Chapter Five: Firsts

Olivia

Elliot shakes his head, letting me get it out, talking about that night, our fight. Our first. Everything with you was a first… well almost everything.

"The night of your mom's funeral? Isn't that the night…"

"Yeah." I still feel ashamed, remembering Elliot's face swimming through my beer-vision at the bar. "The night you had to get me at Maloney's. Look, El, I never…"

"No thanks necessary. At least now it makes a little more sense. You know you mumble when you're drunk? You kept talking about some 'her'; 'kissing her,' 'holding her,' I assumed you were talking about your mom, but it was still weird. Makes a little more sense now."

I can feel a blush rising on my cheeks, wondering what the hell I really said, and knowing Elliot's too good a friend to ever tell me. Even in the crowded restaurant, I can't help but let a few quiet tears find their way down my cheek. It's so good to finally come clean. He's the first person I've ever told about you. He's the first person besides you that I've told about anything. I never even told my mom about my… proclivities. She witnessed a few of my college trysts, but we never talked about it. She looked so relieved the first time I told her about Cassidy. Even though I refused to date him, she looked relieved to hear that I was normal. So much of my life was abnormal already, I know how she would have struggled with the idea of making a life with someone like Alex.

I look up, fiercely wiping tears from my cheek. Now Elliot is blushing again, looking uncomfortable as he poses his next question. "So, when did you… you know. Um. I mean, clearly she took you back. So when did it get –serious?"

"We didn't speak for awhile. Not outside of work. I couldn't find the words. Couldn't apologize. Couldn't do what she wanted me to… I couldn't loosen up my tongue enough to even say I was sorry. I caught the look in her eyes when I told her I had 'other options' Elliot. I was afraid she wouldn't forgive me.

"But then we had that case. You remember the Austin case?"

"The one with the kid… Ashley right, the one that got attached to you?"

"Yeah. I stopped by Alex's office one night, asking her not to abandon the case. She sat across from me and asked me why I wouldn't let it go. Why I couldn't let it go, even when Ricki tried to get me fired. I told her I couldn't let that kid stay there. Couldn't just pitch her aside the way everybody else had. Because I knew. Because I knew what it meant to have your mom ignore you, pretend you didn't exist. For the first fifteen years of my life my mom shut me out. When I was nine I broke this vase. Huge, hand-thrown porcelain vase. Irreplaceable. She was drunk when she got home, and so angry. She saw me trying to glue it back together, started screaming at me. Calling me a bastard. A stupid, rape-created bastard. 'Cause you know, that's all your daddy was Livvy, just some hateful, grotesque rapist."

I remember telling you about that night. About how she almost hit me, but not quite. About the way she said my name… Livvy, in a tone I'd never heard before. Full of rage and disgust and self-loathing… full of regret. You took my hand, covered it with yours, I felt you stroking my thumb, calming me. That kid, with her curly blond hair, that desperate, lonely look in her eyes. I saw myself in her and I couldn't let it go. You could have fought me for it. You could have demanded I drop the case, hand it off. But you didn't. You moved, sat on the couch with me, wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into you. It was the first real touch since our fight. I thought I was going to drown in your scent. And I didn't think drowning would be all that bad. With your arms wrapped around my shoulders you whispered to me as I crouched in the hollows of you, letting you envelope me.

"It wasn't your fault Liv. Your mom, this kid… none of it's your fault. I trust you. I trust your instinct. If you think she needs help, we'll find a way. Let's talk to Don. We'll find a way."

Elliot looks at his uneaten lunch, "you never told me that. About your mom."

"I never told anyone about it. Alex… Alex was different. Don't think I suddenly did a 360 and started confessing all my secrets. Most of our fights centered on my reluctance to discuss my life, and my feelings. Especially my feelings for her. I'm so used to keeping everything to myself, used to having to hide everything. But I can't hide this anymore El. Not now." I don't tell him what the rest of our fights are about. He's already too familiar with my drinking, and its consequences.

Elliot's eyes cloud with confusion, and his head tilts in his unspoken question.

