For Better or Worse
Fleeterberry
Spoilers: specifically season 8x20 Annihilated, SVU 23x09/OC 02x09
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Dedicated to Lady of HighGarden for knowing all the things!
A child is dead. At his father's hands, no less. A mother has to live with that, but only if she survives herself.
Olivia has to live with it too. And she has no idea how she's going to because it hurts so fucking much she can't breathe. The baby was here two days ago, crawling around on the floor of her office while Olivia tried to talk his mother out of dropping the charges against her husband. It had taken them days to get her to admit to the abuse in the first place and desperate pleas for the child's welfare to get her to press charges and then the woman reappeared with fresh bruises and horror in her eyes and a day later, the child is dead and the woman is in the hospital and the husband is locked up again and Olivia feels like she's been run through repeatedly with a serrated blade.
Her stomach is in knots and she feels the guilt of having failed to dissuade the victim from recanting and she is well aware of the eyes of the squad on her because they've all been through this before and the others always stare at the one who's taking it the hardest and she hates that it's her again because it never gets any easier and she really thinks she might be reaching the end of her rope. She can't do this forever, not without going insane.
Fin and Amanda have been taking turns checking on her every hour, but the last two times they've come in together and she assumes that means she is utterly failing at pretending she's ok. She can hear them talking as they leave this time, after a curt dismissal from her, and Amanda is saying the captain is going to be there asleep at her desk in the morning and Fin offers up twenty bucks that she's on her way home inside of ten minutes and Amanda doubles down and Olivia wants to be annoyed at both the fact that they're talking about her and that Amanda apparently does know her better than Fin, but she's distracted instead by the light knocking on her open door and she looks up to see exactly what proves Fin does know her better after all.
He's clearly come straight from work, his expensive suit wrinkled at the knees and elbows after a long day, his tie loosened and his collar unbuttoned. He looks so damn good and it almost makes her forget for a moment until she sees the knitted brows and narrowed eyes and pinched lips that reveal his worry.
She wants to think he's there for her, but he's usually there for him and so she grits her teeth and tries to get it over with and climbs to her feet because she somehow feels stronger when she's standing. "What's wrong?"
There's a moment, a tiny second, when his eyes widen in surprise, but he masks it quickly and turns to grab her coat from its hook. "Let's go." He's at her desk in two strides, slapping her laptop closed and reaching for the bag under her desk so he can throw the top several files into it.
She wants to lash out and scream and hit him because she knows he'll let her take it out on him, but he's certainly there for help with something and she doesn't have the energy to lend an assist again and she'll probably wind up doing it just the same because it's too fucking much work to refuse him and she never can anyway and she won't have enough energy to help him if she wastes what she has on arguing with him.
"Elliot, I can't-" Old habits die hard and she starts to resist anyway but the words die on her lips because she catches a whiff of his cologne or aftershave or whatever it is that makes him smell so damn good and she loses her train of thought.
He's done shoving shit in her bag and sets it on her desk along with her coat and he's standing too close and she wonders if he knows how easily he can manipulate her by standing too close or if he's just confused every time they're together the same as she is that it's not ten years ago when they didn't have any tolerance for the concept of personal space.
"Come on, Liv, time to go."
She stares at him and she sees the way he's staring back and she wonders why he said it since he's standing there like he knows she's not just going to up and follow him. Her bag makes a dull thud as it falls to its side and it draws her attention as she checks to make sure it isn't about to knock over her half empty coffee cup.
And then he's got her coat in his hands again and he's moving around behind her to drape it over her shoulders, his hands lingering on her arms and she feels the pressure of his body leaning into her and his fingers squeezing and his voice is a low whisper. "I'm taking you home, Liv."
Magically, he's distracted her with words he didn't mean like that and her thoughts of that poor baby are erased from her head as her blood boils and tension knots her belly and lower and she wishes she had access to the accelerator on this friendship of theirs because she could really use the company and a good, hard fuck to make her forget for a little while longer. She swallows hard and slips her arms into the sleeves of her coat and lets him shoulder her bag and lead her from her office with his arm wrapped around her waist.
He's quiet while he's driving and she looks over at him, at the worried look on his face, and she figures she might as well ask because she's going to find out eventually anyway and it's better to have the information now than to be surprised by it later. He said he was taking her home, but she suspects there's more to it than that because as much as she wants their friendship to work both ways it very rarely has.
"What's going on, Elliot?" It must be one of his kids gone astray again or a threat from a case, or fuck, he screwed the hell up again and she can't decide which one will be worse for her to deal with right now.
