Part Three
He has to be Ashes right now, he has to be, because Elliot cannot protect Olivia and if Elliot tries, they're both going to wind up dead in his fucking trailer that is way too fucking small for three people and so it's very important that Kosta gets the fuck out.
He forces a smile to form, letting his eyes take on a predatory gleam that he's always had to bite back when he looks at Olivia, allowing his eyes to drift over her hungrily and take in the fucking dress that's torn and dirty and doing an altogether poor job of covering much of her body at this point. His stare moves back to her face, trying not to look in her eyes anymore because they've always had that connection and everyone has always seen it and no one has ever believed they aren't lovers because of the way they stare at one another and so it's too dangerous for him to let their eyes lock again and he knows it but he can't help himself because he's never been able to help himself and he finds her eyes and he's staring at her the way he always has but his blood runs cold because she's staring back at him and he feels nothing, no connection, no recognition, no emotion, and he knows she's somewhere else entirely and seeing someone besides the man who will lay his life down for her without hesitation.
Even if her fear will keep them alive, he can't let her stay there, trapped in some horror show, suffering in front of him while he does nothing to help her. And he thinks he can because he knows when the flashbacks capture him, it's sound that grounds him so maybe it works the same for her.
He has to think fast and it's hard because his brain isn't working, but he remembers that Ashes knew her name from the bar and Elliot hopes his voice and her name will pull her back from wherever she is.
"Olivia, I missed you last night." He waits, looking for a response, not sure if the twitch of her left eye is due to her hearing him or something else entirely. He glances at Kosta, praying that the bastard is going to leave him alone with his prize because they cannot possibly get out of this alive if Kosta wants to watch. He squats down in front of her, seeing the way her face turns away and he hates himself a little more when he sees no other choice than to touch her chin and turn her back to look at him while he pulls the gag from her mouth and even if his touch is gentle, he hates putting his hands on her without her permission.
He stares at her, trying to reach her through her terror. "You left the party early. I thought we were gonna be friends." He's so close to her that he can see the smallest change in her expression and he tells himself it's because she hears his voice and she knows he's here, but somehow he's still aware that she's not quite all the way here with him yet. Fuck Kosta and everything else, he has to pull her out of this flashback because watching her suffer will kill him just as painfully as Kosta will.
He reaches with his other hand, framing her face and holding her eyes and hating the tears that are running down her cheeks and knowing he's moments away from crying with her and he simply cannot do that. "Look at me, Olivia." And somehow she hears and listens, her eyes moving to his and she's a bit more aware but still not right and he's suddenly very afraid of what she might say to him when she's literally scared out of her wits and thinks she's looking at Elliot but he can't stop now. "Are we friends, Olivia?"
He feels her nod with the slightest pressure against his hands and he knows he can't keep being gentle with her because Ashes isn't gentle and Kosta didn't bring her here for gentle and maybe they're going to be ok and maybe they're not but he sees some recognition coming into her eyes.
"Elliot." Her voice is breathless and scared and it means everything to him that he's the one thing she remembers when she's terrified, but he can't let it because Elliot isn't really here and it's a distinction that will be lost of Olivia and he chalks it up to one more item on the laundry list of regrets he has regarding her.
He holds her eyes, trying to reassure her even as he corrects her. "Close, it's Eddie."
He sees her eyes widen a bit, as though she's honestly confused and he knows she is because she only just started to see reality and he's pulling the rug out from under her again. She's terrified and lost and he can't help her like this and he can't refuse her so he looks over his shoulder and glares at Kosta with all the venom he feels for the asshole who did this to Olivia.
"You gonna fucking watch?"
Kosta takes a long, lecherous look at Olivia and it takes everything for Elliot not to beat the shit out of him. "I have other matters to attend to this evening." He moves toward the door and smiles again. "Enjoy your reward, Ashes."
"Oh, I will." He's desperate to free Olivia from the chair she's tied to, but he can't, he has to wait, he has to listen for the trucks to pull away before he can check, double check, triple check they're all gone, every last one of the men too, because he can't have any witnesses and he's going to have to come up with some convincing way to get her out of here that doesn't result in both of them getting killed.
