aware of her growing agitation. "Liv, okay." Elliot applies pressure to the nape of her neck, hoping to relieve some tension. "I understand. Didn't mean to upset you, swear to God. I just—I appreciate you trusting me." He sighs, kneading her upper back. "All I'm trying to say."
"I know." She closes her eyes, allowing some of the tension to release from her body. "And I do." She confirms. "I trust you."
He's quiet again.
A different quiet. It isn't peaceful. Not in the way it was before; when he was drifting in and out of pleasure, finding solace in the silence. This quiet is darker. Looming.
"Talk to me." Olivia sighs, knowing something is wrong. She always knows because his hyperawareness can only be matched by hers.
"I don't know what you want me to say." He's defensive.
"Just try."
"Fine." He submits, rubbing his eyes and taking a deep inhale. "Liv, have I...actually earned your trust? You're giving it to me." Elliot reasons. "And hell, I want it. More than anything else, I want it. But," he chews his lip. "I don't know. Not sure I deserve it."
Admittedly, she's amused that he's just as self-conscious as she is. Just as doubtful of what he deserves and what he's yet to earn. Of what he wants and what he can realistically have.
"This about the other night?" She poses it as a question but already knows it is. "When I—" her eyes fix on the bathroom door. "And you took care of Noah?"
"Yeah." He nods.
"When you asked if you could," she hesitates because it's still raw. "Leave," the word lingers between them. Heavy. Sharp. "For a few minutes. And I reminded you—" Olivia shakes her head. "I reminded you that you left for ten years."
Eyes closed, he nods again.
"I apologized for that." She states, matter-of-factly. "Was having a panic attack when I said it."
"I'm not—Christ, I'm not accusing you of anything." He sits up, resting his head against her headboard which is, miraculously, still intact.
"Then what are you doing?" She bites, a hint of resentment in her tone.
"I'm not doing anything." He scowls. "I just—Olivia." He grips the comforter, desperate to channel his frustration. "I need to know if we can get past this."
"Get...past it?" She echoes, her eyes narrowing. "How can you—how can you possibly ask me that?" Her voice lowers and a familiar pit of anxiety settles in her stomach. "You left me for ten years. Ten fucking years. You just...disappeared. That's not—my God, Elliot, that's not something you get past." She leans over the edge of the bed, searching the floor for the first article of clothing she can find. "What I can do." She picks up Elliot's shirt and slips it on. "What I'm trying to do." She softens, fingers combing through her messy hair. "Is forgive you. I'm—you have to know I'm trying."
She is. From the moment Olivia heard his voice again, she's been trying to forgive him. At first it seemed impossible. Too daunting to even consider. How could she possibly forgive him? He meant everything to her when she clearly meant so little to him. He crashed back into her life and immediately demanded her attention; his mere presence disrupting everything in her world. Her job, her dynamic with Noah, her healing, her PTSD. Everything.
He's nothing short of chaos. Yet, she wouldn't trade it—wouldn't trade him—for anything.
"Therapy helps." Olivia presses on. "But also, the way you've handled," she swallows. "All of this." Her palm moves to his cheek, encouraging him to look at her. "I love you for it." Her voice is barely above a whisper, her lips hovering in front of his. "I love you for not running when I know—believe me, I know—how much easier it would be. I love you for giving me time. For not pressuring me to have sex even though you were getting off in my shower."
"Jesus, Liv." His eyes widen. "You...heard that?"
"Didn't have to." She smirks, breaking the tension. "I'm pretty intuitive."
"Alright." He waves dismissively. "Enough."
"I love you," she continues, offering a small smile. "Because you didn't," she sobers, finding his gaze again. "You didn't even flinch tonight when you looked at me." Her vision blurs with tears but she holds steady. "I love you, Elliot. For all of it." She kisses him. Slowly. Tenderly. "And I'm trying—I'm really trying to forgive you."
He's quiet. Then, he breaks.
"I'm so fucking sorry." He manages.
Elliot didn't expect to cry. Not tonight. Not after the sex they had. Not after she trusted him to see her body. He was lusting for her minutes ago, now he's burying his face in his hands, desperately swiping at his eyes. "Fuck." He's embarrassed; filled with deep shame and guilt—so much guilt.
His apology isn't necessarily for leaving her, though maybe it should be. It's for everything that happened after he left. He's sorry that someone hurt her. He's sorry he did nothing to stop it. He's sorry he wasn't there the minute she was rescued, though he chooses to believe that he would have found her sooner. He's so sure he would have, and it eats at him day and night.
He's sorry for every moment—for every second—she's spent wondering where he was for the last ten years. Wondering why he cared so little for her that he didn't even bother saying goodbye. He's sorry for the relationships she's second-guessed because of him. He's so deeply, deeply sorry for all of it because the truth is, he could have stayed. He could have stayed, but he didn't. And for that, there may never be forgiveness.
"Elliot." Her voice brings him back. "El," she soothes, both palms cupping his face, her thumbs brushing below his eyes and over his cheekbones. "Baby, you're okay."
Baby. A term reserved only for Noah. For the one she loves most, and now for him too. In the beginning of their relationship Elliot had the audacity to call her honey and she scolded him for it—told him she doesn't appreciate pet names—but now here she is. Comforting him. Calling him baby.
"I'm so sorry." He repeats, his chest painfully tight as he gasps for air.
"I know." She pulls him into her arms, allowing him to lay his head in the crook of her neck and find comfort in her embrace. "I know you are."