He glances over at her, another hint of surprise on his face, this one followed by confusion. "What do you mean?"
She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the headrest. Is he really going to pretend he doesn't know what's going on when he's just dragged her from her job to help him again? She doesn't answer because she just doesn't care anymore and the second her eyes close she sees that baby crawling around in his romper with the trains printed on it that reminds her so much of one Noah used to have and the tears pour out of her eyes before she even knows they're coming.
HIs hand covers hers, squeezing her fingers and her thigh all at once. "I'm sorry."
She wants to ask what he's sorry for, but she can't talk past the sobs in her throat that she's fighting to hold back and she knows she needs to get herself together because they're probably minutes away from somewhere Detective Stabler will need Captain Benson's help and she'd rather not soothe ruffled feathers with mascara smeared across her face and she can't wipe away her tears while he's gripping her hand so she keeps waiting for him to let go and then his fingers are laced with hers and once again she can't remember anything besides the fact that holding hands has never once turned her the fuck on but any fucking skin contact with this man feels pornographic with the way her body responds.
The physical response to his touch buries the pain for a little while and she's no longer crying as he turns into the garage under her building. She has no idea what's happening anymore and she doesn't want to ask again because she's afraid her breathy voice will give away her state of mind and she doesn't want to embarrass herself.
"Noah's with Lucy?" He's pulling into her parking spot and she knows it's because her car is at the one-six and no one is going to complain but she still wonders if she needs to add his license plate to the list of approved visitors and she's so confused by the idea that she forgets to answer.
He doesn't seem to care as he gathers her bag and opens her door and walks beside her all the way into her apartment. He's gently pulling her coat from her and then prodding her to the couch and announcing he's going to make her some tea and she's trying to understand what they're doing here and what this means and she wants to ask him where he learned how to take care of people like this but then she remembers that he's always taken care of his family and now he seems to think she's a part of that.
She can hear him moving around in the kitchen and she wants it to be comforting to have someone here who's more functional than she is, but at the moment it's just weird and she stares at the carpet and remembers Noah crawling around in between bouts of figuring out how his legs worked and now she can see the other boy in front of her, playing with the same toys Noah had and she just wants to disappear into yesterday and snatch the boy up in her arms and run away with him where he'll be safe.
He sets the mug on the coffee table and startles her out of her reverie where she's lost herself once again and when she jumps, he squats down in front of her, his eyes drawing her back to the present, back to him, back to this hell where there's a dead baby in the morgue and she's responsible for it because she didn't save him. The tears are forming again and she tries to swallow them back because she can't break because she's afraid she'll never be able to put herself back together again.
"Why are you here? What do you want?" It would sound like an accusation if she weren't sobbing, but she is and when he moves to sit on the couch beside her and pulls her into his arms, she knows she isn't fooling him with her pathetic pretend anger.
He's shushing her and pulling her into his chest and she wants to relax and sag against him but she's still trying to hold the dam together. "Fin told me what happened." He's rocking her now, his hand rubbing her back and she's still stiff as a board and fighting herself but she's not fighting him because she thinks she really does want to give in and shatter and let him pick up the pieces.
A part of her crumbles and her hand fists around his fancy vest but otherwise she thinks she's doing a damn good job of tensing every single muscle in her body and refusing to even breathe, but then his lips are at her ear and he's holding her so tight as he whispers. "Relax, Liv, it's ok. I'm here."
And then she lets out the breath she's holding and her strength flows out of her and she's melting into his embrace as though she's turned into liquid and her fingers can't even maintain their grip anymore and she's just trusting him to hold her because she just can't do it herself anymore. She needs a fucking break.
She has no idea how much time passes as she sobs out everything she's never told him in hot tears into his shirt. She cries about the child, she cries about losing her partner, she cries about the torture she endured and the desperate situation in which she met her son and all the terrors she's faced and the losses she's taken and the pain just keeps draining out of her and she's horrified that anyone, even Elliot, is seeing this, but she thinks maybe he deserves to see what he's done to her because some part of her holds him responsible for a lot of it just because he wasn't there and maybe she could have avoided parts of it if he'd been by her side where she'd expected him to be because he'd said they were partners for better or worse and it's not fair they weren't partners during the worse.