He waits, desperate to comfort her, desperate to comfort himself, yet too fucking scared to move. Kosta may have left guys watching and Ashes certainly isn't going to check out the door when he's supposed to be enjoying his reward. Elliot keeps his hand on her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, trying to reassure her with his eyes, knowing from the level of fear and confusion in her expression that she isn't getting the message. He can't wait any longer, he can't take the risk of letting her suffer any more if she's been lost in a flashback and possibly out of touch with reality for almost twenty-four hours except for that one second when she recognized him and he immediately shoved her back into her nightmare.
"I'll be right back." He reluctantly turns away from her, letting his hand drop from her face. He looks out the windows first, checking as thoroughly as he can through each with the limited visibility he has due to the filthy glass. He doesn't spot anything out of place and so makes the decision to stick his head out the door, trying to think of something to say he wants should someone be out there waiting. But he sees no one as he leans out the door, his eyes touching on every bit of the alley. He's gotten to know it pretty well in the last few months. He's spent a lot of time sitting there, staring at nothing, and he thinks he knows every nuance of every brick and rock and stray piece of gravel and nothing looks particularly out of place and he's in a terrible hurry to get back to Olivia, but he has to make sure she's safe right now because she can't do that herself.
He's not satisfied, he'll never be satisfied that she's safe, but it's as close as he feels like he's going to get in a trailer in an alley after Kosta and his goons were inside. He closes the door, realizing there's no functional lock anymore, and decides that's a problem for later. It strikes him then that the interior might not be safe either, Kosta could have put in a camera or a mic somewhere, but Elliot figures that's a little on the paranoid side for a man who was just welcomed into the fucking family. And so, he turns back to Olivia, desperate to untie her as quickly as possible, knowing from the amount of rope involved they went way overboard in securing her, realizing it'll take way too long to undo every damn knot, pulling the lighter from his pocket because he made damn sure there wasn't anything in the trailer that could be used against him in a fight and so there's nothing sharp enough to cut her free.
He's not sure if she's seeing him or someone else or nothing at all, but he's not about to approach her armed with any sort of weapon without giving her a warning. "Liv, I'm going to burn through the ropes, ok?"
There's no response from her, unless he counts the way she shivers in her seat. Her eyes are downcast and he's pretty sure that the look on her face is going to haunt his nightmares for the rest of time. The terror has disappeared and her tears have dried and now she's just staring at the filthy floor and he thinks about how normal Olivia would be concerned at the level of squalor in which he's been living but this isn't normal Olivia, this woman is empty. It's the best word he can think of to describe the way she's staring and he knows she's not seeing anything at all and he's wondering where she is mentally because this is dissociation pure and simple and he needs to pull her back to a reality that might suck, but is safe, at least for the time being.
He's trying to keep his own distress at seeing her like this under wraps because he can't have a meltdown because she's having one and she's his first fucking priority.
He tries to catch her eyes and fails, and so tries again with his voice because it worked before. "Liv, it's me. It's Elliot."
He's got the lighter in his hand when he steps closer to her and he sees the moment things go from bad to worse because even though he thought she was somewhere else entirely, apparently she isn't completely unaware and while a moment ago he would have thought it was a good thing, he knows now that it's not at all.
Her eyes have widened and her whole body is shaking and she's staring at him in abject terror. Her mouth is open like she wants to scream but she's not breathing and he doesn't know if that's because she can't or because she's holding her breath or if she's too fucking frightened to even give voice to it and her wide eyes finally meet his and he's never, ever seen anyone look at him in such fear and it absolutely guts him that the one person he expects to trust him absolutely forever is the one who is so damn frightened of him.
He's not sure what to do now, if he should try to talk to her, if he should back away, if he should let her free to run or leave her where she's physically but not emotionally safe. He's terrified out of his mind too and has no idea what to do and no time to call and get help for either of them so he's going to have to rely on his gut.
He's trying to think his way through the last few minutes that feel like hours and remembering that she'd responded appropriately when Kosta was there, she'd said his name when his hand had been on her, although it might have been his voice, but his voice is doing shit to help her right now so he decides it must have been his touch that got through to her. He takes another step toward her and he's got no idea how he's going to get close enough to touch her with the way her horror somehow intensifies with every inch closer he gets and he tries to not see it and tries to remind himself that she'll feel better once she knows it's him and tries to convince himself that he'll forget the disgusting feeling he has deep in his soul for continuing to creep closer even though she's obviously struggling as hard as she can against the ropes in an effort to get away from him.
