9 - WARMTH

The grey of the walls seemed to instantly drop the temperature as they moved through the poorly-lit hallways of the building. Still, Olivia felt her veins burning as she prepared to face the man whose DNA polluted the blood her heart insisted on pumping so eagerly that she could hear it in her ears.

Her finger trembled when she aimed it at the doorbell. She rang once, twice. Elliot's hand covered hers when she was about to sink her finger into the button a third time, his closeness unexpectedly welcome.

"I think I hear something," he whispered as a justification.

Indeed, when she was able to focus enough to ignore the persistent drumming coming from the inside of her, she was able to hear a rustling sound that came from inside the apartment, followed closely by keys rattling, then one of them being introduced into the hole she was now staring at, watching it twist with some difficulty.

Olivia took a deep breath as the door opened to reveal Edward Paul, enveloped in a comforter, looking like he had just woken up. He was squinting his eyes over what looked like reading glasses, his head shifting from her to Elliot.

"Oh, great," he grumbled. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Before Olivia could say anything, Elliot raised a defensive hand past her and leaned on the doorframe, speaking in a calm, collected voice. "Look, she shouldn't even be here. So if you wanna talk, I'm coming in, alright?"

Edward huffed, then shrugged, turning around and starting to sluggishly make his way back to the bedroom. "Whatever," he said, disinterested.

Olivia and Elliot exchanged a puzzled look before walking in. Unlike on the other side of the door, the air in the apartment was hot and stale, and she felt uneasiness begin to nag at her like an itch.

"Should we—" she started to ask, speaking to no one in particular.

"I'm in the bedroom," Edward said, his voice hard to make out over the springs that complained under his weight.

Olivia hesitantly followed with Elliot behind her, hands in his pockets like he was her bodyguard. Edward was lying on the bed, shifting as though looking for a comfortable position. Immediately in front of the bed was a TV, showing some action movie, two women running, screaming, and shooting their guns.

"What are you watching?" Olivia said when she reached the bed, alarmed that the man seemed to still be feeling cold even with the heat and the comforter, alarmed that she didn't feel uncomfortable in his bedroom.

She felt Elliot's concerned glance beaming at her as he stayed behind, lingering by the entrance to the room.

"It's a crime show, the cops are cute," Edward explained, then gestured toward Elliot. "There are chairs in the living room."

"I'm fine here," Elliot smiled from where he stood.

"I was thinking of her," Edward said spitefully, then patted the mattress, an invitation for Olivia to sit next to him on the bed. "Why does he have to be such an asshole?"

Olivia glanced quickly at Elliot with a half-smile before sitting, but he didn't visibly react to Edward's insult or her proximity to her father. She shuddered at the word, trying really hard not to feel it as she regarded the old man, looking fragile in his bed with an expression that gathered exhaustion and pain.

"Not having a good day, I see?" she said softly, containing the urge to touch the man's forehead to feel his temperature or possibly just show some affection — compassion, she rushed to correct. "What did you wanna talk about? I told you I couldn't see you anymore."

"And yet here you are," Edward smiled triumphantly as he tried unsuccessfully to turn off the TV, the contradiction between his mind's arrogance and his body's shortcomings not lost on her.

She held out her hand to receive the remote, turning the TV off on her first attempt. "Come on, we can't stay long."

"I wanted to give you something," Edward said right before falling into a coughing fit.

Olivia ground her teeth as she watched, unable to help him as he coughed and tried to point to a small desk by the wardrobe. She turned to Elliot.

"Can you get some water?" she asked, battling some emotion that neighbored embarrassment.

After a moment's hesitation, Elliot left the room. As Edward insisted on pointing at the desk like his life depended on it, Olivia moved in that direction, exchanging questioning looks with him as she fumbled through the objects on it — a few scattered pens and pencils, pieces of crumpled paper, an empty water bottle, a wallet resting on top of a pile of folded receipts, and a closed notebook. She picked the last item up and waved it at Edward, who simply nodded between coughs.

