Cracks
Fleeterberry
Spoilers: Anything through SVU 24x02/OC 3x02
Disclaimer: I don't own them
"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places" Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
She's sitting in her car in the parking garage, trying to mentally reset herself following a long day. Some days the job just gets to her and this is one of those days and honestly she's having more and more of those days. She doesn't even have seeing Noah to look forward to when she gets home because he's away at a week long school trip and even though she feels like he's too young because she always looks at him and sees her sweet baby, he'd begged and pleaded and pointed out there were younger children going and his teacher assured her the kids would be well supervised at all times and finally she gave in because she's afraid of making him miss out on things.
But that means the one bright spot she can always count on isn't there to reluctantly hug her and recharge her mental reserves. With a heavy sigh she reaches for her phone and calls Elliot. Despite their agreement to work on this friendship of theirs, neither of them has much time for anything not related to the job and whatever is left always goes to family. She needs a friend tonight, not one she works with and supervises and wonders quite often if they're actually friends or if they still just feel guilty for what happened to her when they didn't check on her like friends would.
Besides, Elliot said he wanted this to be a two-way street between them and this is the perfect time to see if that's true.
"Hey, partner." He answers on the first ring and she can hear the smile in his voice and somehow she feels better already.
She presses her eyes closed and lets out a breath and while it's not the same as a hug from her son, hearing Elliot's voice is the closest anyone else will ever come. Not to mention, she will never, ever get tired of hearing him call her partner.
Still, she's burned out and overworked and it comes through in her voice when she responds. "Howdy."
"What's wrong?" He knows. A phone call and one fucking word and the man knows. She's been struggling at work for months and no one has said a damn thing, but Elliot catches it immediately. And as much as it comforts her to be reminded of that, it irritates her at the same time because he fucking left and she's still having a hard time getting over that and that's why she doesn't call him all that often and she's always a little surprised when he answers.
It would probably take hours to unload everything that's wrong and she doesn't really even need to say it all and she doesn't even really need help with it. She mostly just wants to know someone is there to help if she asks, which she never will. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just having a long week."
He chuckles a little, but his tone reveals that he knows something is bothering her. "It's only Tuesday, Liv."
"Like I said, I'm having a long week." She sits back in her seat and considers starting the drive home, but instead stays right where she is because she doesn't like driving distracted.
"Did you have dinner yet?"
She wants to laugh and point out that it's early for dinner, but when she checks the time she finds it's already past seven and certainly not too early. She doesn't manage to answer before he speaks up.
"You're still at work, aren't you?"
"Noah's at a school thing so I'm not in a hurry to get home to an empty apartment." She wishes she could take the words back as soon as they leave her mouth. It sounds like she's fishing for an invitation and she really isn't, but now that the thought has crossed her mind she is suddenly hoping he issues one.
And like always, the man reads her damn mind. "I was just going to order pizza. You're welcome to join me."
A thousand excuses spring to mind, all of them to prevent her from actually doing something she wants to do. "It's ok, I'm going to go home and go to sleep early."
He knows, or he's just getting used to asking and being denied, but he's not deterred. "Come on, Liv, you have to eat or you're going to be grumpy tomorrow."
She smiles, knowing she'll spend the morning guzzling coffee and hoping her stomach doesn't growl when anyone's around to hear it. "I don't want to intrude."
"You're always welcome here." He sighs, and she feels bad, like now she's letting both of them down for no reason other than she's used to denying herself things. "Besides, no one's here. It's just me, remember?"
It's hard for her to admit that time went by during those years they were apart sometimes, that Eli has grown up from the baby she held moments after he was born and is now off at college. She has to remind herself that Elliot goes home to an empty house now, like she had during their partnership, because she always imagines him going home to his family like he had during their partnership.
There's a long pause while she's trying to remember why she hasn't agreed to spend any time with Elliot even though she wants them to be friends and then she realizes she doesn't want them to be friends and he doesn't either and that's precisely why she always says no because the idea of changing them scares the shit out of her but they've already changed and it still feels so fucking comfortable when they're together and now she can't think of a single damn reason to say no because he's here and talking to her and it makes her forget all those days when he wasn't.