He's still a little more than an arm's length away when he's finally able to see that her eyes aren't watching him, but they're following the motion of his hand and suddenly it occurs to him with a clarity that he doesn't even understand that it's the damn lighter that has her attention. She doesn't know it's him and she doesn't know she's tied to a chair and she probably has no idea where she is, but she's well aware of his fucking lighter and it terrifies him to know there's a truly heartbreaking reason for it that he's going to have to find out someday and he's already sick at the idea and he's pretty sure he won't survive finding out.
But that doesn't matter right now. All that matters is calming her down and so he throws the lighter across the trailer behind him, listening as it hits the windshield and then clatters across the dash and eventually onto the floor. He doesn't care if he never sees the damn thing again. He's watching her eyes and he's hoping that she saw him toss it away and she must have because she was staring at it but now he's not holding it anymore and he's not sure it made a damn bit of difference to her.
"Liv," he drops to his knees in front of her, hoping that he'll seem less imposing than if he's towering over her. "Liv, baby, it's me, it's Elliot." His eyes are searching hers and he thinks it's a good sign that she's looking at his face and not his hand anymore, but he's still not sure she's seeing him and she's not meeting his eyes and then he remembers he meant to touch her like he had before and he's afraid touching her will make everything worse but he's really not sure that's possible at this point.
He reaches out, moving slowly so as to give her a warning, but there's no reaction to his hand moving closer. His palm cups her cheek lightly, his thumb brushing her skin.
"Liv, look at me, please." He waits, recognizing that patience was never his strong suit, and then tries again, his fingers threading back into her hair. "Liv, it's me, Olivia-" his voice cracks on her name and he sees her face swim as his tears spill over and he hates himself a little more for all of the things he's done that have led them to this point.
He blinks to clear his vision, reminding himself that it's not fair for him to break down when he's meant to be helping her. His other hand moves up, holding her face in front of him, praying that his touch isn't adding to her panic.
"Olivia, please look at me."
This time, she blinks. Then her eyes move, slowly, carefully, assessing, and he can tell something is still not quite right, but there's some kind of recognition in her eyes when they meet his again.
"Liv, I'm going to untie you, ok?" His hands are still on her face and he's too scared to move them because he knows it's some combination of his touch and his voice that are tethering her here to reality and he's afraid he'll lose her again if he dares to let go but leaving her tied up isn't going to help her either.
She's looking at him now and he thinks she knows who he is and he hopes she understands him but he really wants to hear something from her to reassure him.
"Liv, is it ok if I untie you?" He wants to hear her say something to confirm she knows who he is, but honestly he'll settle for any kind of response.
"I knew you'd come back for me." There's something in her eyes, in her face, in her voice that reminds him of the Olivia he used to know, the Olivia he left, the Olivia who loved him and trusted him and he realizes she's talking to the Elliot from back then too, the Elliot who would protect her from harm, the Elliot she expected would come to help her when she needed him.
And understanding that, her whisper only makes him feel sick because he knows she's not really there with him. She may recognize him, but she's disoriented and back there and back then and he doesn't know where or when or who but he knows he's the person she was looking for and he knows he wasn't there to help her when she really needed him and it breaks his heart in a way he knows will never mend to think that she was looking for him during whatever happened to her and he didn't come to help her. If only he could grab the knife he feels stabbing through his heart and use it to unfasten the binds holding her.
His eyes dart from hers to her ankle and back again several times. There's a lot of rope and a lot of knots, but he's hoping the level of overkill indicates the knots are not particularly well done and thus that it will be faster to free her than he initially expected.
"Ok, Liv, I'm going to untie these, but I need you to stay with me, ok?" He waits, expecting nothing, and is surprised when her head nods the slightest bit against his hands. "I'm going to start right here." He dares to move one hand from her cheek to tap her left foot, hoping like hell he's not severing the connection between them.
He holds her eyes for a long moment, telling himself he sees a bit more clarity there, knowing he's probably just imagining it, but maybe that's what he needs to believe to get the fucking job done and so he goes with it. Finally his other hand drops from her face, moving with purpose to pull at the rope. His fingers are thick and clumsy and he keeps looking up at her to make sure she's still looking at him and she is and seems to be following his progress and he hopes she's wishing he'd hurry up rather than slipping and thinking he's hurting her but he doesn't want to waste the time to ask. He's working as fast as he can and he refuses to let himself wonder how much work those bastards put in to tie her like this and how much of a fight she put up and he refuses to see the bruises on her legs that reveal how rough they were while they were restraining her and he wants to be proud of her for putting up one hell of a fight, but he's too busy being distraught that she had to put up a fight at all.
