Crawl (Carry Me Through)
Authors Note: This story was in my head, and I couldn't get it to go away so it is now being turned into a fanfiction, and a video for YouTube. This is an AU (Alternate Universe) story. This story takes place in 2006, despite events from the television shows discussed in this story taking place later in reality. Addison and Olivia have been dating for ten years and were friends before they started dating.
Chapter 1:
Addison's POV:
"Do you even know how beautiful you look right now?" I ask Olivia with a smile. We're sitting at the kitchen table in her apartment. We must have shared meals here thousands of times over the years, but today the light is shining through the window in just a way that seems to illuminate her. Her hair is sparking, her cheeks glowing. We spend more time in her apartment than we do in mine. There's what she calls an imbalance of power in the relationship and she's not comfortable with what she calls the 'glamor life'. She didn't come from money like I did. She doesn't make as much money as I do, but that never mattered to me. It's only weird when she makes it weird. My apartment overlooks central park. Her apartment overlooks more apartments. Her apartment is warm and cozy while mine is sleek and impersonal. She always comments that it looks ritzy, she wouldn't know what to do with so much space. She jokes that her entire apartment could fit in my sunroom. I'm glad that I didn't bring up wanting to purchase a brownstone if we ever took the next step to move in together. It's been almost ten years and she still hasn't completely gotten used to someone in a different tax bracket than herself. It's caused arguments, we've broken up in the past over it. We always seem to fall back together though. She looks up from the book she's reading and smiles, almost shyly at me. She laughs a little. It's the first time I've seen her smile or heard her laugh in months. William Lewis took all of that away from me when he broke into her apartment and kidnapped her.
"I look like death." She attempts to correct me, but I shake my head at her. It's not her outer appearance that I'm attracted to, though that's an added bonus. It's the infatuating levels of kindness, charisma, and love that radiates from her. She loves so deeply with all of her heart. She's charming, funny, and so sweet. If you just talk with her or interact with her in anyway you wouldn't automatically know that she's been through hell. Like many of us she wears a mask. She pushes through. The bruises have healed. The cut on her forehead was sutured in a way that didn't even leave a scar. Her body flushed out all of the toxins she was forced to ingest, and she has regained full functionality of her arm after casting and months of physical therapy. Her mind hasn't been so quick to recover though. The darkness in her eyes is the only thing she can't mask. It's the only outward sign that she's been to hell and back.
"It's exasperating that you can't see yourself the way I see you." I say, and she looks at me, confused. She is a warrior. William Lewis changed her in a way I have never seen with any of the other traumas that she has faced as a result of her occupation, but that trauma does not define her. She was abducted, beaten, forced to take God only knows what drugs. His trial nearly killed her, and it has been a process, but she has survived. I want to see herself the way I see her, but things like that don't happen overnight. She cannot see what I see in her anymore. She has been trying to push me away since she was rescued. It's been months. I hate to admit it, but despite how much I love her I am getting worn down. Is my love for her enough to pull us through?
"I thought you were going home tonight." She says. "What are you still doing here?" She asks, for what seems like the millionth time this week. I try to brush it off, but it stings a little bit everytime she asks this. We've known each other since before I went to medical school, and she chose the police academy. We've been dating without labels, for the last nine years. Our tenth anniversary is coming up in just a couple of weeks. I thank my lucky stars daily that I have her. I don't know what I did to deserve her but God it must have been something good. She lights up my world with every breath she takes. We were getting serious and talking about taking the next big step. We were going to move in together. We were talking about expanding our family. That discussion didn't happen without complications. She's not at a point in her life where she wants children, and I am. We compromised on a small pet and reassessing periodically. We were supposed to go to the shelter and start looking for kittens the evening she was abducted. Everything in both of our lives came to a screeching halt that day. Lewis held her captive for days, and those days were the worst of my life. They say you're not supposed to make any huge life changes after you've faced a major life altering event. Your brain needs time to recover. Life changes need to wait until you can think rationally again and make an informed decision.