Elliot came back, handing Olivia a glass of water that she took back to the bed. Edward sat up and waited for a long enough break between coughs so he could sip some of the liquid, then returned the glass to Olivia and asked for the notebook, which he opened, leafing with wavering fingers until he found a page with what looked like a list of names. He ripped it off and offered it to her.

"What's this?" she asked, puzzled.

"Their names," he said, lying back down and settling his head on the pillow, panting from his efforts. "Their full names."

Olivia stared blankly at him for a moment, thinking. "Your victims?" she asked.

"Your mom's not there, of course," he waved his hand dismissively. "You already know her real name."

The mention of her mother stung, casual as he always made a point to put it.

"Why are you giving me this?" she asked, her eyes tracing the contours of each name.

"I thought you'd want to find them and, you know, tell them their rapist is dead. When I die, of course. You know, bring them some kind of justice and all."

Olivia waited a few seconds, then looked from the list to the man. My girls. Her heart started racing, and she felt her legs shift, moving a few instinctive inches away from him.

"You want me to let them know you're dead when you die?" she repeated, incredulous.

"No, you wanna do that," Edward replied impatiently. "'Cause you're a cop and all. I don't care, I'm gonna kick the bucket and that will be it for me."

Olivia looked at Elliot, his nonchalance now affected by a furrowed brow as he dragged his eyes from the sick man to her, looking just as confused as she felt. She turned to Edward again.

"That's why you wanted to see me?" she asked.

"Yeah, why? What did you think I wanted?"

Olivia shrugged, then tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. She felt the ridges her voice gained from the outrage she was supposed to feel. "A bone marrow transplant, for one?"

Edward's face contorted in a grimace of confusion.

"Bone marrow?" he repeated, then laughed, snorting and coughing at the end. "Where the hell did you get that idea?" he pointed at the doorway, still laughing. "He tell you that?"

Olivia looked at Elliot again, inwardly hoping he could help her make sense of whatever was going on, but he had nothing to offer, his expression vacant, an accurate depiction of the current state of her own brain.

"Look," Edward said when he stopped laughing. "I used to dream of getting a transplant, but that shit's just not for me, alright?"

"How come?" Olivia asked, wondering if the man's detachment was a trick to make her insist on being his donor.

"You need your levels of whatever stable for six months before you can have a transplant," he explained. "My levels have never been stable, not for six days. I'm gonna die before that happens."

When Olivia looked at Elliot, he was crossing his arms, still watching Edward. She stood up, suddenly in need of some room.

"What does that mean?" she asked, controlling her voice to make sure it didn't raise in volume or pitch as the air seemed even heavier and harder to inhale. "Can't they try the transplant? Why can't they just...try?"

Edward shook his head. "Won't work, kiddo. You need the chemo to do its job first, and I'm still waiting for mine to start doing anything. So, yeah… Not gonna happen."

Olivia shook her head, fidgeting, moving her hands, biting the air as she looked for something to say.

"You can ask my doctor yourself," the old man added. "I have an appointment with him tomorrow."

Olivia didn't say a word on their way back, and Elliot didn't know how to start any dialogue either. The visit to Edward Paul hadn't been what either of them had expected at all, and while Elliot still suspected the old man might have tricks up his sleeve and ulterior motives for contacting Olivia, he started to understand why she felt so conflicted.

Lies or not, the man's apparent sincerity just rang true, his unapologetic honesty. Everything he did and said simply made them wonder what could possibly motivate him to lie — he didn't seem to be getting any perks from it or from anything else in his current state for that matter.

Olivia didn't need to say anything for him to know she was frustrated and confused. When they made it home, she started taking off her clothes and dropping them everywhere while Elliot watched her from a distance — as much of a distance as the small apartment allowed.

When she was down to her t-shirt and underwear, she seemed to become suddenly aware of her surroundings and hugged herself, but to his surprise, the realization wasn't related to her state of undress.