When he finally gets the ankle free, he's glad to see the skin is red but not torn. He glances up, sees her still watching him, and decides to keep working. His hands reach for her right leg, seeing the scars from the surgery she just had and he's afraid for a moment that she might have hurt herself again but it's really the least of their problems at the moment.
This side takes a lot less time and it's still too long and then he's working on her right wrist and unlike with her legs, this time there is blood soaking the rope and he wants to be sick and he wants to scream and cry and rant at the injustice and the fact that she's already hurting and it's going to hurt worse when he pulls the rope from her abraded skin and he's worried about her cuts getting infected from his filthy hands and the rope and then he's moving to her other wrist but he has to stop when she grabs his sleeve and her nails are digging into his skin and she's staring at him with the most grateful expression he's ever seen and he has to swallow back the bile that rises at the idea of her being thankful to him for fucking untying her.
Her other wrist is in much the same condition and he can't even get a good look at the cuts because the moment he pulls the last of the bloody rope from her arm she's falling forward and he's afraid she's collapsing and he's terrified and then he realizes she's not collapsing but she's leaning and reaching and she's sliding out of the chair into his arms and as far as he can tell it's completely intentional and so he can only wrap his arms around her and hug her close as they settle onto the floor and his knee is twisted under him and her nails are clawing his back and he's trying to hold her up so she doesn't slide off his lap onto the disgusting floor and his arms are shaking with the effort and he's never felt better a moment in his life than he does right then with Olivia wrapped in his arms.
He remembers as he's trying to shift her weight over enough to untwist his knee that he wasn't sure his touch alone was enough to keep her grounded and so he turns his face into her hair and whispers to her, saying nothing and everything and making promises and vows and assurances that he probably has no business making except that they seem to help quiet her and her hands relax until she's no longer piercing his skin and her arms loosen enough that it feels more like a hug than a tourniquet and so he keeps talking and holding and his fingers stroke carefully across her back and sides and into her hair and it's meant to be comforting to her and to him and he knows it still feels possessive and he wonders if she knows and doesn't care or if she's just glad he's there.
And finally, long after he's found a relatively comfortable position on the grimy floor with her squarely in his lap, her arms release and her head drops and her forehead is resting against his jaw and her breath is falling across his throat and he knows she's sound asleep and he can't possibly wake her because she's obviously exhausted but he's afraid of what will happen when she's conscious again, if she'll still remember that he's there or if she'll be lost in another flashback or if she'll be angry at him for being responsible for yet another awful thing happening to her. He wants to sit there in this precious moment of quiet and connection and tell himself that she trusts him enough to sleep in his arms and convince himself that it's trust and not pure fatigue that has driven her to relax.
He remembers suddenly that he knows where Liv is and that she's sort of ok, physically at least, and that no one else is so lucky and he feels bad enough to fish his phone out of his pocket and text Bell with the info. He doesn't dare call to explain things, he doesn't want to risk waking Olivia and possibly plunging her into confusion and fear and panic and upset. Based on Bell's response, a series of questions and instructions he cannot follow, Elliot knows she understands the big picture. He ignores the questions of his superior and instead tells her he's going to coordinate with Fin, the only other person he is sure both he and Olivia trust with her life. He also knows Fin is absolutely aware of whatever the fuck Olivia endured and can probably pinpoint exactly what Elliot had done wrong and he's a little pissed off that Fin didn't warn him because all three of them should have known Elliot would invariably step in it by accident.
Unlike with Bell, Elliot knows Fin deserves a phone call and so he takes a deep breath, threads his fingers through Liv's hair, and makes the call.
Fin answers on the first ring, likely having anticipated and dreaded this call for hours. "Stabler, we're doing-"
"She's with me." He waits a minute and watches for any kind of reaction from the woman passed out in his arms, but there is none and he's thankful.
"Jesus fucking Christ, haven't you gotten my messages? We've been looking for her since last night and she's been with you the whole time?" There's a heavy sigh and obvious relief in his voice despite the accusations.
"She's not ok, Fin. The crew I'm working with grabbed her last night and I only found out a few minutes ago." He waits again, letting his words sink in with Fin, knowing there's no amount of exhaustion that's going to allow Olivia to sleep through a full explanation of events. "I don't know what happened that gave her PTSD or when, but I assume it was pretty fucking awful to leave her in this condition." He wants to say a lot more. He wants to scream and cry and throw things and smash his fist through a wall and he knows he can't and while he's never been one for controlling his temper, he knows he has to for Olivia and he can do absolutely anything for Olivia and so he does.
