Chapter Twelve: Next to You

Olivia

The sensation of a weight on my outer thigh registers first. The sun peeking through the blinds, making me see red in the back of my eyelids comes second, almost simultaneous to the realization that it wasn't a dream. I don't open my eyes though-- not yet. I just want to take a minute to soak in the feel of you, one leg draped over me, my skin cold except for your contact because you've taken all the covers, as usual. The familiarity of this moment overwhelms me and tears slide from under my lashes. I turn, slowly away from our spooning position, to face you, my eyes still closed-- making my movements as soft as possible so I don't wake you.

I take in the sight of you next to me. When I'm done moving your leg shifts position, your long calf moving up and down for a moment, then settling back against my thigh, your knee bent, your foot curled at an angle I could never achieve so that it rests against the back of my leg. You sleep against me the way I always slept against your pillow, holding me close to you with your long legs, skin on skin. I smile, looking from your now still leg up to your sleeping face. Your lips are parted, delicately and even though I know you'll deny it to your dying day I can hear the faintest snore escape you. I reach my hand up to your face, surprised at how tired my muscles are after last night. I've always considered myself to be in good shape, and I can only assume that it's the emotion of you that has exhausted me.

My thoughts return to last night. I still feel the disbelief deep inside, and I can't help but wonder if I imagined it all, even with your solid weight against my flesh. I know it wasn't a dream, that it wasn't wishful thinking. I know that you're really here, but I still don't believe it.

When I turned around and saw you, leaning in the doorway of my bathroom… Watching me with that infuriating half-smile dancing on your lips, the new version of the glasses of justice resting on your nose. I should have said something. Did I say anything to you? Did I ever find my voice? I can't remember now. But I don't remember you saying much either. A snotty remark about your glasses, and then later that "hi" that reached out to grab me on the sofa. It was such a silly thing to respond to, but I did. It broke my trance, reminded me to breathe, led me back to your lips.

I watch your eyelids flutter, still closed. I wonder what you're dreaming here in my bed where you belong, under my covers, draped over me in such a beautifully familiar way. If it wasn't for the added length in your hair, the fading red streaks that I can see more clearly in the daylight that peeks behind you through the window, I could almost pretend you'd never left. I can't stop the sigh that escapes my lungs as I remind myself that you did leave. I remind myself that you were gone. I remind myself that I had to change to get you back.

I remember suddenly, that I did speak to you last night. But only once. I lean into you again… stopping my lips only a breath from your ear, and I say it again.

Alex

I was dreaming about you. Not that that's new. I always dream about you. When I don't dream about the night I was shot. Or the night I left you. Of course even then my dreams are mostly about you. About your face, about your touch, about your tears. How many times have I seen that look on your face, felt the pressure of your hands as you press against my shoulder, trying to stop my bleeding. How many times have I heard your voice, fading in… then out. I know you're talking to me, I knew you were talking to me, looking at me, inches from my face… but I can't make you out. I see your lips forming words…

"Nononononono… Alex…. Alex. C'mon sweetheart, it's ok. Alex?"

I hear you scream at Elliot to call a bus. I watch your face contort in agony as my blood rushes through your fingers. I wonder if you replaced my ring, or if you just had it cleaned professionally. Does blood stain silver? I want to say something to you, tell you I'm all right but as I stare at the tears beginning to fall from your eyes you fade away, taking the streets of New York with you.

But those aren't my dreams tonight. Tonight my dreams are lovely. They're softer, kinder. Full of your smile and your eyes. And those words. Full of those words I waited so long to hear you say. Words I've left you over.

Those words are why I wouldn't go home with you that night. When Agent Donavon was killed. Even after it was all over. Elliot drove us to my apartment and you offered, demanded to stay with me. I wanted you there that night. I wanted you near me. But I knew where this whole mess was leading. I knew that one way or another I was going to have to leave you soon. Whatever we had left blew up with Donavon in that car. And I still couldn't breeze over my anger at you. Even scraped, and bruised, and scared out of my mind… numb with my fear. I've never watched a man die before. And then Hammond, arriving out of nowhere, attacking my intentions as you stood between us, your hand bandaged… the cuts on your fingers still bleeding.

As soon as the official protective detail showed up, I made you leave. I forced you out the door with Elliot. I told you I wanted you both to sleep tonight, that we'd all need to be alert in the morning. You lingered behind Elliot as he trudged down the stairs from my loft apartment. I saw you shoot a look at the bulky men in my detail, I know you thought they wouldn't be good enough… that nobody could possibly protect me better than you. But even in my shock and revulsion and terror I couldn't forgive your omissions.

"Just go, Liv. I'll be fine." I put my hand on yours as it gripped the butt of your gun. "They won't let anything happen to me Olivia. You're going to have an early day tomorrow Detective, you should go home and get some rest."

Calling you that… "Detective," it's my own cruel reminder to you of the rift you've left in our intimacy. I know my eyes look hard to you, the set of my mouth angry. Because even in my fear I'm upset at you. To avoid feeling the trauma of Donovan's death I do something you do well… I'll trade one emotion for another. Usually you replace sorrow with anger. I choose to replace my fear with it instead. I break my contact with your hand, turning my back to you as I leave you to find your way out. "You have a key, lock the door behind you." I don't wait to see you pass through the doorway, and I'm halfway to the bedroom when I hear the click of your key turning in the lock.