"Why is it so cold in here?" she said without turning in his direction. "Can you check the thermostat?"

"Sure," Elliot replied cautiously, walking over to the device on the wall to check that it was completely turned off — and could not be turned on again. The small screen presented no reaction to the pressing of any combination of buttons. "I think it's just…not working."

"What?" Olivia snapped. "Are you serious?" The next second, she was right next to him, pressing all the buttons again, to no avail. "Fuck… It's freezing!"

"Alright, take a breath," Elliot raised his voice, grabbing her hand. "Breaking it further is not gonna help."

Shocked out of her mindless annoyance, Olivia just stared at him before she took a long breath, delicately extricating her hand from his, one finger at a time until he simply loosened his grasp, letting her go.

"Sorry," she murmured.

Some silence transpired as she moved away from him long after her eyes had already averted his glance. She enveloped herself in her arms again while Elliot could see the cogs turning in her head.

"He's quite a character, huh," he commented casually, hoping to establish a line of communication.

She looked up at his overall direction, eyes wide like a kid caught doing what she wasn't supposed to. "Right? It's… infuriating and confusing."

"Why don't you let me run you a hot bath?" he offered while he walked to a pile of unpacked boxes and started collecting blankets and comforters to add to the bed since they couldn't rely on heating.

He saw it from the corner of his eye when Olivia seemed to realize she wasn't wearing any pants and covered herself up with the coat she had discarded on the floor. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help getting caught staring when their eyes met, wide with unspoken meaning as the previous night and that morning suddenly emerged between them like a fog, tainting the cold air and demanding attention.

"You don't have to do that," said Olivia in a faint voice, her eyes following his movements while she took a few steps away from him and the bed he was adding warm layers to. Her voice seemed to gain momentum in the next second, though, taking him by surprise. "I don't think we should sleep together."

Elliot's muscles stilled, his head turning to face her almost involuntarily, his jaw dropping a little, like his stomach.

"In the bed, I mean," she added, her hand gesturing awkwardly toward the blankets and comforters.

He swallowed, trying to be careful about his choice of words. "There's no heating…" he started.

"I just don't think it's a good idea, okay?" she said impatiently. "All of this is confusing enough."

"W-what are you talking about—"

Her eyes were suddenly firm on his, and hesitation disappeared from her voice when she interrupted him. "Not twenty-four hours ago you were fucking Dani. And then…"

And then the night had come, and the rain, and everything that had followed.

The blanket slipped from Elliot's fingers, as if he needed his whole body's attention to take on this new level of whatever argument they were suddenly having. But then he understood why she seemed suddenly more comfortable, more confident. She had found what she needed — a distraction from the awkward afternoon visit.

"Dani?" he asked, trying to be careful about it, handling his words with care as though they were rigged with explosives. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

It was also a genuine question; Dani was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment. Olivia smiled, outrage coloring her features pretty quickly; apparently he'd made the wrong move.

"You're right, I should've brought it up last night, before we—"

"That's not what I was—"

"You're right, I should've," Olivia laughed.

She started pacing, a quite limited circuit between the bathroom door and the bed as she stayed clear of the imaginary boundaries of the bedroom — the kitchen was just as much their crime scene, Elliot reminded himself. Maybe the bathroom was still considered impartial? She seemed ready to make a run for it.

"Look, Liv, you're tired," he appeased, his voice dropping in an attempt to reach her. "You must be hungry, we should—"

Her private chuckle interrupted him; she looked like she hadn't heard him at all when she stopped by the bathroom door, securing the handle with a firm grip and a tortured look on her face.

Maybe this wasn't a distraction at all; maybe it was just one of the things bothering her along with whatever feelings had been stirred up after seeing the old man in such a precarious state and being given that list.

"I almost wish you were still married," she said, her eyes defeated, but finally resting on him. "You fuck Dani, you fuck me. Who else?"

It surprised him that she worried so much about Dani when he didn't. For some reason, he liked that it bothered her.