"So, pizza," he ventures again.
It occurs to her now that their relationship will take one of two courses: either he'll keep asking and she'll eventually give in or he'll stop asking. It hurts to even think of it, to consider the day might come when he gives up and fuck starts dating.
She finds herself giving in because she wants to and he wants her to and she hates the idea that she'll lose him again and it'll be no one's fault but her own this time. "So pizza."
She's turning over the idea of this meal in her head as she drives. It's not really a date, despite the butterflies going to town in her belly, and she tries to tell herself it's just a friendly meal and there's no point in both of them eating alone and trying to figure out if he thinks it's a date or not keeps her from thinking about her current cases and her job in general and how awful she was feeling when she called him. Unfortunately it's back on her mind by the time she arrives at his place and maybe it's fortunate that she's so distracted because she's not a bit nervous when she knocks on his door.
He answers with a smile and twinkling eyes and his shirt is half unbuttoned and Jesus fucking Christ his jeans fit him in a way that makes her forget how to breathe. Her mouth is dry and her heart is racing at the idea of being alone with this man and she's suddenly wide awake.
"Hey, come on in." He steps back and waits for her to move but she still can't breathe so walking seems beyond her capabilities. He notices her lack of response, though mercifully not the reason for it, and he steps forward and leans down and holds her eyes and she can see the concern washing over his face. His hand moves toward her, but stops halfway and drops awkwardly to his side. "You ok?"
She squeezes her eyes closed and nods, trying to pull herself together. She's exhausted and she tells herself that's why she's reacting this way to a man she's known for so fucking many years. She offers a halfhearted smile and finally coordinates her legs enough to move past him and then he's sliding her bag from her shoulder and helping her out of her jacket and it's just fatigue, she swears, but the scent of his cologne washes over her and she's once again trying to remember how to breathe because all she fucking wants to do is collapse into his arms.
And that's the thing that gets her really, that as savagely attracted to him as she is, right now she really just wants a damn hug and the emotional comfort of being so close to him and she knows he will hold her if she asks but she can't ask because she's incapable of asking anyone for anything.
He ushers her to the couch and offers her a drink - beer, wine, soda, water - and asks if she wants to eat in the kitchen or the living room and if she's not too cold from the Fall chill they could eat outside and she wants to laugh at how desperately he's trying to make her comfortable and she wants to tell him to stop trying so hard, but she kind of likes watching him flounder and she decides by the time the pizza arrives that he's definitely considering this a date.
She still hasn't decided herself and she knows that means something because she's not vehemently denying it. She's perched on the edge of the couch, leaning over the pizza box on the coffee table, and he's sitting on the floor with his back against the couch and neither one of them is bothering with a plate and, except for water that has replaced beer, she realizes it could be one of those nights fifteen years earlier when they spent all day together and then decided they hadn't quite had enough of each other and spent the evening together too and half the time even twenty hours wasn't enough and he'd pass out on her couch and she'd reluctantly leave him there when she went to bed so they could wake up and do it all over again.
The pizza is good and she's hungry, but she's still tired and halfway through her second slice she decides she has had enough, drops it back in the box and settles back into the cushions. Elliot is still plowing through the pizza, her abandoned slice included, and he's shifting over a little at a time until he's in contact with her legs and she wants to be nervous about it but she just can't seem to be bothered by it and it's more comfortable than she'd like to admit. His touch is like his presence and it just gives her a sense of peace she's never found with anyone else.
She knows she's drifting off to sleep and she doesn't care if she's embarrassing herself because she feels safe and settled and relaxed. She's vaguely aware of Elliot shifting off the floor and sliding onto the couch beside her and the air is thick with comfort as she leans into him. The TV is on but neither one of them is watching it because he's completely focused on her and how he's supposed to interpret so much physical contact between them and she's focusing on the way he's radiating nervous energy while she's completely relaxed and she doesn't envy him. She knows he's trying to figure out his next move and if she's on the same page and he's trying to guess if she thinks this is a date and she really doesn't even care anymore as she leans further into his side.