He shifts a few times, maneuvering them a little at a time until they're resting more comfortably with his back against the armrest and her body draped over his lap and his hands are still moving, rubbing and touching and caressing and his fingers thread into her hair and knead at the knots in her shoulders and drift along her legs and there's some point when she's not crying anymore that she recognizes he's just fucking touching her and she's letting him and even though his hands aren't drifting anywhere inappropriate, it's an awful lot of touching for friends and the fingers of one of her hands has slid under his vest where she can feel his heart beating and it's a calm, steady beat and she knows her own heart is beating much faster because her every breath is full of his scent and he's touching her and he's warm and safe and somehow familiar even in this novel situation and she tilts her face up into his neck to alleviate the pressure of the button that was pushing into her chin and she feels his heart beat once and again still so steady and then when she breathes out, she hears the hitch in his breathing and the increased speed of the steady beat and she suspects he's not as immune to this situation as he's been convincing her. She knows it's a mistake and she knows she's pushing the boundaries she's set and she doesn't care because she just needs a little while to not think about that poor baby and how much everything hurts and so she turns her face a little more, deliberately touching her lips to his throat.
His roving hands freeze, one against her back, the other locking around her wrist. She suspects he's not sure if it was intentional and he's nervous, she can feel it in the even faster beat under her fingertips, and she waits to see what he'll do. He waits too, maybe trying to convince himself it was an accident, maybe trying to weigh his options, maybe performing a full analysis of the pros and cons of all the possibilities.
She determines that he's leaning towards it having been an accident because he's not moving and he's not rejecting and he's not encouraging and he's not taking the fucking hint. She wants to be disappointed, but she reminds herself that she's never come on to him before and he's probably assuming she's not going to now, and she can't blame him for falling into their normal thought patterns the same way she always does. But for once she doesn't want them to fall back into those comfortable patterns. She wants to lose herself to something besides her own thoughts and the only thing that can possibly get her out of her head right now is sex and there is a warm body under her and she expects he fucking owes her this one goddamn time.
Her hand slides up from his chest, her fingers brushing the exposed hollow of his throat, her mouth following, her lips pressing in, her tongue darting out to taste him.
She feels him shudder, hears the catch as he lets out a breath, sees the goosebumps and the flush spreading across his skin and she wants to revel in the idea that she's actually having this effect on him, that he's still attracted to her, that he wants something physical with her enough that one fucking touch of her tongue is enough to make his hand shake where it's still wrapped around her wrist. He's not moving, his arms holding her, still not encouraging her, but still not stopping her either.
He's curious, she decides. He wants her. He wants to see what she's offering. He wants to see how far she's willing to take this. He wants to follow her lead.
She's just fine with that. Her mouth drags up his throat, over his Adam's apple, her tongue tracing a line, and she feels his hand tighten around her wrist, but his thumb is softly rubbing her skin. A moment later his lips are grazing across her forehead and then his hand is tangling in her hair and holding her still while he leans down.
His kiss is soft, tentative, his lips brushing over hers carefully, gently suckling her bottom lip, and she knows that under normal circumstances his reverent kiss would be the ultimate fantasy come true but doesn't have time to marvel at the feeling of their first kiss because she can't slow down and enjoy this intimacy because if she slows down she's going to think of that baby and she cannot think of that baby because she will die from the pain. She can't let him distract her either because she's not able to handle soft and slow right now. She needs the passion of the Elliot Stabler who flipped tables and punched walls and almost knocked her off her feet every time she got between him and whoever he was trying to kill.
She grabs his collar and uses the leverage to pull herself completely into his lap, giving him a moment to process the change, and then she leans down, her teeth biting down on his lip until he gives in and lets her tongue invade his mouth. It's all heat and frantic movement then and her fingers are digging into the back of his neck to hold him still while she kisses him so hard her lips hurt and their teeth are smashing together and his hands are under her shirt and she swears her skin is burning from the fucking flaming heat in his fingers.
She knows she needs to breathe and she's not a bit surprised when he pulls back a little, putting enough space between them that they can both suck in air, but she doesn't really need air right now because perhaps oxygen deprivation will keep her mind from wandering and so she redirects her attention and nips her way back to his throat and somewhere in the back of her mind she notes how his head leans back as she kisses him and how his fingers bite into her hips as he pulls her into him and how he's completely ok with this change in their dynamic. She can feel the way his body is responding, the growing pressure against her center, and she knows for sure now that he's interested, that he is attracted to her and willing to act on it and she's really fucking glad for that because she honestly wasn't so sure after twenty-three years went by with the man never once touching her in a suggestive way.