I look around the restaurant, down at our untouched food. Elliot waves his hand for the check and following my lead, walks out of the restaurant and back to the sedan.

"She's coming back."

Alex

I can't help feeling like this week is dragging. I woke early this morning, reaching to your side of the bed, which is silly since you've never slept here with me. Not in this bed. Not in this room. I wonder what you'd think of this place. You'd probably try to paint the walls. I'd hate to see what color. You always had a spiteful streak in you. They'd probably end up lime green. I chuckle at the thought of you painting my home.

Not my home. It's strange how comfortable I've been able to get here. Every day I wake up and wish I was back in my loft, or back in your apartment. Even back in that huge, overpriced castle my mother calls home. But still, the word home doesn't stumble out of my lips the way it used to here. I miss the city, but Oregon's statewide, small-town feeling has been a nice change. Even in the busiest part of Portland's metropolis, people greet you as if they've known you forever. Shopkeepers are kind, clerks friendly. If you've shopped somewhere twice, or three times, they already know you on sight. In New York, you're lucky if your tailor of twelve years remembers your last name. When the program moved me into this huge house on the border of Salem, I couldn't understand how anyone could call this city the Capital of anything. Portland seemed much more appropriate to me. But I've become attached nonetheless. Still I plan to go back to New York, try and pick up my life. Because regardless of how much I like it here, I'll always come back to you. Not just because I need you. Because I know you need me. Even if you're never able to admit it.

You almost did once. The Austin case, 2001. Almost exactly 4 years ago. Wow. You showed up in my office, sat on the sofa and asked me not to abandon the file. I had to know why you were willing to risk your job for that case. To risk your job for one kid, a kid that everyone suspected was only damaging herself. I remember the way your eyes dimmed, the way you looked like you were actually going to cry. I pulled my chair across from you, our knees almost touching as I watched you finally loosen your grip on your reservations.

"I can't let that kid stay there. I can't just pitch her aside the way everyone else is. Because I know, Alex. Because I know what it means to have your mom ignore you, pretend you didn't exist. For the first fifteen years of my life my mom shut me out.

"When I was nine I broke this vase. This irreplaceable antique porcelain vase. Irreplaceable. She was drunk when she got home, and so angry. She saw me trying to glue it back together, started screaming at me. Calling me a bastard. A stupid, rape-created bastard. 'Cause you know, that's all your daddy was Livvy, just some hateful, grotesque rapist'."

I remember how your tears finally started. Slow, and independent, two large drops slipped down your cheeks as you told me about the tone in her voice. About the way she said your name. I wanted to say it then, Livvy. I wanted to change the way you heard it. Now I know why you never let anyone call you anything but Olivia. Or Benson. Or, if you're in the lucky few… Liv. I didn't say it. Instead I took your hand, I covered it with mine, stroked your thumb with mine.

I get it now. I get the reflection you see in that girl's eyes. I still didn't approve of you risking your job for this. I probably should have asked you to give it somebody else. Should have told you you were too involved. But I couldn't stand to chastise you. I moved to the couch, releasing your hand and draping my arm over your shoulders, pulling you into me, pulling you into the hollow of the 'c' shape my body made on the couch. It was the first real touch since our fight. The nearness of you drowned my senses, and I lost myself in your hair. I wrapped my arms around your shoulders and whisper to you, trying not to get sidetracked by the scent, the feel of your skin.

"It wasn't your fault Liv. Your mom, this kid… none of it's your fault. I trust you. I trust your instinct. If you think she needs help, we'll find a way. Let's talk to Don. We'll find a way."

It was your first real revelation. One of few. I guess after awhile I got used to it. I got used to talking about me, telling stories and not hearing them in return. I stopped pushing you for details. Stopped asking about your life. I decided I could live without knowing who you had been. It was the not knowing how you felt that infuriated me, frustrated me, and yes.. hurt me. It's something we're going to have to talk about when I get back. Whether you want to or not. Because I'm coming back. And there are things I need to know.