Apparently, that's the invitation he needs to wrap his arm around her shoulders and then she turns a little, leaning into him more and then he pulls her a bit closer. The pattern continues, their dynamic of following one another's lead perfectly ingrained despite the change in circumstances, and she's very glad for it because she didn't even have to ask, she just had to let him and before she knows it, she's completely curled against his chest with her arms around his waist and he's cradling her and it's even better than a damn hug to be half asleep in the man's arms.
It's then that she feels some of the overwhelming exhaustion leave her, as she lets herself finally relax from what feels like fucking years of being tense. She's been in charge and on call and responsible for holding up the damn world for so long. And here is some relief, a few minutes to just breathe and be able to trust that someone else will take over for her if she closes her eyes for one damn minute. It's not that she doesn't trust her team, she does, but this is different, this is trust on a basic, instinctual level, and she absolutely knows this man will not only have her back, but will put her ahead of himself.
With the weight and the stress and the loneliness lifted from her shoulders, she feels a million times lighter. She can actually enjoy the closeness, revel in the comfort of his strong arms around her, let the scent of him wash over her as she burrows further into him. She hasn't had this comfort, this contact, for a long time, maybe ever. There are no expectations here, no worries about how things will proceed. She knows - absolutely knows - he will follow her lead. He won't push. And though he has made his intentions toward her perfectly obvious, he has also made it abundantly clear that he won't pressure her in any way. He'll respect her limits, her boundaries.
And she suddenly realizes that means everything to her because she loves him, no matter all her protestations otherwise, and she wants him, there's no point in denying that anymore, and it would take a frighteningly miniscule bit of suggestion or flirting or cajoling from him to get her to give in. He probably knows that, knows that she can barely resist him, and so yields to her decree that they're friends.
She wonders then which one of them is actually running the show here. If she only sets the ground rules because he lets her, then maybe he's calling the shots. Then again, he's not getting what he wants, at least not yet, so maybe she's in charge after all.
Or maybe, which she realizes is absolutely true, neither of them has any fucking control here at all. This thing between them is just rolling along under its own volition, momentum growing with every second, steamrolling everyone and everything around them, between them. Somehow by accepting just one invitation, she's already in his arms and she suspects she's known all along how this was going to turn out and while she has never been a fan of just surrendering to fate, she thinks it might be ok to make an exception this one time.
Or it's just the fatigue from work that drove her here in the first place and is leading her to think crazy thoughts she'd never normally have.
That's the thought that tenses her back up, starting in her gut and slowly spreading through her shoulders and arm and legs until she's stiff as a damn board. He feels it, of course he does, and he withdraws immediately, barely a second passing from her being draped across his body to sitting next to him with a good foot separating their bodies.
She knows she owes him some kind of explanation, some reason for the ridiculously mixed signals she's sending him tonight. But she really doesn't have one, doesn't quite understand what the fuck is her problem, doesn't know what she can say that won't make him assume she's manipulating him, intentionally or otherwise.
Instead of any sort of excuse or defense of her behavior, when she opens her mouth, something entirely unexpected falls out.
"I think Rollins is going to quit." She'd known Amanda was upset and traumatized and not handling her return to work well, but she hadn't consciously realized what she was really thinking until she said it.
Elliot's nodding thoughtfully while he stares unseeing at the TV, probably trying to figure out what changed in the last two minutes and how talking about her coworker came up in the middle of what he assumed was a date.
"I've got a new detective too and I like her, but she's fresh from the gang unit, so it's taking some work to get her to shift gears. I didn't want to saddle Fin or Amanda with training her, so I've got Velasco training her, but he's barely got a year in and I still don't know if I even trust him."
Elliot's eyes are back on her and she sees him nodding still, trying to encourage her to continue. She knows he doesn't quite understand what she's telling him nor why she's telling him, but at least he's listening and letting her vent which is what she really wants and she thinks she's finally getting a handle on her own thoughts.
"I don't know how the hell Cragen did it so long. This job is hell."
He reaches out then, his hand lightly covering hers. "He cared, Liv, but he didn't take it home with him." There's a gentle squeeze of his fingers around hers. "He was able to let it go."