Her hands move to his vest and as much as she really does appreciate his new look - those JC Penney suits from back in the day were just not doing justice to his fanfuckingtastic body - but she's a bit resentful of all the goddamn buttons and layers that prevent her from touching bare fucking skin. She wants to touch him. She wants to feel the heat from his body against hers so maybe she can chase the damn chill out of her bones and her brain and her memories.
She's halfway through the buttons on his vest when she notices the way he's trying to pull her closer to him and his hands are outside of her sweater again and she wishes he'd put them back inside but whatever, she's moved on, her fingers are pulling at his shirt buttons and she's wondering if he'll be too angry if she rips them and she figures he won't be if she replaces the shirt but before she can even get a good handle on the fabric to tear it, the pressure on her back increases.
He's pulling her down and his head is no longer leaning back and she assumes he's looking for more contact too and she leans in, pressing her chest to his and clamping her mouth over his again. This time, his tongue is the aggressor, hot and determined and he's fisting his hands in her hair and thrusting his hips up and she breaks the kiss long enough to moan because shit it feels even better than she'd expected and she'd expected a hell of a fucking lot from him and them and this.
He turns his head away when she moves to kiss him again, denying her the contact and she tries to read his redirection, tries to anticipate what he wants because his arms are tight around her back and his face is pushed back into her hair and she doesn't know what he's trying to do, but she wants him to just fucking do it because he's moving too slowly and he needs to speed up before reality sinks in and she starts overanalyzing what's happening because she's a cautious person and she knows she'll opt to wait if she thinks about it and if she starts thinking again, she knows exactly what she's going to think of and she doesn't want to think of that poor child right now.
She rolls her hips against him, enticing him to do something, and she can feel the tightening of his grip in both hands, the one that's in her hair and the one that's on her back and it only lasts a second before he's pulling her again, this time with a lot more pressure, and it's not fair because he's stronger than her and he's so fucking strong that she can't do anything but give in because there's no way for her to counter the force with which he's hugging her to his chest.
She tries to turn her face into his throat, to return to how she started the interlude, to remind him that he does want her, but his hand is still tight in her hair and he's holding her still and she realizes that she can hear his voice in her ear and the rasp is enough to send a rush of heat between her legs, but the words are really not what she needs to hear right now.
"Stop, Liv, just stop."
And she desperately doesn't want to stop, but she's been in SVU for so fucking long that she is completely unable to keep trying once she's heard that word and she knows reality is coming and she fucking hates it and she hates him for letting it back in. But she can feel his interest still, she can feel his heart pounding and his body shaking and his fucking erection poking into her through both of their pants, and she knows there's still a chance.
"Please, El, please." She can hear her voice breaking and it's not at all the sexy tone she'd intended and she can feel the tears brimming and that's not going to be sexy either and she wonders, even if she can convince him to keep going, if she's going to be able to hide the fact that she's crying while he's fucking her.
He's shushing her and trying to shift her body off of his, but her thighs squeeze along his and she's desperate for the contact that gravity is providing and she doesn't want to move and it suddenly occurs to her that maybe he isn't attracted to her after all, maybe his body just responded instinctively to the sensations, but when he thought about it, he didn't want to fuck her after all and that fucking hurts.
She tries to move away then, to sit back and reclaim her dignity, no matter how much she doesn't want to lose the contact, but his arms are tight and he's just holding her and he's still talking and she can't hear him for how fucking mortified she is.
But slowly the words start to sink in. "Not tonight, Liv."
She tries to find the strength to project her normal voice because she doesn't want him to know how much his rejection is hurting her, but her attempt falls flat into a broken, rasped plea. "Either fuck me or let me go."
She can hear his annoyance or anger or frustration or something in his sigh, but with the way he's holding her, she can't see his face and she appreciates at this moment that she really relies quite a lot on his expressions to determine what he's thinking. She squirms slightly, because her body is still humming and his body is too and she's certain there's a way to redirect this train wreck before her brain starts working again.
His arms tighten in response, but he says nothing and she figures she gave him the option of letting her go which he didn't do and therefore his vote must be for fucking her. She shifts her hips again and turns her head and this time is able to catch his ear with her lips and she nips at it with her teeth and then he's squirming under her.
"Christ, Liv, I'm only human."
She wants to laugh at his groan, but she isn't ready to declare victory quite yet. "Stop being so damn noble, Elliot." Maybe if it sounds like an order, he'll obey. She tries to rock her hips again, but he anticipates the motion and stops her with a firm hold on her low back.