"I could go home, but I'd rather stay." I say simply. Would it be too much to say I'm afraid to leave her alone? She's never intentionally hurt herself. I don't know why I'm so afraid. I guess it is just because I understand that darkness that trauma can bring. You're not yourself. You're not thinking rationally. I tried to have her move in with me after the attack. I didn't want her to have to come back here. She wouldn't let me come and clean her apartment for her while she was in the hospital. She insisted that she had to do it, and that it would help her process what happened. She refused to stay with me and insisted on coming home. She wouldn't let me touch anything. I sat with her for hours as she cleaned up the dried blood, broken glass, and broken furniture. I can't speak on if it was healing or not though. She was numb, cold, and just going through the motions. She installed a high-tech security system and put triple locks on the door. She locked up all the windows. Being here is more like being in a prison. I don't like living this way, but I chose to stay for her.
"I just want you to be happy." She says.
"I'm happy when I'm with you." I say, firmly.
"There is no way you can be happy with this…" She gestures once again to her appearance. I sigh. She used to be so confident in her body. It's heartbreaking that she keeps bringing it up. Lewis stripped her of her confidence. Maybe she is hoping I will finally have enough and call her out for not preforming the most basic of personal hygiene. Her hair has started to grow back from where she's cut it. It's greasy and matted. She hasn't showered or brushed her teeth in I don't know how long. I haven't been able to force her. She's so numb that when I tried to help her brush her teeth she forgot to spit and nearly choked. She just sits, and reads, and tells me to go home all day long. I'm afraid for her. I know she's depressed; I know she needs help. I'm not going to kick her while she's down. I'm not that cruel.
"Our anniversary is coming up." I say, gently changing the subject. "Is there anything special you'd like to do?" I ask her. We normally put in for leave a year in advance and go on a lavish vacation. Cancun, Paris, Rome. There is so much beauty in this world. I'd take her anywhere she wants to go.
"Maybe we could skip this year." She suggests. She's avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with the sleeve on her sweater. "I'm sorry. I know you love our vacations, but I'm just…. With everything that's going on I'm not very into it right now." I must look crestfallen when she says this, because she looks ashamed.
"It's ten years Olivia." I try not to frown too much. "We can't just skip, it's ten whole years." I know I should like I'm whining, and I should be more considerate of her feelings. I hate myself for feeling disappointed. I hate that she feels guilt as a result of my simple desire for our lives to return to normal. We were supposed to be in Italy this year. She canceled our reservations, and refunds were processed.
"I canceled the reservations." She reminds me. "It's too much to go abroad right now. Italy or New York. Location doesn't change what happened."
"I don't mind doing something small." I tell her gently. "We don't have to decide right now." I say, keeping my tone light, careful not to push too much. I smile when a memory comes. "I'd love to go for a walk with you. We could visit Gantry Plaza State Park and look at the skyline underneath the stars." It's a huge twelve acer park in Queens with magnificent walking trails along the river and views of the city. When we were in school, we would meet up there all the time, before we got so caught up in our busy lives and we disappeared into a blur of constant motion. "We could get hogies and coffee and just have a relaxing night."
"Hmm. Maybe." She says, dismissively. She has put her book down and is distracted by something on her phone. It dings as each text comes in. She's not listening to me or paying attention to anything I've just said.
"I'm going to the shelter to pick up our new puppy." I say, and she continues texting.
"Mmmhmm." Proof she's not listening. She's allergic to dogs. She breaks out into hives whenever she's around them, and if she doesn't get medication, she scratches her skin off. Her arms and legs are littered with scars from the scratching the last time a dog came too close, and we didn't realize she was out of her medication. One of the wounds got infected and she ended up in the hospital.
"I'm getting a full-face tattoo of the make up from the lead singer of KISS."
"Ummph." She says, non-committable. This is the way most of our conversations have been going lately. She hasn't been saying a whole lot. When she's zoned out like this, she's rarely aware of her surroundings. I put my hands on hers, drawing her attention to me at my touch and gently kissing her. She doesn't pull away, but just looks confused as realization comes to her.
"I want to get married; I want to grow old with you Olivia. I want to die in your arms. When we're ready I want to raise children with you, I want to watch our grandchildren grow up. I want a house, and a yard for our children to play in. I know our lives have gone to shit and your life is falling apart around you, but you can't get stuck here Olivia. I can't be stuck here with you Olivia."
"So, this is it for us then? After all this time?" She asks, her voice unconcerned, not matching her expression. I feel a pang of guilt. She's holding back tears.