And then she's the one nodding, because she knows he's right. She's much more hands on than any other captains she knows. She doesn't need to be in the streets, in the interrogation rooms, racing all over town trying to catch the bad guys and protect the innocent and fight for the victims. The truth is she never really wanted to be the captain. She never wanted to climb the ranks. She would have been happy being a detective for her entire career - she and Elliot have that in common. She wonders if maybe that's why he walked away, because he'd been the senior detective in the unit and Munch wasn't going to step up because he knew better and someone would have been expected to move into the management role as Cragen neared retirement. She wonders if maybe she shouldn't have done the same thing.
Except the victims. She hates the idea of leaving them, of walking away from someone who needs her help, of turning her back on anyone because she's had that done to her so many times that she can't bear to do it to someone else.
She rests her head back against the couch and turns to look at Elliot. "How did you know it was time to leave?" Her voice is halting, the words choking her, the pain of remembering causing her voice to drop to a whisper. They've only talked about him leaving once and they were both so caught up in a maelstrom of emotions at the time she's not sure either of them actually remembers what transpired that night. All she remembers is that it hurt so fucking much to see him, though not nearly as much as it had hurt to lose him, and she hadn't been sure at the time that she wasn't hallucinating because the idea of him just reappearing in her life after so long seemed completely impossible.
He pulls his hand from hers, his fingers moving to rub along his chin in a manner that seems frighteningly familiar to something she does herself under stress and she's distracted for a moment, knowing they picked it up from one another, but trying to decide who started it and who was unconsciously mirroring the other. She has no idea and she realizes they've been copying each other for decades and she remembers how she used to wear blue all the time when they were partners because he likes blue and how when he was gone she'd taken to wearing loose-fitting, oversized clothes she thought reflected her status as a leader, but now that he's back and she believes he intends to stay, she's started wearing more fitted, fashionable things like he does now. She wonders if he's aware of it and decides he's probably never thought about it and she's telling herself she needs to sit down and really think about what she wants to wear and how she wants to dress instead of copying Elliot.
And by the time he leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees, she's starting to think the sloppy mom clothes she was wearing for a while there were more a product of being busy and tired rather than a real reflection of how she wanted to dress.
"I wrestled with it for a long time. Kept talking myself into giving it one more case, one more month, but after I talked to Cragen about it, we decided it was probably best for me and my family if I left." His voice is as soft and broken as hers, but she barely notices because his words crush her.
He'd been thinking about it, apparently for a long time, he'd even fucking talked to Cragen about leaving, and she hadn't know a damn thing about it. He'd never mentioned the idea to her and she'd always comforted herself that he'd simply decided one day it was too much, that shooting a teenage girl was something he couldn't possibly recover from, and just walked away. It was more fitting to his style, after all, to react without thinking, to do something that he might later regret, but couldn't be bothered to reconsider in the moment when his temper and emotions were running high.
But no, it hadn't been killing Jenna that had made him walk away. He'd already been thinking about it and that experience was probably the last straw.
She swallows hard and tells herself she needs to get over this attachment to him because it is obviously very much one sided and she is only making a fool of herself by thinking there is anything at all between them because he'd been thinking about leaving and planning to leave and hadn't felt it was necessary to even mention it to his partner.
He continues after a pause, maybe having expected she would say something, maybe realizing she has no idea what to say after hearing him finally admit the truth. "I finally decided to leave. Cragen agreed it was a good call and made me promise to stay long enough to train my replacement," he glances at her then, a sad smile on his face, "and then I stayed twelve more years."
Her mind is still turning around the concept that he and Cragen had been discussing his departure for some time before he fucking left without a damn word and how neither one of them had bothered to give her a heads up so she doesn't really even hear his words. She hears the pregnant pause, feels the way he's staring at her, and she looks up, trying to understand what makes no sense to her whatsoever.
"I wasn't training you to be my partner, Liv. You were supposed to be my replacement." He reaches out again, his hand closing over hers, his grip biting into her skin. "The job was killing me, but I couldn't leave you."
She feels the tears in her eyes, overwhelmed as the words sink in, something she dares to label as understanding finally settling into her thoughts. She'd always wondered why he'd left, if it had been his family, if it had been something she'd done, if he had just decided to walk away because what she'd thought they shared hadn't been mutual. But now, now, she thinks she gets it. Now it makes sense. He hadn't left because of something she'd done or failed to do. He hadn't left to hurt her or to get away from her or to choose someone else over her.