"I'm not being noble. Believe me, Olivia, this is the hardest fucking thing I've ever had to do in my life."
She wants to take comfort in his admission, in the fact that he wants her and he's saying it, but she hears finality in his words and she doesn't want to give up because she doesn't want to think and her only other option for losing herself is alcohol and she doesn't keep that much around anymore because she has a child. And just like that, her thoughts turn to her son and then to the other boy, the baby who will never get to grow up and take a dance class and love comic books and try to hide his peas in his napkin, and she's fighting back the tears and she can feel them coming and she's fucking embarrassed on top of all the guilt and she wants to run away and hide except Elliot won't fucking let her go.
And then, despite her best efforts, she's sobbing again and he's rubbing her back and she thinks the pain might kill her and she knows this is the dumbest idea she's ever had and the smeared makeup and runny nose are not helping the situation, but she is able to pull back a little finally and she tries to kiss him again and once again he turns away, sliding his chin over her shoulder and pulling her back into his hold.
"Not like this, baby."
"Please, Elliot, I don't want to think right now. I never ask you for anything, please just do this one fucking thing for me." She hates that she's begging but she can't stop herself because she needs to stop seeing that boy and she has no better idea how to make that happen.
He reaches up, catching her face between his hands, leaning up to press a kiss to her forehead. "I don't want to be something you regret, Olivia."
She hears him, she does, and she knows the words should mean something and they probably will when she lets herself think about them, but right now she doesn't hear anything besides a refusal to help her and so she pushes hard at his chest and this time he lets her move. She's a little surprised he's letting her go so easily, but she won't let it show. She's too angry that he's denying her and too terrified of how fucking long and lonely the night is going to feel and too aware of the nightmares that are going to fill her head as soon as she closes her eyes.
She flees, heading for her bedroom and slamming the door like she's an angry teenager and she throws herself onto her bed in much the same fashion because she needs to hold onto the anger right now because it's all she has left, it's all that stands between her and the reality of that poor boy that might have been alive tonight and asleep in his bed if she'd just worked a little bit harder and she's curling herself into a ball and burying her face in her pillow and letting out a muffled scream of pain and anger and sadness and loss.
She hears the knock, but she ignores it because she's railing at the world and wailing into her pillow and sobbing so hard her fucking stomach hurts and she hates herself for putting Elliot in that position and she'll be too embarrassed to face him for a long time and she knows he'll be nice about it and she'll never forget that he refused her even while she was grinding herself onto him and she's not only cost that poor boy his life but she's also destroyed the relationship she was just starting to rebuild with her best friend.
"Liv," his voice is soft and he sounds nervous, what she can make out in the single syllable over the sound of her own cries. She can feel the mattress move when he sits down, one hand moving to her back, attempting to comfort her but the touch just reminds her of what she couldn't convince him to take and she whines into her pillow and thinks she has no right to be upset over Elliot's rejection because that poor child is dead and his mother is barely breathing in the hospital and she has no room to complain about anything since her son is healthy and safe with the nanny he's known his whole life.
"I know you're upset right now, Liv, but will you just hear me out?"
Talking is the last thing she can possibly do and listening to Elliot try to explain away his behavior and hers as well will be the last straw. "Fuck off, Elliot."
He shifts closer and his hand slides up, tucking her hair away from her cheek, but it makes no difference to her because her face is still buried in her pillow. "I know how you're feeling right now."
"The fuck you do." There's no way he does because if Elliot Stabler ever felt responsible for the death of an innocent baby the man would have blown his fucking brain out the back of his head and she's sure of that.
"Liv," he starts but stops and sighs and she can almost hear his exhaustion and she feels guilty for dragging him into this even though it was fucking Fin who dragged him into it. And then she hears a thud and another thud that she thinks might be his shoes and she can feel the bed moving under him but she has no idea what's going on and she's not going to look and she just lets herself wonder because it's a fucking distraction from her own thoughts.
A moment later she feels the warmth of his body as he lies down behind her, his arm tucking around her waist and pulling her into him. "I know, Liv, trust me."
There's something in his voice, in his tone, in the shift of the air in the room that feels almost like regret, but she doesn't understand and she's hurting too much to think about it. "You don't know."
His voice is soft at her ear, but his words are hard. "Malcolm fucking Royce, Olivia."
She jerks at the memory, at the name, at the fact that maybe he does fucking know.
"I know, Liv, believe me, I know." His arm tightens and his breath catches and she can feel the guilt radiating off him now and if she wasn't wallowing in guilt already, she'd feel bad for him. "I turned to Kathy and I can't tell you that was a mistake because I love my son, but it certainly didn't make anything easier."