"Shit, man, what happened? They grabbed her last night? Did they hurt her?"
Elliot takes another breath because he knows Fin is worried about his friend and that he's the same way and of course it's a stupid question because of course they hurt her because they fucking kidnapped her off the damn street and she's having a fucking meltdown but he also knows what Fin is asking. "Her wrists are pretty torn up from the ropes and some bruises, but physically I think she's ok."
"You think?"
"I can't fucking ask her because I'm not sure she knows what year it is."
"Oh shit." There's another sigh, this one heavy and angry and sad and full of a story Elliot really doesn't want to know. "Where are you? We have to get her out of there."
"We're alone for now, but it's going to be complicated to get her out. She knew it was me when she passed out, but I have no idea what she's going to remember when she wakes up." His arm tightens the slightest bit unconsciously, his body already protesting the notion of being separated from her.
"What's the situation? I don't give a damn if it blows your cover, we're getting her out of there now."
Fin doesn't often display his protective side and as much as it heartens Elliot to hear someone else has been keeping an eye on Liv all the years he was gone, he hates that the other man has any question that Elliot might not do a good enough job taking care of her. He hates even more that Fin has every right to question him because he's done more than his fair share of hurting her and putting just about everything else first and he despises himself for ever trying to hide his feelings for her.
Regardless of his promise to himself that he wouldn't disturb her, his voice reflects his anger at the situation. "We're safe. When she's awake and ready to leave, we have to get her out of here in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion or she'll be in as much danger as me."
"El, shhhh, I'm tired." Olivia turns her head the slightest bit, turning into him, her lips brushing his throat, the contact reminding him of how very attracted he is to the woman in his arms.
He's quiet for a moment, trying to calm his racing heart and emotions and rein in his excitement that she remembers who he is and hasn't been reset to her dissociated state by sleeping. When he's sure she's drifted back to sleep and his attention is able to shift from the contact between them, he suddenly remembers he's on the phone.
His voice is much softer now, he is much softer now because it's Olivia and Elliot and it always was and it always will be and he's hoping her response is a good sign for her mental health. "I'm going to let her sleep, Fin. Once she's awake, we can get her out."
"What the hell happened last night? Besides you inciting a riot?" Fin's voice is calmer too and Elliot realized it's because he heard Liv and knows she's getting some kind of comfort right where she is.
He really doesn't want to talk about it, but Fin deserves an explanation and keeping Fin on his good side is going to be helpful both for his career and his relationship with Olivia. "We bumped into each other last night and she caught the attention of my bosses."
Fin snorts in amusement. "You mean she caught your attention. I saw what she was wearing."
Elliot is irritated for a moment, but he realizes that Fin is well aware of the tension and has been for years and would never make such a comment in front of anyone where it might be misconstrued. "They might have noticed me staring." He sighs and resigns himself to the fact that it's not going to get less awkward so he might as well just get it over with. "Something happened that set her off at the bar and she left in a hurry. They grabbed her for me as a gift."
This time Fin full on laughed. "That's just fucked up."
"I'm not asking for details, but whatever happened to her, when was it?" He swallows, knowing the answer to the question he's about to ask already and yet finding that he needs confirmation from someone else. "How bad was it?"
"Couple years after you left. It was bad. Worst fucker I've ever seen." Fin sighs and apparently decides to share something. "He forced her to play Russian Roulette with him the second time he took her."
There's so much in the latter statement that Elliot can't unpack, but one part rings in his ears. "Second time?"
"Yeah."
They are both quiet for a minute while Elliot tries to remind himself that whatever happened, she survived it. He also reminds himself that trying to press Fin for more information will only result in pissing Fin off and likely waking Olivia when he gets frustrated at Fin for not telling him. It's Olivia's story to tell, if she wants him to know, and it's up to her to decide when, if, she ever tells him. Not knowing what happened while knowing that's because she doesn't yet trust him enough to tell him is threatening to make him angry anyway, so he forces himself to think of something else. Like how to get Liv out of there.
"Fin, you think you can get your hands on a cab? I might be able to sell that I'm dumping her in a cab to get rid of her." It makes sense when he thinks about it, a traumatized assault victim wouldn't necessarily be able to find her way back or think to write down the info from the cab. Plus it would allow Elliot to hand her off to someone who would protect her and keep her feeling safe.