He'd stayed for her.
He'd fought with the same demons that were currently torturing her for twelve years for her.
And now, his words at the hospital that night, the ones that had never made any sense to her, are completely obvious. If I heard your voice, I wouldn't have been able to leave. He would have stayed for her even if she hadn't known to ask.
She lets out the breath she's been holding, knowing that what he's just confessed is going to take days, weeks, fuck probably years to fully process. But she does know now that he won't pass judgement on her for thinking about leaving. He'll understand, better than anyone ever could.
She sags deeper into the cushions, keeping her hand still to encourage the contact that remains between them. "I keep thinking it's time to retire, to get out before I lose my damn mind, before I lose any more time with Noah, but I don't have any friends who aren't connected to the job. Fin and Amanda will tell me to stay, even if they're leaving themselves."
He sits back, perhaps a smidge closer than he had been, their linked hands still resting on the cushion between them. "If you feel like it's time to go, Liv, it's probably time to go." As if anticipating her next words, he turns toward her with a small smile. "You've dedicated your life to that place. You've done enough."
But she knows, fears, that as soon as she gets back to work in the morning - hell, it's highly likely a call will disturb her phone during the night - someone else's life will have been shattered and rearranged and her heart clenches at the thought. "I haven't done enough. It's a damn drop in a bucket. There's always going to be another one and another one and one after that."
"How many victims have you worked with? How many perps have you locked up? You've made a difference. That's enough." He moves again, letting go of her hand as he scoots closer and wraps his arm around her shoulders. "How much of yourself have you given up for it? You have to take care of yourself and your son, Olivia."
She's quiet for a long time, her mind still reeling from the night. From the level of physical comfort she finds in sitting next to him. From the revelation he made. From the idea that she wasn't to blame for somehow driving him away. From the fact that he's listening to her and offering her the support she feared her friends wouldn't give her.
"Sometimes I don't feel like I'm really helping them. I mean, I try, but what does justice really mean when someone is permanently scarred?" She bites her lip, the idea of pointing out that she knows firsthand there's no such thing as justice for some people, but she doesn't want to have that discussion with him, not tonight, not yet.
Instead she focuses her thoughts on Delia Hackman, victims like her, people who really have no tools to navigate the system and who, without the help of people with those skills, would be swallowed alive by injustice. The thought spills out of her mouth before she even finishes thinking it. "Maybe I could start a foundation or something, find a way to help the victims, offer them support the police can't." It feels like an important thought to her and she'd like the luxury of time to reflect on it.
"That sounds like a good idea. A hell of a lot of work, but a good idea." He tugs her closer with gentle pressure on her arm, testing to see if whatever had spooked her earlier is gone, checking if she's comfortable snuggling into him again. "A lot of people would support you, me included, whatever you need."
She gives into the pull, once again thinking that she's got no good reason to deny both of them some respite in the struggle that is their daily existence. She rests her head on his shoulder. "I suspect I'd need the support of someone with deep pockets too, but thank you." She feels calmer and more relaxed and she wonders if he found the same sort of relief in her presence during their partnership. She'd only been toying with the idea of retirement for a year, not even seriously at first, just letting the idea percolate in her mind until it started to feel more familiar. But now that she no longer has the knee-jerk reaction to deny the very idea, now that it has started to become a real option in her mind, she finds the stress of her job feels worse. Like now she knows there's a door, she's very tempted to use it.
So many cases recently have left her wondering if she's really doing anything for anyone besides making herself rue her life choices, squander precious time with her son, and waste what's left of her energy fighting political battles. She considers the changed man next to her and she wonders how many of the changes she attributed to time and age were actually due to the fact that it had been ten years since he'd finally left the job he'd decided to leave before they'd even met.
She's only been feeling this struggle for a few months. She can't imagine how she'd survive it for fucking years. Maybe the stress was to blame for his angry outbursts and violent temper and bloody knuckles pounding into lockers. She'd never offered to help him because she'd thought that passion was simply who he was. She'd only recently met this other version of him.