Her mind is reeling as she tries to process both the information he's giving her and the fact that he's actually sharing it. She'd never quite understood what had happened between them back then and she'd never had the courage to ask.
"I sat outside your apartment for an hour, Liv, trying to convince myself it was ok for me to be there." There's something in his voice that hurts her, that adds to the pain she's already feeling and the tears come harder and she wants to stop him because she knows this is just going to hurt more but she needs the distraction. "I knew I wasn't ok. I was hurt and angry and out of control and I didn't want to take that out on you. We were so fucking close back then-" He draws in a breath and she can feel the way he's fighting the tears. "The decision I made that night cost me you, Olivia, it cost us all these goddamn years, I know it did and I won't let you make that same decision. I can't lose you again."
She stills then, frozen in shock, drowning in a fresh wave of pain, as she remembers the way she felt when he announced Kathy's unexpected pregnancy. She'd been so dumbfounded and heartbroken and angry at herself for thinking something was happening between them when he was already back with his wife, but now, all of a sudden, he's admitted that he was right there with her and something was happening between them and he knew all along where it had all gone wrong and she wants to scream at him for not telling her and she understands why he didn't and she knows the choice he made that night to turn to Kathy was because he didn't want to sully their first time with those emotions and she understands why he just refused her advances, she does, but she still finds herself sobbing at the loss of all those years because of that bastard Royce and the fact that so fucking many more years have gone by and they still haven't managed to have a first time.
She feels gutted by the news because as good as it is to know she wasn't crazy then and why he stopped her now, it's still only resulting in reopening of old wounds and maybe the wound hadn't ever closed but at least she hadn't thought about it in a while. She presses her face further into the pillow and cries, letting him lie there behind her and hold her tight.
Her sobs quiet eventually, mostly because she's too tired to keep it up, partly because there's a feeling of peace in lying there with him that starts to take the edge off the sharp pain. His face is nuzzled into her hair and his arm is around her and she's still clinging to her pillow because she's not quite sure what to do with her hands since she wants to reach for his hand but she also doesn't want to give him a reason to pull away. And so she closes her eyes and tries to memorize the feeling of his body curled around hers for as long as he's willing to stay there and lets herself revel in the closeness for a long time.
"Are you still awake?" His voice is barely a whisper and while she's not sure she was asleep, she doesn't think she was entirely awake either and her throat hurts from all the crying and she doesn't trust her voice not to crack if she tries to speak, so she just nods. "Do you want me to sleep on the couch?"
She squeezes her eyes closed and wills her body not to tense, but knows it does anyway because he's clearly trying to leave and he'll stay on her couch if she asks and she doesn't want to ask because she wants him to stay right where he is and she wishes she'd had the foresight to pretend she was asleep so he wouldn't have asked.
Just as she's bracing herself to clear her throat and tell him he doesn't have to stay, his arm tightens at her waist and his other arm, which she realizes had snuck under her head proving she must have been asleep at some point because he had definitely not had both arms around her the last time she'd noticed, shifts around until he can grab one of her hands and then his mouth is next to her ear and if she had to trust her instincts she'd say he isn't inclined to move at all, but she doesn't trust her instincts.
"I'm not leaving you, but I don't want to overstep here, Liv. If you want me to sleep on the couch-" He stops talking when he realizes she's snickering into her pillow.
"Overstep, really?" She should be embarrassed at the memory of grinding herself against his erection, but she's too amused at his words. She feels his body shake with the chuckle and she waits for him to relax, but he doesn't. He's tense, anticipating her request to leave and she finds some reassurance in what she's reading as hesitance. "It's up to you." She wants him to stay, but he's done enough and they've certainly crossed several thousand lines tonight and she doesn't know what any of it means but she's too tired to care.
He tenses further and she can feel the irritation from him because he asked her a question and she didn't give him an answer and she realizes she can't blame him for feeling that way because she's told him to ask questions and if she doesn't answer, he's going to go back to not asking.
She squeezes his hand and tucks her face back into her pillow. "Stay." She holds her breath, waiting for his response, feeling more exposed by saying that single word than by trying to seduce him.
"Ok." He does relax then, his arms still folded around her, his face nuzzling into her neck. "Go back to sleep."
