Chapter Twenty-Four: Shot

Olivia

When we've both run out of tears, and for the first time notice something other than each other, neither of us has the strength to get up and cook. And as much as I'd like to get cleaned up and take you out to dinner, maybe to the little Italian place we went to when you came back the first time… I know it's not wise to risk letting people see you before Hammond gives us an all-clear.

Instead we order from our favorite Chinese place, and I wash my face, and yours over the kitchen sink, rinsing away all the stiffness left by our tears. We sit on the couch waiting for the food, talking vaguely about what you've been doing since you left. When you get to the part about arriving in Oregon, Won's has arrived with our oversized bag of food, and we settle at the kitchen table, the food spread out between us in their little cardboard boxes. We both know we want to keep the conversation light from here on out, and your new life seems to be a relatively stress-free conversation… at least in comparison to the last two days.

"So Oregon huh? Isn't that a little… I don't know-- hick-tastic?"

You laugh, and I love watching the smile spread across your face, "At first. It was like another world. But Liv, if you could have seen some of the little Po-Dunk towns we stopped in on the way. Every time Hammond handed me the key to a new house or apartment I cringed. In a couple of those places I could have been killed for loving you! Or worse, arrested!"

Now I'm laughing, thinking that your priorities might be a little off from all that time in the legal world. "What exactly does a red-headed ex ADA do in Oregon anyway?"

"Red-headed? How do you know they gave me red hair?"

"Your streaks, babe… I noticed them the other day, and again this morning in the shower." You lift your hand to your head, running your fingers through your hair, pushing it away from your face.

"Ugh. I hated that color Liv. Do you know they gave me green contacts? Green! Hammond said that the only way he could make me really unrecognizable was to give me a completely different look, that he was thinking something Irish."

I can imagine how much you loved that idea. I tried to get you to dye your hair red once and I thought you were going to kill me. For some reason you loved the look of red on me, but wouldn't even entertain the idea of matching it.

I listen to you talk about settling in, about decorating your new house, trying to make friends and get used to hearing a new name. You tell me about all the times you wanted to kill Hammond, about calling him a fascist… repeatedly, about waking up every day feeling like everything was new and odd and not wanting to get used to it.

You shake your head then grab the last piece of orange chicken with your chopsticks. I gave up trying to mimic your control with chopsticks a long time ago, and I stab at the last piece of stir-fry broccoli with a single stick, garnering a look of vague disapproval from your steel-blue eyes. I snap the broccoli off my spear and into my mouth, chewing rebelliously at you across the table.

You push away your plate, and get up to take our dishes to the sink, then gathering up the now empty Chinese cartons and dumping them in the trash.

"I can see you're no more civilized than you were when I left," you come up behind my chair and lean over my shoulder, your hair brushing against my cheek as you look at me, "What am I going to do with you?"

I have a few ideas…

Alex

After dinner we make our way back to the bedroom, and I can't help but feel my spirit lighten after such an intense day. Tomorrow things will acquire a distinct complication, as I know Hammond well enough to know he'll insist I spend the week in the FBI-paid for hotel room. I can't help but cringe at the thought of having to deal with Hammond again and you stop kissing me for a minute to look at my face…

"What's wrong?" You look concerned, and I remind myself that a kiss is probably not the best time to go about making funny faces,

"Nothing, sorry… I was thinking about Hammond, and tomorrow."

"Hammond, huh? You know, if it'd help I'd be happy to stand around and look disapproving while telling you what you were expected to do with your life, but I'd rather you were thinking about me while we're making love."

I can't help but laugh at the thought of you pretending to be our favorite federal agent, and the look you give me is an almost perfect imitation of his. "God no, it was just a fleeting thought about this week. I'd rather think about you too," and to reassure you I lean down to nip at the curve of your neck, trailing kisses up and around the edge of your jaw line, "Convinced?"

In response you pull off my tank top and lead my hands to the edge of your shirt. I don't waste my time helping you out of your clothes and as you drop my sweatpants and underwear to the floor we fall into bed together. In your hands, tomorrow is a million hours away, and Hammond is banished from even the deepest recesses of my mind as you kiss me.

Olivia

For a second I'm concerned that you're thinking about a federal agent when I'm trying to get you into bed, but I can understand that you're worried about this week. In all honesty I am too, because I'm not sure exactly what's going to happen when it's all over, and I have to keep reminding myself not to scare myself into losing you again.

Banning my worries from my mind I focus back on you and before I know it, we've tumbled into bed, giggling against each other's lips. Like last night, our lovemaking is tinged with a feeling of newness, and I can only assume that our new emotional intimacy is going to continue to carry-over in all the aspects of our life together, that eventually I'll get used to the intensity of this nearness.

