"Liv! Open the damn door!" He pounded his fist against the wood, harder than he had before. "C'mon, it's John. Please, just open the door!" Pausing his beating on the door, he pulled out his cell phone, hitting the speed dial number that would call her home phone. The answering machine picked up. "Olivia, I know you're in there. I brought something for you to eat. Open the door. Please." Slowly flipping the phone shut, he pocketed it. Standing still, he listened for any movement within her apartment. When he heard none, he glanced up and down the hallway, then turned his back to the wall and leaned against it. He would wait all night if he had to. Wasn't as if he had anywhere to go.
"John?" She shook him a bit harder. "John."
Blinking a few times, he finally woke, looking at her uncomprehendingly for a moment before sitting up straighter. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Get up and come inside."
He obeyed, with a bit of a struggle and then, "You didn't answer my question."
"Just go inside, John." He went and she closed the door after him. "Gimme your coat and hat. You put the food on the table."
"Liv..."
This time, she didn't answer him at all, just took the coat, scarf and hat he handed her and turned her back to him as she hung all three in a closet.
"Olivia, I was out there for," he glanced at his watch, "three hours. Where were you?"
"Asleep. That's what people do at night, as you kindly demonstrated outside my door."
He sighed. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Before you came. I didn't look at the clock."
"That's bull. C'mon, I brought you sandwiches and soup. Eat something." He looked at her, watched as she sat, looking exhausted, at the table. Sitting opposite her, he said, "You hafta eat, Liv. Have soup at least. Just to have something in your stomach. Please."
She ignored him and stared at the table. Reaching across, he lifted her chin with his fingers. "I'm not gonna leave until you've eaten something."
Quietly, she said, "Bowls're in the cabinet over there." She pointed behind him and he turned to look, then got up. Soon, she was sitting with a hot bowl of soup in front of her, a spoon poised in her hand to dive in. "Aren't you going to have something?"
He shook his head. "I actually did eat before coming over. Don't worry, just eat."
"How did we ever get to be friends like this?"
He looked at her. "So you've spent the past two days thinking about that?"
"John, I'm not kidding."
Sighing, he said, "I don't know. I'm not even sure if I know exactly what you're asking."
"I'm asking how we got to be where you... I... we talk about this stuff. It's like having a girlfriend."
"I must admit, out of all the things I've been called, that hasn't been one of them. I'll have to add that to my list when I get home." When she hit his arm, he turned semi-serious and said, "I really don't know. Maybe it's because I'm gay. It all fits if you think about it. Overbearing mother, absent father, four marriages, none of which worked. Maybe there's something to that theory." When she hit his head, somewhat lightly, he caught her hand as it was coming down and looked at her. "Honestly, I don't know, Liv. Maybe it's because you're dating Elliot and Fin... well I don't know why he can't be your friend like this. Maybe he's too tough. And Cragen's like your father. Oh, and if you actually talked with him about this, he'd know that you and Elliot aren't just partners in the conventional cop sense of the word. But you know, I don't mind being here, as the girlfriend or the male friend. Are you satisfied with that answer?"
She nodded, but he wasn't convinced.
"Why don't you tell me why you really asked that question," he prodded gently.
She seemed to be thinking over how to word her answer, then, after a moment she said, "It's just... shouldn't I be telling all this stuff to Elliot? He's my partner, and, as you pointed out, more than just the cop sense of the word. Shouldn't he be hearing all this stuff?"
"Not if it has to do with him." He sighed. "Look, Liv, even the best husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever, have doubts and problems amongst themselves that are sometimes better worked out by talking to a friend about them first. They receive reassurance on whatever they're thinking, or perhaps another point of view entirely. Think about it. Can you actually talk about all this with Stabler? Can you get a different opinion from him about why he suddenly believes in fate and destiny?"
"I can't get a second opinion about this whole setup from him either, huh?" she asked quietly, though it was more of a statement.
"No, you can't," he replied, equally as quiet. "Is that why you've been holed up in here? You're not so sure about this anymore?"
She looked at the television, where fictional characters were engaging in a passionate embrace, and not just with their arms. Then she looked to where he was still holding her hand. "No, I'm not. What was I thinking in the first place? I mean, he's my partner. Shouldn't be anything more than that. Maybe..." She trailed off.
"Maybe it was the feeling of being loved. The lure of romance and the sweet smell of chocolates mingled with the taste of wine. Maybe it was wanting, needing, to feel someone's arms around you when you went to sleep. Being understood no matter what you do. No need to explain your job and why you do it. Maybe that's what it was."