She manages to sleep for a few hours before she jerks awake with the memory of the baby in her head. She's twisted in her sleep and turned to face him and their legs are tangled together in her sheets, but she can't process the intimacy of their position because she's thinking about the boy again and the train romper and how he was so very much alive and now he's not and her tears start falling again and she doesn't want to wake Elliot by sobbing into his shirt and so she climbs out of bed and hides in the shower to let out her tears. When she emerges from the bathroom, her bed is empty and she wants to kick herself for making him think he wasn't welcome. It's not quite five yet and she's sure he doesn't get up that early normally and she doesn't either, but she's awake now and her eyes are still puffy from crying and she's shuffling to the kitchen in search of coffee.
She's surprised to find him standing at the counter, eating a bowl of Noah's Lucky Charms. A feeling of gratitude nearly strangles her as she looks at him, his rumpled suit, the circles under his eyes, the way he's slumped against the counter that reveals he's fucking exhausted and would have benefitted from a couple more hours of sleep.
"I didn't mean to wake you." She leans past him and snags a blue marshmallow from his bowl.
He watches her for a moment and then shrugs. "I woke up when you did."
She feels even worse then, knowing he probably would have preferred her sobbing into his shirt so they'd both have the chance of falling back to sleep. "Sorry."
"Don't be." He reaches out, his hand smoothing over her shoulder and back. "I don't think you wanted to wake up then either."
She shuts her eyes and holds them there to fight back the emotions that rise up. He's trying so hard and she wants to encourage his efforts, but she really doesn't know how because she knows how to flirt, but it's Elliot and she feels stupid trying to flirt with him because she fucking knows him inside and out and it feels like a bad undercover assignment when she tries.
She draws in a breath and stares at the floor. "I want to fix this."
He's silent and she knows he's waiting for her to look up so he can read her expression, but she's so fucking afraid of messing this up and she knows he'll see the fear in her eyes and misinterpret it so she keeps her eyes on the tiles.
"This?"
"Us."
There's more silence and it's hard because now they've both acknowledged there's something between them and that it is important to them and they want it back but not the way it was, they want it back in the way it should have been, perhaps could have been, but there's still so much hurt and confusion and uncertainty between them that she's not sure they'll ever get it right.
But then he's reaching for her again, pulling her into him, wrapping her tight in a hug. "We are fixing us."
She nods against his chest and thinks she just wants to stay there forever and she forces herself to pull away and in order to distract herself from the shock of how very much she wants to stay in his arms forever, she reaches out and snags another marshmallow from his bowl, a yellow one this time.
He laughs as he playfully pushes her arm away before she can steal a third one. "Get your own!"
"It's my cereal." She shoves him back and takes a whole spoonful this time and she feels happy for a moment because it feels like before, but better this time.
And then he's behind her, sandwiching her between himself and the counter. "I was going to offer to cook you some of my pasta, but if you're going to be territorial-"
She's certain her heart skips a beat at his words, at his meaning, at the idea of them having a date in his house where he's cooking for her, but she plays it down, falling into the familiar pattern of assuming he doesn't mean it the way she hears it. "Are you going to cook for me or are you cooking for your whole family and you'll spare a plate for me?" She's nervous about poking fun at the Christmas party he'd invited her to, where there were so many people she wasn't convinced he'd have noticed her absence.
"Will you show up if it's just us?" He's still right behind her and he's leaning in and she's afraid her knees are going to give out from the idea that he's doing this and pursuing her and she's scared out of her damn mind but fuck if she's going to dissuade him.
She reaches for his hands and pulls them away from the counter and she registers the way he tenses and she knows he's ready to move away at her suggestion and she isn't going to let him and she isn't going to make it. Instead she wraps his arms around her waist and places hers on top. "Maybe you should ask me and find out."
His hands slide further around her with the encouragement and his arms tighten to pull her back against him and his face pushes into her hair, his lips grazing her ear when he responds and she can barely keep breathing for how overwhelmed she is with the sensations and when he answers, she's not entirely sure he's talking about dinner. "I am asking."
She swallows hard, realizing once again that this is real and this is happening and this means forever in a way she never really thought applied to her. And though she's nervous and scared and unsure, she can't help but trust him, trust them, and whether he's talking about dinner or dating or getting fucking married, she's on board. She nods, knowing he'll feel it with the way they're pressed together. "And I'm saying yes."
"Is tonight too soon?"
She wishes she could agree, but she can't. "I haven't seen my son since yesterday morning and I am absolutely having dinner with him tonight." Her fingers glide over his forearms, reassuring him that she's not backing out. "Besides, you need time to throw Bernie and Eli out on the street."