"Yeah, I'll get on it. Give me some time to set it up then tell me when and where."
With a plan in place, Elliot hangs up and turns his attention back to Olivia. He knows she's exhausted or she never would have mostly slept through him having a conversation or been curled in his lap in the first place. He wants to find some solace in these quiet moments, some peace in the fact that he's holding her while she's sleeping and that she trusted him enough to fall asleep, but he doesn't find much relief in knowing she trusts him to not physically harm her while she's sleeping because that's not really a high bar of trust, but maybe it is because she hadn't trusted whoever she saw when she was looking at the lighter and she did finally realize it was him and initiated the contact with him and chose to stay in his arms until she fell asleep even if she's remembering a different time, when it might not have been too late if he'd come home and she might have forgiven him for simply showing up.
And instead of celebrating a relaxed, comforting moment with her, he's hating himself and his job and his situation and his luck and his dead wife and his choices and every fucking thing in the universe but mostly his thirteen-year-old self who thought he had some idea of what love was and his seventeen-year-old self who'd asked Kathy if she wanted to love him forever despite neither of them knowing what love was nor what forever meant and his eighteen-year-old self for actually fucking agreeing to it just because he thought if he was married no one would do the math and realize that Kathy had been pregnant before the wedding and then maybe he wouldn't go to hell.
Except he'd obviously figured wrong because he'd gone to hell anyway and Olivia, the woman he knows now and has known for years and honestly knew from the moment they met was the woman he should have waited for, has been forced to suffer right along with him even though she did nothing wrong and there's nothing he can do to make it up to her.
And then he finds himself pulling her closer, holding her tight against his chest, his tears falling into her hair as he whispers a thousand apologies into her ear and he knows he's going to wake her and he knows he's risking scaring her and he can't stop because he needs her to know he truly never wanted to hurt her and that he knows now how much he did and how much she suffered without her partner to support her and he can't fucking breathe for how much it hurts to know he did that to her and that he'll never be able to fix it and she'll never forgive him and he's very afraid that he's going to lose her for real, forever, and he's panicking because maybe he already did and that's why she's been so reserved with him since he came home.
When she inevitably wakes up, he feels her arms tighten around him, and he's surprised because he expected her to pull away and be scared and instead she's holding him and she's talking and her voice is choked with tears and he has to fight back his own thoughts to hear her quiet whispers and he's shocked that she's not scared or angry or seeking comfort for herself, but is instead telling him that everything is ok and that they're ok and that she already forgave him.
He doesn't know if she's talking about right now or if she still thinks it's years ago and he knows it's important to make the distinction but at this moment he doesn't really care as long as she's not mad at him because that means it's possible she can forgive him again. It also means she can make a decision on what to do based on how she feels and not out of spite because she's pissed at him.
He pulls himself together enough to lift his head and turns to face her, shocked by the novelty of being so close to her. He's always been able to read her, always been able to find her eyes across a room and know exactly what she's thinking, but this is different, this is kissing distance, and though he knows it's precisely the wrong time to entertain such a thought, he realizes the proximity doesn't bother her. Before, when they'd been partners, when he'd been married, this closeness would have terrified her, would have sent her running away, would have scared him enough that he wouldn't have chased her. But now, it's different, this is comfortable, almost normal, and they're both ok with it. This is where they can't lie to each other or deny how they feel or pretend they misunderstand how the other feels. This connection is the one that he lives for, the one he'd move mountains for, the one he implicitly trusts, and yet the one he starts to doubt when she gets angry and won't look at him or talk to him or even stay in the same room.
And yet it's the one that he never questioned in the ten years he'd denied her and them and the truth. He's suddenly quite certain he can never earn her forgiveness for leaving, despite her words to the contrary, because he feels like he'll die if she so much as blinks right now and he can't fathom how much it would hurt if she just walked away without so much as a word and didn't come back for ten years. He wants to tell her again and again how sorry he is, but he just did that and he has no right to ask for her forgiveness or her love and right here like this he suspects he already has both and he knows he always has because even when she got mad at him she never stayed mad and he understands now that she has always felt the same way he has, that he has always loved her more than he can explain, that he has always belonged to her, that they have always been inextricably linked no matter how hard they've fought and denied and pretended and lied.
