A/N: Inspired by the way Olivia said Elliot's name once in that hospital and he automatically calmed down
Thwack
Elliot's arm vibrates with the force of contact.
Whump
The slam of his fist echoes in the empty precinct gym.
Bam
He's picturing the perp's face on the punching bag.
His fists hit with satisfying thuds, again and again. He strikes and pounds and pummels. Each hit should assuage the anger inside him, should douse the flame of rage beneath his breastbone. But it's not working. Not when a five year old girl is laying in a hospital bed, beaten and raped and too afraid to name names. Not when the girl, with her blond hair and blue eyes looks far too much like his own daughter. Not when the man they suspect is still out there, doing god knows what because the brass had decided that there wasn't enough evidence to expend the resources to sit on him.
He'd nearly punched Cragen when he'd delivered the news. Elliot knew it wasn't the captain's fault, but he couldn't help himself. Couldn't stop the misdirected anger, boiling over, erupting.
Cragen was familiar with this; shot Elliot a look that said leave before I have to kick you out.
So he'd gone to the gym, left his still new partner in Cragen's office to deal with the fallout.
But beating the bag isn't helping him. Isn't denting his anger. Isn't even tiring him out so that the rage would abate. He just keeps picturing that little girl and wondering who the perp would hurt next, the acid of his wrath searing and scorching.
He's ready to take off the gloves. Ready to beat his fists against the nearest wall in the hopes that the pain will help. He turns from the bag and his eyes catch on Olivia's dark hair, the pale blue tank and black dress pants she's wearing as she leans next to the gym door.
"What," He snaps, her demeanor cool in the face of his heat.
"Still haven't calmed down, I see." She comments.
He scowls at her. At her fucking placidity in the face of this injustice.
He turns back to the bag, gloves still on, and resumes the beating, hoping she'll get the message and leave.
But he hears her boots click against the floor and then she's grabbing the bag, holding it steady. He stops abruptly, disoriented by the intrusion.
"Go on. If you think it'll help." Her feet are spread, body braced forward, ready to take on the anger coiled in his muscles.
"What are you doing?" He usually likes her. Maybe too much. But right now, he just wants to be rid of her.
She shrugs, "Trying to get my partner through his temper tantrum so we can get back to work."
"Fuck off." He's never sworn at her before. Never shown her this side of himself. He's been on his best behavior for two months now, ever since she started. He was the senior detective, she was still so new to all of it. He was trying to be a role model, or something like that. But that's out the window now, the misdirected anger flaring again, landing on her when she's taken away the option of beating the bag.
She doesn't rise to his bait. Doesn't fight back. Just looks at him with those dark eyes of hers, the empathy that she has for every survivor now directed at him.
He frowns at this, "Don't."
"Don't what?" She tilts her head a little.
He rips off the gloves then moves to the bench press. He checks the weights, adding more. Adding enough that he'll strain against it. He hopes he can push the rage out that way, hopes he can do it in peace.
But Olivia is still there, hovering nearby.
"You're going to hurt yourself." Her quiet voice fills the empty gym as his hands close around the bar and he stares up at the weight.
"I don't need help." He grunts as he pushes the weight up, brings it shakily down to his chest.
"Don't you?" She offers and he ignores her, pushes the weight up, brings it back down again. It's fatiguing his muscles as expected, but doesn't seem to be helping with anything else.
"Needing help isn't a sign of weakness, Elliot."
He pushes the weight up, drops it back into the cradle and swings himself up.
"Look, I don't need help and I don't need company and I definitely don't need a damn babysitter!" The volume of his voice is increasing with each word, verbally punching at the air between them. But she doesn't flinch, doesn't back off or walk away. Instead she sits on the bench opposite him, braces her hands and leans forward.
"Remember last week?" Her voice low, eyes trained on the floor in front of her.
It comes back to him in a rush. The rape victim who had attempted suicide. The look on Olivia's face when they found her. The way Olivia had refused to leave the precinct until she found the evidence they needed to put away the right perp. The way he'd stayed with his partner because the look in her eyes - sadness, guilt, anger - had made him worry about her.
"We all have our tough cases, El. You helped me through mine. I'm helping you through yours."
And just like that the anger leaves him, deflates the tension curled inside him. Muscles relax, and for the first time in an hour, he can take a real breath.
He slumps where he sits on the bench, lets his head hang down, feels the beads of sweat slide down the back of his neck, curve around his jaw.
"Elizabeth's five. She likes wearing her hair in pigtails." His voice is hoarse when he speaks this thought out loud. The same thought that had been chasing him for three days, since he'd looked down at the little girl with the pigtails, trembling in her hospital bed.
Olivia doesn't reply and they sit in a calm silence for minutes while he lets the tears drip from his eyes, splashing on the ground next to the beads of sweat. He doesn't try to hide it from her. Tells himself she can't tell the difference between the teardrops and the sweat drops.
Eventually he mops the towel over his head, down his face, across his throat. And when he looks up at her, she holds his gaze without pity, without discomfort.
"Thanks," He says softly and she simply nods.
"I'll order dinner, put on a pot of coffee." She says as she gets up to leave, prepare them for the long night of work ahead. "Just do me a favor and shower before you come down." She tosses lightly behind her and he finally smiles.