"Tomorrow night then? Eli has soccer and Bernie has book club and I will have the place to myself."
She smiles at the thought of not just the date, not just being with him much like she is right now, but also at the anticipation she'll experience for the next two days that will keep her distracted from the self-recrimination.
And then her mood turns as she remembers why he's there and it's not because this is what they do, no matter how natural it felt a moment ago, it's because she has been traumatized yet again and there are so many of those stories that he doesn't know about and she's not even sure she's willing to tell him most of them and even if she tells him, he's not going to want to hear them and even if she tells him and he's willing to listen, he's certainly never going to look at her the same way after he finds out about all of it.
He presses his lips to her temple and holds her that little bit tighter. "Olivia, it wasn't your fault." He tucks his mouth back next to her ear. "Whatever you're thinking, it wasn't your fault."
She knows he's wrong and she's to blame for some of it and if she's to blame for any of it, then she's probably to blame for all of it because the only thing all of her horror stories have in common is her, after all. She can't speak because the lump is back in her throat and the tears are pricking her eyes and she desperately wants to cling to those few moments of lightness she was just having with him but they're already gone.
And then he's spinning her around and threading his fingers into her hair and holding her stare even as she tries to look away, but she can't because he's staring at her and he's here, he's finally fucking here, and she missed him so damn much while he was gone.
"It's not your fault, Olivia. None of it. I know you and I know you did everything you could and I know you're looking for a way to blame yourself, but it's not your fault." His eyes are locked on hers and his expression is intense, as though he's waiting for her to argue.
And she wants to argue but she's so damn tired of arguing and she can't speak anyway and instead she finds herself nodding and trying to believe him because she doesn't always trust herself and her judgment anymore, but she fucking trusts him.
He pulls her into a tight hug and his hands are running up and down her back and he's promising her that it's ok and that it'll be ok and that she didn't do anything wrong and as much as it hurts she realizes she really did try and she isn't sure how she could have tried harder and so she lets herself believe him, just a little bit, and she lets him hold her and promise that everything will be just fucking fine.
When she finally pulls back, her tears have dried and she's not feeling great, but she is feeling better than last night and she takes a deep breath and says something she doesn't want to say. "I'm not sure I'll be the best company any time soon, so if you want to take a raincheck-"
"No. You, me, my place, tomorrow, period." He reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and his fingers linger along her chin. "I'll take you any way I can get you." And then he's looping his arm around her again. "And I'm here if you need to talk or cry or beat someone up."
She nods again and stares up at him and wonders how they got here, standing in her kitchen at five in the morning with their arms around each other and she thinks maybe this was always going to be, no matter how many detours they had to take to get here and if that's the case she's glad for it and that it's finally happening because she feels like she's waited long enough.
She takes a deep breath and pulls away and starts making coffee and he goes back to his breakfast and she gives him the option to leave and instead he waits patiently for her to get dressed for work so he can drive her back since she'd left her car there the night before. He takes her hand on the drive and when he double parks in front of the one six, she doesn't want to move. She wants to stay there with his hand wrapped around hers and enjoy the comfort that being with him provides.
But she knows she's making him late and the longer they sit there, the more likely it is that someone will see them and she'd rather not have to explain anything right now. His hand stays attached to hers even after she unhooks her seatbelt and grabs her bag with the other and there's something so damn sweet about it that she can't resist and she finds herself leaning across the seat and kissing his cheek.
He's quick to respond, no matter how unexpected the overture might have been, and he catches the back of her head and pulls her back in, pressing his lips against hers in a short, chaste kiss.
She's completely stupefied, but she's trying to hide it because he's grinning smugly for having one-upped her and she's at work and things are still complicated as fuck. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?" She's aiming for casual as she confirms their date, but it's hard because she's grinning so hard it hurts.
"I'll call you later." He knows her and he knows if he gives her enough distance, she'll try to talk herself out of the whole thing.
And so she nods, finally opening the door and climbing out of the safe cocoon. She takes a deep breath and meets his eyes. "Thank you, El." He nods back and she finally turns away to walk into the building.
She knows the guilt and the worry and the stress are going to catch up to her as soon as she walks into her office, but she realizes that was going to be the case no matter what and she's glad for the time with Elliot and the break from the stress and the support through the crisis and the comfort he provides and she's not so naive that she expects it to be wine and roses, but it's Elliot and it's them and they're going to be fine and they're going to be there to pull each other through, even when it's hard because they're partners.
For better or worse.