And he thinks this is where the problem is - that he's processing it now and she's not quite there yet because even though he was always hers, she never knew and maybe she doesn't even know now and it's still not the time to tell her but it's hard to remember that when she's staring into his eyes and there is nothing but honesty.
Wrong or not, inappropriate or not, he doesn't have a choice. Not really. Because his thoughts are stuck in this moment and he can't move on to anything else until he says it. And so his hands move to her face, his eyes never leaving hers, his voice choked with emotions he's bottled up for over twenty years.
"I love you, Olivia." He watches her eyes, knowing this time the words will hit her differently, wanting her to know his previous confession might have been poorly executed and ill-timed but not untrue. This time there's no pretending for either of them and he can't say he is talking about agape and she can't think he is talking to everyone in the room who isn't her and she stares back at him and he can see the words and the truth and the future washing over her and he can see that she's surprised but he's pretty sure she's more surprised that he actually said it than at the sentiment.
He doesn't want to pressure her or force her into something she's not ready to admit and he's really not worried about it because he knows she loves him even if she doesn't say it. So he dares to break the stare, knowing it will allow him to think, and it does and he's thinking of the hundred other things that are important to tell her.
"Are you ok?" He's asking about her mental state and her kidnapping and her PTSD and her torn skin and her bruises and even her fucking ankle, but he realizes there was a time, before he had this utter trust in them being them that he might have been asking about the confession he just made.
But Olivia is Olivia and she is half of them and she gets it and nods. "Yeah, I'm ok." Her voice is soft and shaky, but he knows she means it. She is nothing but strength and if she has recovered from whatever hell she endured, this run-in with Eddie's new family isn't going to be enough to break her. She's shifting around and he can feel her as she tests her arms and legs to double check that she's physically fine. It's too soon when she pulls her arms from around him and starts to climb to her feet and Elliot wants to help her, but there's not much he can do since he's still twisted underneath her.
She manages to get up and look around for a minute before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He's really too tired to move at this point, but he has to and his foot is numb and he knows the pins and needles are going to hurt like fuck but he pulls himself to himself up and tells himself that Olivia is less than an arm's length away and therefore isn't too far away and yet he still feels like she is and he wants her back in his arms where she fucking belongs.
"Where are we?" She looks around, taking in the interior of the trailer for the first time, having been so lost in her own mind that she had no idea what was going on when she arrived there. Her expression gives away what she thinks of the broken, filthy place that has been Elliot's home for the past several months.
He waits until her eyes climb back to his. "Welcome to Ashes' house."
Her eyes widen and he can see the concern and worry before she can voice it, her eyes moving over the space and disapproving even more now that she understands. "Oh, fuck, El-" She catches herself before she says his name, her glance moving back to meet his and waiting for his nod that it's safe. "You're living here?"
He's still tired, exhausted, deeply fatigued on a mental level he's not sure sleep will help, but after thirty-six stressful hours awake, sleep certainly won't hurt, and he wants to sit down but he doesn't want to crowd her on the small bed and can't bring himself to sit in the folding chair he used to sit in outside and drink his beers in the evening because Olivia was fucking tied to it for hours and so lifts himself onto the small counter that creaks unhappily and he hopes it'll hold his weight. "No, I don't live here. Ashes lives here."
He stares at her, trying to convey the message, the one she's hinted at the precious few times he's seen her in months, to remind her that as confusing as it all gets sometimes when his only interactions in a solid week are with the KO guys, Elliot is still there and he knows the difference and he wants to tell Olivia that being around her is the way he reminds himself of who he is because she is everything to him. She is his home. She is his soul.
He sees it in her face, the request she wants to make, the one she's already made once. She wants him done with this. She wants Ashes gone and she wants Elliot home and he's not sure if it's just worry about a friend or if she misses him or if she recognizes this thing between them is growing every moment and it won't be contained much longer and she's every bit as addicted to it as he is.
But she holds her tongue and stays silent, probably choosing not to ask something she knows is beyond his control unless he's ready to walk away from his career once and for all. She nods instead, accepting that she doesn't have the right to make the demand that he come home because that was always Kathy's place and not hers. Her feelings aren't quite hidden as she breaks eye contact and turns away in a gesture that's so familiar it may as well be 1999 and she thinks she's overstepping her bounds as his new partner to feel or think anything at all about where he ought to be because it's not her right no matter how overwhelming the feelings are between them when their eyes meet.