"Olivia," he mumbled — he wanted to tell her there was nobody else. It was the truth.

"Every time I see you near a woman now," she went on, with a nonchalance that didn't seem to match her demeanor, "there's a chance you have fucked her or will fuck her in the future."

"Now you know how I felt all those years," escaped him in a resentful murmur, and he regretted it as soon as her eyes widened in disbelief. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

She slipped through the door as if she couldn't move fast enough, the sound of the lock and the shower immediately running punctuating the abrupt conclusion of their argument.

Careful not to disturb the covers too much, Olivia took her place inside them, as quietly as she could, trying not to wake him up in case he was sleeping, but what she wasn't expecting was how cold the sheets would be under her, the way her lips would start to tremble, her whole body shuddering in unison.

She couldn't stifle the loud gasp that escaped her.

Damn it. She had wanted to go unnoticed as she admitted defeat — she was lying in the bed after all, her previous remark about it ignored. They hadn't spoken for the rest of the night, not about the sleeping arrangements or anything else.

Elliot had eaten while she'd showered, she'd been able to gather from the cereal bowl abandoned in the sink as she visited the kitchen for a quick sip of water. She'd heard it as he had seized the opportunity to use the bathroom, and she wondered if he was avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him, or if he was only trying to give her some space.

She was the one who should be offended, after all. But strangely, she wasn't. Now you know how I felt all those years.

Fucking bastard. And yet, his insult had warmed something inside her — it had told her he cared. All that time that he'd been unavailable, he'd cared whether she belonged to someone else or not.

Like he belonged to someone else.

And now, she was suffocating in the overwhelming feeling of him belonging to her, as much as she knew it was all fake, all for show.

But a show for whom? Right now, they were the only expectators of their own show, perfectly in character as a newlywed couple getting by in their crappy apartment and working hard to make ends meet, unable to keep their hands off each other one minute, arguing over their possessiveness toward one another the next.

It didn't seem like a show; it didn't feel like acting.

This was just a rehearsal, she told herself, hoping the vocabulary change could bail her out. This was just the work they needed to put in before the actual work to make sure their performances were believable — no matter how real it was, no matter how much they pretended nothing real was happening behind the curtains, or under the covers.

Maybe we don't talk about this at all.

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to go, really, to escape the vacancy next to him on the mattress. Olivia wished so badly that she could just leave, just go home. Just hide in her apartment, emptiness as her armor, silence as her prayer.

But she couldn't, and so she had to take her place in the bed, because as much as she had tried to buy some time and space earlier, she'd always known they were going to sleep in the same bed, under the same sheets.

There was nowhere else to go.

Their roles, so true. Real as the unforgiving coldness of the empty side of the bed she was supposed to fill with her warmth.

She felt Elliot's arm immediately around her waist as he pulled her to him from behind until their bodies were flush together. He wrapped his arms and legs around her, holding her close until her shuddering subsided. He rested his chin on her shoulder, covering her cheek with his scratchy stubble.

Correction: the coldness of the entire bed they were supposed to warm up with the encounter of their bodies.

"Thank you," she whispered when her teeth stopped chattering, and his reply was a slight tightening of his hold, even as her acknowledgement had been meant as an assurance that he could let go if he wanted to.

She felt his breath starting to even out against her neck, and guilt tasted bitter at the back of her mouth all of a sudden. She figured this must be the feeling behind the don't go to bed angry pact that even the most commonplace married couples seemed to have.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, half of her hoping he would hear her, the other half hoping he wouldn't.

A long exhale informed her he was awake and listening.

"You were upset," he whispered back, his voice the secret password unlocking her body's ability to relax into his grip. His own body relaxed more in return, and they enjoyed that silent understanding for a few minutes before he spoke again. "You wish he could get the transplant, don't you?"

Olivia's eyes shut tight, as if she couldn't face that admission. "I… I feel so stupid."

"Don't," Elliot said simply, his fingers finding the spaces between hers. "Also, I'm sorry, too."