"Why didn't you ever tell me," she rasps out the question in a choked voice, not even realizing until she speaks that she's near tears at the idea of him suffering in silence for so long.
"You would have told me to go." He's stiff then, as though he's expecting an argument, or maybe, he's afraid she won't make one.
"It would have hurt like hell, but I wouldn't have asked you to stay." The tears are starting to fall, just a few drops, rolling down her cheeks and onto his shirt before she can react to wipe them away.
"You wouldn't have needed to." His voice is choked too and she knows he's referencing his own explanation, that just talking to her would have made him stay, that he would have continued suffering in silence because he thought she wanted him there.
It takes a few minutes before she can speak, before she can dislodge the lump in her throat, while he's valiantly sniffling and pretending he's not crying and she's hoping like hell the tears she can't stop don't wind up making her nose run onto his shirt.
"I understand, El." She forces out that much before she has to swallow, clear her throat, and make herself continue. "Why you left like you did. I get it." She knows it wasn't about hurting her or not trusting her or wanting to leave her. It was a life or death choice after Jenna; he wouldn't have survived if he'd stayed. And losing him that way wouldn't have hurt less. In fact, she's glad now for it, for his escape, because he's here and he's alive and they're able to snuggle together on his couch and finally tell each other the damn truth.
"I wanted to come back sooner. I thought about it all the time. I tried to guess when would be the right time, when you would have forgiven me, when you might be happy to see me again, but-" his voice runs off and she knows exactly what he's thinking - that there would never have been a right time because she'd been pissed off and hurt and she would have absolutely destroyed him if he'd come back any other time. If he hadn't been wounded and vulnerable and incapable of reason, she might have laid into him and let out all the anger that had built up over the years.
She shakes her head against his shoulder. She understands the why of his leaving and her pain and she doesn't need any more explanation from him. "It's over, El. You're here and we're ok."
His hand starts to slide gently up her back, his fingers tracing so lightly over her shirt she barely feels the touch, but somehow it's all she can focus on in that moment and she has to force herself to draw her attention back to his voice when he speaks. "Are we? Ok, I mean?"
And really, she has no idea what ok even means, not anymore, not after the last few years. But for once, that qualifier doesn't apply to her relationship with Elliot. "We're as ok as we ever were."
He seems to accept her answer, her forgiveness, and in keeping with this new man she's been getting to know since his return, he doesn't push. He doesn't demand clarification. He doesn't insist on taking more from her than she's willing to give. He's content, apparently, to just relax on the couch with her leaning into his side and his arm around her and his fingers gently playing over her shirt.
She's content too, relishing this peace that has been so hard to find, reconciling everything in her mind. Not forgiving Elliot has taken up a considerable portion of her psyche as of late and though she had valid reasons, letting that pain go is unwinding years of aching from around her heart. It's going to take a long time for it to really sink in, but she can feel the binds loosening, the chains that held her locked in that pain and anger for so long and she wants to revel in this part.
But even as she lets that one burden drop from her shoulders, she feels the others still weighing her down. The career stress and the impending departure of Rollins aren't going anywhere. The dread of finally telling Elliot about Lewis is also not going to abate until she finds the right time and that is definitely not tonight.
There is something else, though, something she's desperately wanted to tell someone for months, and has never felt comfortable confiding the truth in anyone. But Elliot will listen. Elliot won't judge. Elliot will let her talk without shaming her.
She swallows hard and takes a breath, feeling the way Elliot's relaxed hold on her tenses in response. He knows there's something coming and he knows he isn't going to like it. But he doesn't pull away and that gives her hope because she wants the comfort of his arms around her while she confesses one of her deepest, guiltiest secrets.
"When I was sixteen, I dated an older guy, one of my mom's students, and my mom hated him, but I was sixteen and I knew everything, right, I thought I was in love and he wanted to marry me."
He's still tense and she can feel the way he's holding his breath because he already knows he doesn't want to hear this, but he doesn't move, doesn't release her, doesn't stop stroking her arm. "Yeah, your soulmate, I remember you telling me about him."