But it's not then, it's now, and there's no reason for him to resist anymore, and so he slides off the counter and sits down way too close to her with his side pressed up against hers and lets his hand rest on her knee and leans his head against hers to make the promise he should have made when she asked him a week ago. "I'll be home soon, baby."
Even as he says the words, he knows he's already home because he's soft again and he just wants to sit there with her and feel the bare skin of her leg as his thumb strokes back and forth and revel in the fact that she's letting him and they have come so far together that they can just sit like this and touch each other and admit that they feel better when they're close and when they're touching and it occurs to him that someday soon they're finally going to kiss and he already knows it will be the best thing he's ever experienced in his life and his heart starts to pound in anticipation.
But there's more for them to discuss before that can happen and he knows, after seeing her an hour earlier, that it's going to be a painful discussion and he's going to hate that she has to relive the pain to tell him and he's going to hate that he let her down when it happened and processing that is probably going to set them back from how fucking close they are at this moment.
"Are you ok?" He just asked the same thing, but his meaning is different this time and he knows she understands when her eyes slip closed and she sighs a heavy sigh that tells him she's dreading the conversation and the memories as much as he is and probably more because she already knows and Fin wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean what happened to her was bad bad.
She swallows hard and nods. "I will be." She winces as though she didn't mean to give away that she isn't ok right now. "I don't drink vodka anymore."
And he wants to ask the fuck does that mean but he can't because she's giving him something which is a hell of a lot more than the nothing she would have given him a decade ago and so he takes it and tries not to feel guilty for having put the drink in front of her that set the whole damn thing in motion.
"I'm sorry." He knows she knows that already, but he still feels like it needs to be said. "I didn't know." He knows she knows that too.
"I was going to tell you, I just haven't had the chance."
He feels her words like a slap, not because she intended them that way, but because she wanted, needed, to talk to him about her life and her circumstances and her problems and after ten years of being away, she had to deal with him and his life and his circumstances and his problems and then he disappeared again on this fucking undercover assignment like the selfish bastard he is without checking in on her first.
He moves his hand from her knee to brush her hair back from her face because he needs to see her and see that she's ok and he knows it's selfish but he can't help it. "I talked to Fin a little while ago. He didn't tell me anything, but he said it was bad."
She nods and finds his eyes and he can see the tears gathering. "I was never big on religion, El, but I met the devil." And in those words, he learns a lot about this Olivia as opposed to the one he used to know, he knows that it isn't just age and moving up in the ranks that makes her tougher and makes her frown all the time and makes her eyes sad and makes her hide her body in shapeless blazers and makes her dress in black nearly all the time like she's Johnny fucking Cash. She's in mourning for the murder of the woman she used to be. She's in hiding from something so evil it made her understand religion.
He swallows hard and nods, knowing it's not the time to ask anything of her or about it, but he needs to know because if that man is still out there, if he's still drawing breath, Elliot will walk away from his entire life to right that wrong. "Is he-"
"Dead." She shudders at the word, at the memory, and he knows it's more than just being relieved someone is dead, he knows it wasn't a simple case of self defense and he knows it's got something to do with the Russian Roulette reference Fin made and it makes him sick to think Olivia can't even be glad the son of a bitch is dead because she was there when it happened and she was terrified and probably felt guilty for wanting him dead even if he deserved it.
He moves his hand, needing the contact between them, needing the tactile reassurance that she is warm and alive and right there with him. His hand folds over her hers and he laces their fingers together. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."
"I was too." She nods, her eyes slipping down to their joined hands. "But you would have killed him, Elliot. He would have made you a murderer." There's something certain in her expression that tells him she's thought a lot about this and she's convinced herself that it's true.
He doesn't know yet what happened and maybe he doesn't need to, because he knows how he felt just a few minutes earlier when he was facing the man he expected to be his executioner and his mind kept turning to Olivia and how much he'd wanted to know she was ok before he died and how much he would have given to see her and he knows how much faith she'd always had in him and he suspects that waiting for him to burst into the room to save her probably kept her alive through some of the ordeal.
He feels even worse for not being there, knowing she was looking for him, knowing she was counting on him to survive, knowing she still had that utter faith in him, knowing he didn't break down the door and kill the bastard and, although she's convinced herself otherwise in the intervening years, that was when he lost her trust.
Unable to even formulate words to convey just how sorry he is, he squeezes her hand and he doesn't know why he deserves it, but he feels the immeasurable comfort when she squeezes him back.