She exhaled a short chuckle of acceptance, squeezing his fingers in hers.

"Just close your eyes and get some rest," he instructed. "It's gonna be okay. It's all gonna be okay."

It was so all-encompassing, this feeling she needed so much reasoning and resolve to escape, but that took only gravity to sink deep into. Just how real it was, and if she'd been avoiding him earlier, wishing she could run to the safety of her solitude, she now felt so undeniably safe, lying wrapped in his presence.

She turned, rolling inside his embrace until she could face him, a sudden need to see his eyes, see that he was seeing this, too. His eyes were like a mirror, and she sighed, cupping his cheek in her hand before tilting her head towards his, letting their mouths hover over each other for a second before she kissed him.

It was a slow kiss, and it tasted like toothpaste and domesticity. Just a recently married couple trying to get by in their shitty apartment with no heating as the wind shook the windows and stole even more degrees from the air.

As it started, the kiss ended, softly, unhurriedly. Olivia tried to remember the state of confusion that had set her off earlier, provoking her instinct to fight or flight, but doubt seemed to dissolve as Elliot's heat enveloped her, and she almost wished he would forget to tell Alvin Hobbes about the problem with the thermostat the next day.

"Do you wanna go to Paul's appointment tomorrow, ask his doctor about it?" he probed gently, eyes blinking drowsily.

Her heart started thrumming in her chest all of a sudden, and she wondered if he could hear it.

"We can't… Tomorrow's Monday, we need to be here."

"I'll stay," he promised. "Go if you want to, if you'll feel better knowing."

"Really? You really think I should?" she couldn't help but smile with surprise, knowing how much he hated Edward, how much he couldn't trust him.

Not that she should feel any differently.

"As long as you don't go anywhere else with him afterward," Elliot bargained. "I don't want you all alone with him."

There it was.

The slight possessiveness and authority in his words should have ennerved her, but they didn't. Instead, they just added to that warmth she couldn't explain or understand as it contradicted the rest of the freezing air around them.

"Okay," she whispered, biting her lower lip and settling on his chest when he held her closer.

A few minutes passed, but for some reason, Olivia's heart couldn't slow down, and her eyes insisted on staying open. She knew she kept twitching, but she couldn't help it.

"Need help to relax?" Elliot offered, and Olivia's brain hadn't yet completely grasped the underlying meaning when her body answered with a wave of chills across the expanse of her skin.

His hand started moving down her arm, her side, in a tentative path that she didn't interrupt. He paused at her waist, finding a patch of uncovered skin where her t-shirt had ridden up, fingers digging into her flesh for a moment before sliding beneath the hem of her sweatpants and underwear in one soft, skillful move.

His fingertips grazed her delicate skin, tracing undefined patterns before his middle finger gently parted her. She released a small gasp at the intimate touch, finding it hard to believe that just moments ago she'd been in doubt about whether she was capable of even getting into this bed, where she lay now, allowing him to move his finger back and forth against her sensitive bud, gaining traction as her wetness started flowing.

Their foreheads rested on one another, and Olivia focused on just that delicate touch, so careful and precise; she felt like an instrument he was accustomed to play. It didn't take long for him to bring her close to the edge, in the complete opposite of a frantic rhythm even as her breath started to become labored and punctuated by moans.

When she was close, she gripped harder at his upper arm to ground herself, holding her breath for the last second before she was invaded by a surprisingly intense orgasm that she was able to enjoy thoroughly as he softened his movements, finger slowing down like a pendulum until the electric waves completely faded into the air.

Elliot delicately withdrew his touch, proceeding to pull her shirt down so it would cover her back and just letting his hand rest there, just above her hip, securing her to him as she nuzzled into his neck, her eyes suddenly heavy.

"What about you?" she barely got to ask before she could no longer determine if she was still awake.

Without the ties of her controlling mind, Olivia found relief from her conflicting feelings in his arms, looking that contradiction straight in the eye until consciousness had completely slipped between her fingers.