She scoffs into his shirt and she shakes her head against him. "He wasn't my fucking soulmate, Elliot." Because, honestly, if she were prone to believing such things, which she's not now that she's not sixteen anymore, she'd say her soulmate was the man holding her and willing to listen to this hideous story even though he already knows he doesn't want to hear it.
"He was grooming you." His whisper is loud in the room and in her ears and she feels like he might as well have shouted it for how mortified she is.
And she's not mortified that it happened to her because she's been down this road with victims so damn many times she knows it wasn't her fault and she knows there was nothing she did wrong. She's mortified because it would have been so fucking obvious to Elliot when she'd told him, when she was still a new detective and somehow still proud of the fact that this worldly older man had wanted to marry her if not for her mother's meddling.
Fuck, she had been such a naive idiot. It's a wonder Elliot didn't refuse to work with a detective who couldn't read the writing on the wall.
She tells herself she should leave it here, simply let it be acknowledged both that she had been a victim and that she recognizes it. But she feels the need to get it off her chest, to throw open the closet doors and let Elliot see all the fucking skeletons and wait for his response.
Because she's trusting him now and she wants to find out how he'll react.
Because maybe she's testing him too.
"He showed up last year on a case, just showed up and started flirting and pretending like I was still sixteen."
It's unconscious, she knows, but his fingers tighten then, his short nails digging into her skin as he tries to ground himself, brace himself to hear something that's going to make him want to put his fist through a fucking wall.
"Turns out he'd made a whole fucking life for himself out of grooming and abusing and bullying women. Of course, I didn't realize that until after I'd slept with him again."
HIs fists are still tight around her clothes and he's still tense and she can hear how hard he's fighting to keep his voice calm and even. "Is he in prison?"
She bites her lip, forces herself to breathe, trying not to sob as she fights her way through the confession. "None of the charges stuck. And when a new case came up that might have finally gotten him, I-" and there are the sobs she was biting back, choking her voice, and escaping loudly as she crumbles and shakes and tells him enough by her reaction that he doesn't even need to hear her sins.
His hands relax then, his arms pulling her tight against his chest, his fingers stroking her back, his voice murmuring comfort in her ear.
He lets her cry, allows her the safety to expel her demons, offers no shame or hollow words of reassurance, just his solid embrace and his presence and his assurance that he's there.
Finally. Her partner, her friend, is finally there for her when she needs him, the two-way street apparently open to traffic.
When she's calm again, her tears dried to salty streaks on her face, her throat raw from sobs, she feels her whole body sag into his. He's still there, still holding her, still not asking her what the fuck is wrong with her for being so damn stupid.
"If you ever hear from him again, Olivia, you call me, ok? I'll deal with him."
She swallows hard, thinking she should be embarrassed, instead feeling grateful that he's offering exactly what she needs - the assurance that he'll be there, looking out for her interests even when - if - she's too confused to do it herself. "I don't think I'll hear from him again."
"But if you do," he growls and the sound is comforting because it's protective. "Liv, promise me."
She nods against his chest, giving him the reassurance she'll allow him to protect her for once. Because he's not her partner, her equal, anymore. He's her friend and they can lean on each other when they're weak.
They're quiet for a long while and she'd like to drift off to sleep and she knows he'll hold her all night if she does, but her brain can't seem to shut off now. She keeps turning over the whole fucked up situation with Lowe, allowing herself to actually think about it now that she has finally told someone and is no longer blinded by the shame. She'd been so damn young when she'd met him, when he'd gotten into her head, and she now sees how very deeply he'd altered her perspective.
She's hoarse when she speaks again and she's glad to be pressed into Elliot's chest as she talks so she doesn't have to see his face, his pity, as she gives voice to what she has just realized. "He was the first person I ever loved, or thought I loved. He was my first everything. Every relationship I've ever had has stemmed from that idea of love." She's too tired to cry again, but damn she wants to because her life is so fucking sad. "I have no idea what it's like to be loved or to love someone." She loves her son, but that's different and she knows she doesn't have to explain that, But the fact remains that she's never loved someone as an adult because all of her ideas about love were based on the emotions of an abused child.