"No." I say, and I kiss her gently. I am suddenly very aware of how different things are now than they were when she first came home. She is comfortable with me. She is making baby steps towards normality every single day. When she was first rescued, she would not allow me, or anyone else to touch her. If she even thought someone was about to touch her, she'd recoil in fear. She managed to hold it together while she was with him, but now she's crumbling. It's almost as if it took all of her strength just to survive and now, she has nothing left. The first night she was home I accidentally touched her in my sleep. I woke up to her sitting on top of me, pinned down, unable to move as she strangled me. There is something about my hands. My first instinct was to reach up and touch her face instead of fight. It's not normal, not natural. Most would struggle and try to free themselves, especially when suffocating. She didn't realize it was me at first. She thought she was back in that warehouse on the dirty mattress. She thought I was him. That I was a threat. Something about my touch pulled her out of the past. When she'd realized what she had done she was inconsolable.
'Olivia I'm fine, really it's OK."
'I could have killed you.' She said, as tears streamed down her face.
'No, you wouldn't have. I know you, Olivia. I know you'd never hurt me.'
'I'm not the Olivia you knew anymore.'
So, we slowly fell into the hell that we've been living in. I keep trying every single day to make her come back to me. I know she's still there, locked somewhere deep inside of herself. For the first while she didn't sleep well, just lay on the bed not moving for days on end staring into the nothingness of the bedroom wall. I had to help her with everything. Bathroom, food, bathing, dressing. The PTSD and depression seem to come and go like waves washing over her. Everytime, I think she's coming out of it she gets knocked right back down again. She's getting better though. She's been able to handle basic things on her own again, and she's leaving the bedroom more. She's afraid of herself. Since that night she won't touch me voluntarily. She's scared of what she's capable of doing. I have to be the one to initiate everything, and even then, though consensual, is pretty one sided.
She carries so much guilt for something that was beyond her control. It kills me to see the pain and remorse in her eyes everytime she looks at me knowing what could have happened if she had not realized where she was. I should be afraid of her. I should leave her to sort her own issues and go home, but I'm not and I won't. She always comes back to me in the end. Today is a good day.
"I still don't want children." She blurts out.
"Right now, or never?" I ask her gently. She was willing to consider the possibility of having children before William Lewis, and the incident with me in the bedroom. Now she's adamant against it.
"Never. What if I hurt them?" She asks, and I sigh, not wanting to get into this again with her. I try not to feel like this is a dealbreaker. I try not to feel like I've just thrown the last (almost) ten years of my life away. We're both thirty-eight years old. We're not getting any younger and having children will only get harder the longer we wait. Maybe if she changes her mind later, we'll have a chance at adopting.
"We don't have to talk about this right now." I say, trying to take the pressure off. It sounds kinder than telling her I don't want to discuss this with her again. I know she would never hurt a child. "I was just making a point. You are my world and I'm here for that, no matter what that world looks like." I am gentle with her when I say this. I don't want her to feel badly about the regret that I live with. The regret that's eating me alive inside. I should have protected her. I was supposed to be here the night she was taken but had to do a last-minute emergency surgery. I keep thinking if I would have let someone else operate would she have still faced the trauma she did at his hands? Would I have been at home intime to do something? Anything?
So many things have stood in our way over the years, but for almost ten years we've fought through them. When we first decided our relationship was more than just a friend with benefits situation, we didn't really know what to call it. We didn't want to ruin things if it didn't last. We had both just came out of not so wonderful relationships with men. Maybe we were both just rebounding and experimenting. When we realized it wasn't just a phase, we tried to be smart. Things were getting better for same sex couples in New York, but it still wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. There was so much hate. In the beginning there was a lot of acting like 'just friends' or 'just sisters' when out in public to not draw attention. We had both just started new careers and couldn't jeopardize that. People were not as accepting back then as they are now. It never seemed like a good time to give the relationship a name, and it's not like we're going to get married. It's 2006 and gay marriage is still not legal and recognized in the state of New York. It's something to hope for though. A nice dream to have. We were going to have a happy life together.