I pull away for a moment, staring at you beneath me in the bed, wanting to memorize every tuck and curve of your body, the way your eyes come to life when you look at me, the delicate pink of your mouth, and the texture of your tongue as you run it along your bottom lip. I trace lines along your body, using my fingers to commit you to my memory. When I reach your right shoulder, I notice for the first time the faintest of scars from where the bullet crashed into you, the faintest of scars to commemorate the real loss of you. I'm overcome by the memory of kneeling over you the way I am now, the memory of kneeling over you on the street, staring at your blood leaking through my fingers. I touch a finger to your scar, and I see a tear slide from your cheek. In all of our talking, we haven't had a chance for you to tell me what it was like, what you were feeling, watching your own life slip away. I lean in to kiss the perfect round mark, then fall into you gently, laying half on top of you the way you laid on top of me our first morning back together, was it only one day ago? For the moment, the idea of sex is lost from both of us, and I know I can't stop the question from appearing between us,

"What was it like… for you?"

Another tear slides from your eyes, and I can see them welling up, as your chin quivers. You turn your head on the pillow to look at my face while you speak.

"Mostly? Mostly I just remember the pop. I remember the sound of gunshots, and wondering what was going on. I couldn't figure out why all of a sudden I was looking at the sky. I remember thinking that it was the kind of night the old us would have gone for a walk in.

"And then you were there, kneeling above me like some kind of… angel in a leather coat, and I thought, 'why is Livvy crying?' I didn't understand that I'd been shot. I kept trying to raise my arm to touch your hair, to brush it out of your face. But I couldn't make it move. And then your hands were on my shoulder and it hurt, having you pushing against me, pinning me down."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt you, I was…"

You hurry to interrupt, "I know. I know. But when I felt the pain, I started to realize what happened. And then I sort of thought it was ironic that I'd been shot, when I was always so worried about it happening to you. I heard you talking to me, saying my name over and over again. I heard you calling me sweetheart and I wondered what Elliot thought about that."

I don't bother to tell you that Elliot was chasing after the car when I said it. It doesn't matter… and this is your part of the story to tell anyway.

Alex

The feel of your finger on my scar breaks through the serenity of our foreplay, and I can't stop a tear thinking about the last time you put your hands on my shoulder like this. I know the question is coming, and as much as I want to forget that it is, as much as I want to pretend it isn't, to go back to making love, I know I'd feel like a hypocrite if I try to brush it off tonight. You've been so compliant about answering all of mine, and we both knew that this was coming.

"What was it like… for you?"

I sigh, and I can feel another tear sliding down my cheek while I search for the right words. Mostly I remember gunshots, and being on the sidewalk, looking up at you. I remember pain at the touch of your hands on my shoulder, wondering why it hurt so much.

"I heard you calling me sweetheart and I wondered what Elliot thought about that. And then when I realized that you'd really called me that, I wanted to say something to you, I tried to open my mouth to tell you I forgave you but I couldn't make that work either. And then for awhile everything just went black, and I dreamed about you flying around me in an angel costume. You kept saying, 'no no no no no,' and I kept saying, 'yes yes yes yes yes' because in my dream I thought we were still fighting."

I know now that the no's were part of your chorus… as you tried to keep me awake, tried to keep me alive, to keep me from slipping away from you.

"I couldn't understand how you could be an angel because I thought I was the one that was dying. And then I thought that I didn't want to die, that I wasn't ready. I kept telling the angel-you that you had to let me go back, because I had some things to sort out first. I kept trying to argue with her, using old cases as backup, trying to legal-speak my way back to you. And the angel-you just kept flying around, swooping down and taking my glasses, then swooping to give them back with a kiss on my nose.

"At some point the angel-you swooped down and put one hand on either side of my shoulder and squeezed, and just as I was realizing how much that hurt I came to in the hospital, with Agent Hammond sitting by the bed. I kept asking him where you were, asking him to get you for me, telling him I needed to see you.

"And of course because he is … well who he is, he refused. I started to cry and he handed me a tissue that I had to use my left hand to dry my eyes with, because my right arm still wouldn't move. When I calmed down he explained what had happened, and told me I'd be going into protective custody, into WPP, that I had to go away for awhile. He told me I couldn't risk seeing anyone, not you, not my mom. He said if I really wanted to help the case against Valez I'd have to go in the program. When I told him to fuck off, that I'd take my chances on the outside, he told me it was too late. That they'd already proclaimed me, 'officially deceased.' I got the nurse to make him leave my room, and I laid there all alone and cried myself to sleep because I finally understood why everyone had tried so hard to get me to quit this case."

You're still looking at my face, and I feel myself getting lost in your eyes for the umpteenth time this weekend. "How did you get him to agree to our meeting?"

I laugh, sniffling away new tears, thinking about it.

"I found his cuffs and his keys when he dumped some stuff on the side table in the hospital one night. He went into the bathroom and while he was inside and the other guard was sitting outside the door, I cuffed myself to the heart monitor they had me hooked up to for awhile and threatened to swallow the key if he wouldn't let me at least say goodbye. I thought he was gonna kill me himself."

You laugh for the first time since dinner and I nestle in closer to you, pulling your body further onto me, using you like a blanket in our bed. "I know it wouldn't have done any good, that he could have just got the master key and unlocked me, but I think he realized how serious I was and gave up on fighting about it."

"No wonder he was so upset that night. Hammond doesn't strike me as the type that likes losing to a woman. Especially not one as beautiful as you."

"heh. Flattery will get you everywhere."

And with that I end our seriousness with a flick of my tongue over your lips. I'm ready to play again, and Hammond is not the image I have in mind.