He sighs, his exhale falling into her hair, and she almost tenses because she's nervous but the emotional evening has left her too tired to do anything but wait for his pity. His fingers thread through her hair as he leans down to tuck his cheek next to hers. "This is love, Olivia, you and me."
She hears his words, but more than that, she feels them. She understands why being with him has always felt different from being with anyone else, how she can be furious with him while trusting him absolutely. And somehow, hearing him say something that should be surprising and yet somehow isn't, tells her that it's true, which gives her the strength to make a joke.
"How would you know? You got married when you were a kid."
She waits, her heart in her throat, wondering if maybe mentioning his marriage was a bad idea.
But rather than anger or irritation, he chuckles in her ear, pulling her a little bit closer, tucking his arms back around her waist. "So let's figure it out together."
She feels closer to him than she ever has to anyone in her life, a feeling that used to dumbfound her from time to time when they were partners, but she hasn't felt since he's been back. Not until now. She leans up to look at him, to catch his eye, to see that connection mirrored back in his eyes, but there is barely time for her to even make eye contact before he is moving closer, his eyes closing, hers as well, his lips covering hers.
His kiss is gentle, languid, soft, and yet somehow possessive, like he's trying to tell her, show her, that she is his and he is hers and they are bound to each other. She feels like a teenager as she kisses him back, her confidence in her emotions and thoughts and feelings shaken by her history, but she feels the eagerness too, along with the anxiety that comes with any first kiss. She's desperate for more, to explore his assertion that what they share is love, to learn more about this concept that she's not sure she fully grasps, except she does because what they have, what she feels for him, what he feels for her, has been going on for a long, long time without either of them daring to name it.
She thinks it's too soon when he starts to pull back, but she lets him go rather than chasing him, not wanting to appear too desperate, too clingy, hoping like hell she hasn't embarrassed herself.
His voice is soft, uncertain, and if she were pressed, she'd say nervous. "I'm sorry, I should have asked permission."
She almost giggles in relief, in knowing that he's worried about jumping the gun himself, but instead she shakes her head. "You don't have to."
His eyes are steady on hers, his conviction obvious. "Yes, I do." And perhaps he's right, considering what she's just confessed.
She smiles, happy to be the one giving the reassurance once again. "You have my permission."
And then he's smiling back. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She tucks her head back against his chest. She wants to stay there forever, to enjoy this closeness, to be unburdened for just a little while, but it's late and she knows every moment that goes by is another moment closer to her phone ringing and dragging her unhappily back to Captain mode. "It's getting late," her whisper is so soft she barely hears it and she knows that's because she doesn't want to have reality infringe on this evening.
He hears her anyway, probably having been anticipating such a remark all evening because he's ready with a reply as soon as the words leave her mouth. "Stay here." He waits only a second, telling her he has been thinking about it, waiting for her to suggest leaving, and is ready to dispute any argument she might make. "Noah's not home, you're already half asleep," and then he's leaning back to meet her eyes with a smirk curving his lips. "And this way I can tell everyone I got you in bed on the first date."
She returns his smirk and raises an eyebrow. "Might be better for your reputation if you just keep letting them believe you got me in bed a couple decades ago."
His smirk disappears, replaced with a wide smile, his eyes dancing with happiness. "So this counts as a date then?"
She still hasn't worked out the answer to that question in her mind and she's not about to get snookered into agreeing with him just because he looks so damn adorable when he's happy like he is now. She stands up instead, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. "How about we go to bed and then we can discuss that when I'm not so tired?"
"But it's easier to win arguments when you're tired."
She knows he knows that. She knows he's known that for years. She knows she should dispute it and insist on having her way just to prove that she can win an argument even when she's tired. But he's leading her to his bedroom and she's so enamored with the idea of sleeping in his arms that she's not even sure what winning the argument would look like and she's pretty damn sure that if winning involves going home alone then she wants nothing to do with it.
Maybe they're both winning, she decides, as she climbs into his bed, wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants, snuggling up to him more or less the same way she had on the couch except now their legs are free to tangle together. Or maybe she's wrong and she is losing, because she knows she never wants to sleep any other way ever again and she suspects he's known that all along.
But if this is wrong, she doesn't ever want to be right.