When the topic of moving in together and having children comes up she insisted that we wait 'Until we are more financially stable.'. In my opinion that is absolute rubbish. If you wait for the perfect time you're going to be waiting forever, but Olivia insisted. We set up a joint bank account as most couples do and put a set amount of money each month into the account from our personal accounts. I still have my trust fund which is growing thanks to my business shares. I make more per paycheck as a doctor than she does as a detective. I could have easily paid for anything and everything we ever wanted or needed on this earth for the rest of our lives. I would have gladly split everything I have with her without a second thought. She won't let me though. She enjoys her independence. She enjoys not being officially tied down. It took a while, but she agreed that when the account was above a certain amount with both of us contributing equally every paycheck, we could talk about giving IVF a go. Five years ago, we reached that goal. We attempted IVF. Three embryos were implanted and one stuck. She had a horrible reaction to one of the medications though, and ended up in the hospital, and eventually losing the pregnancy at six weeks. She wanted to try again, was almost frenzied, desperate, but I do not want to be the one to carry the pregnancy, and she just couldn't so soon after the loss. The I'm not sure I want children talk started a little bit after our loss, but it was always a possibility until now. She's terrified she'll hurt them. I know she would never though. Why do I believe in her so much more than she believes in herself? Maybe we'll start with adding a four-legged friend to our family. I've heard cats are nice, but then again, I've also heard that they'll eat you if you die. That's a little daunting.
"If we don't have to talk about anything, why do you keep bringing it up?" She asks me. I have been watching her body language. She's tense. Growing more and more frustrated with whoever keeps texting her. I look over at her phone. Stabler. Her work partner, or as we joke, her work spouse. He has been calling me too. He is so worried about her, and apparently, she's feeding him the same 'I'm fine' bullshit that she's been feeding me these last few weeks.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask her, gesturing to the phone in her hands.
"No."
"Really?" I push her gently.
"The unit's psychiatrist didn't clear me for duty. I'm benched. If I want my job back, I have to do mandated therapy sessions until a psychiatrist sees me fit. Stabler is being dragged into this as well. Apparently, your partner being kidnapped and nearly murdered results in trauma. He's better at lying that I am and managed to clear the psych eval, but he is still ordered into mandated therapy."
"I'm so sorry Liv. I know that's not the news you wanted to hear." I say, soothingly. Though I don't see how she would have returned to work anyway, just getting out of the house for doctor's appointments is a major ordeal. It usually involved a panic attack or two, tears, and many insults being thrown at me for daring to make her leave the safety of her home. With how depressed she is I don't know that I would trust her with a weapon right now. I don't want to think she'd do anything bad, but she's an emotional train wreck right now. It doesn't make sense that she has shrined the place she was abducted from as her safe haven. I wish she would have just come home with me. I am trying to take things at her pace though.
"It's the worst possible news." She says. She is breathing rapidly a frantic expression in her eyes. "Rent is due next week. I've depleted my savings being off work for the last three months, and temporary workers comp barley makes a dent." I tried to convince her to just purchase an apartment. For what she has paid in rent over the last ten years she could have owned her own place several times over without the stress of monthly rent payments. She didn't want to attempt it though. She always said that she likes that she can just pick up and leave. That she could change her life at any time if she wanted to.
"I don't want you to worry about that right now." I tell her. "I'll cover whatever you need. I've been here more than I've been home anyway." I didn't want to leave her. I've basically, unofficially moved into Olivia's apartment. I haven't seen my own home in weeks. I've just been replacing groceries here weekly. She says she does not want my maid to come here, and there is no need for her to be cleaning an apartment that I'm never in. I paid her six months in advance and sent her and her family on an all expense paid trip to Disney World with a room at the Beach Club Resort to make up for the inconvenience of not having work to come to biweekly. Olivia refused to touch the joint account to help her situation out. Insisting only on her own personal checking account, refusing to allow me to step in sooner.
"I don't want you to do that." She insists.
"What's the alternative? You being homeless? It's the middle of winter Olivia. The New York streets are unforgiving."
"Like you would know." She retorts, crossly.
"Put the authorization through, and I will take care of it." I say, ignoring her last comment. I don't know why companies do not allow bills to be paid without the permission of the authorized account holder. If strangers are really calling up to pay people's bills, they should let them be an angel to someone in need. "If not, I will call and pay them myself, pretending to be you. I know all of your information it's not like they'll know the difference." I threaten her. Really, I should have just done that to begin with.
"Seriously?"
"If I have to." She looks at me grumpily but stops fussing and just hands me her phone. I turn it off and sit it on the table with my own. No distractions. "This is a process it will take time Olivia." I say, and she nods, looking miserable. I wish I had all of the time in the world to give her, but honestly, I feel like I am running out of time. It's almost like that old movie where time is currency and when you're out of time you automatically die. Of course, I'm not dying, but I am certain the anxiety I am experiencing would be about the same.
"I'll set up the authorization, but I'm paying you back, every cent."
"I'm not worried about it." I tell her. "You're know I'm here for whatever you need, just put it into the joint account if you want to do something." I say. When we decided, we were not going to do another round of IVF we started using the joint account for our vacations and for any shared expenses such as dates. Even so there is enough there she could comfortably tap it for rent and utilities if she needed to. Her stubbornness is too much sometimes. My phone vibrates and I freeze. I had forgotten to turn it off. She grabs my phone before I can and looks at the notification suspiciously.
"So much for distraction free." She grumbles. "Who is piper and why does she want to 'do coffee'?"
"Piper?" I ask. I take the phone from her and look at the Facebook Messenger app notification that has popped up. Piper Holloway. "I'm sorry. I forgot to turn my phone off." I say, trying to diffuse the anger and jealously I know is boiling up inside of her. She has been so insecure lately. She was stripped of her confidence, her dignity, and her self-respect when she was assaulted and held hostage. "We were interns together. She moved to Hawaii after residency. She and her family just moved back to New York last week."
"You've been seeing her for a while then?" Olivia accuses. "How have I never heard of this person before?" She demands.
"Seeing her?" I ask, confused. "She's married with four children. We're old friends. We're friends on Facebook so I see updates on her life occasionally, but that's about it." We were working eighty-hour weeks during internship and residency. I wasn't intentionally spending any more time with my co-workers than I had to.
"Text her back." Olivia demands. I almost argue that it is not a text if it is through messenger and not your cell phones texting service, but I press my lips together tightly and don't say anything. It wouldn't help. "I said text her back. Now." She says, pushing the phone in my direction forcefully.
"It's not important." I turn my phone off and replace it on the table near hers.
"Did you fuck her?"
"What?!" I ask, shocked and confused at the harshness of her word choice. "Why would you suggest that?" I am getting sick and tired of her accusations. It isn't the first time she's accused me of cheating since 'the incident'. She's so in her own head, drowning in the things he told her that she just can't realize that someone may still love her. That love is staying and working things out through the hard parts. Love is helping each other and being there for each other. That she is worthy of loving and being loved. All I want to do is love her, support her through this difficult time.
"Let's do coffee has always been our code for 'lets meet up during our lunch break and fuck in the supply closet or on call room.'" She reminds me. I don't need reminding, but I cringe again at her harshness of vocabulary.
"I never 'fucked' you." We've had sex, yes, but I refuse to refer to it by that word. That word implies that it's something dirty, and that's not what we had. It's dirty talk, and just not appealing to me personally.
"It's all the same thing."
"No. It isn't." This is innocent and once again she is making a mountain out of a mole hill. We never shared that 'code' with anyone but ourselves. There is no way Piper would have even known. "You're picking a fight."
"You're being ridiculous."
"I'm being ridiculous?" I demand. "It's stupid we used that as a code anyway considering we both probably need a twelve-step intervention program for our coffee addictions." I say, starting to feel annoyed with her. "She's straight. She has a husband and four kids. We're not having sex." I tell Olivia.
"We haven't had sex since the night before he…" She trails off, looking away.
"It's an extracurricular activity Olivia. Sure, it's fun and all, but right now you're traumatized. You have PTSD and you're still recovering. I don't want to push you into something you're not ready for or don't want. Not being a sex driven asshole does not mean I'm screwing around. It means I am empathetic and accommodating towards your situation. When you're ready that's something we'll talk about, but until then I'm fine with where we are."
"I don't want you seeing her." There are tears falling down her cheeks.
"She's just a friend Olivia." I repeat. "I've done absolutely nothing but love you and take care of you from the day you came back home to me." I say, speaking of the day that she was rescued from William Lewis's captivity. "Now you're saying that I cannot have friends? That feels extremely isolating and manipulative."
"I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention. You're right, go have fun with your friend."
"Well, I don't even want to go now." I strike back her kindness with spite.
"Drop it then." She demands.
"You're the one who made this an issue!" The wheels are turning over and over in my head. I want to explode at her, and I want to throw up all at the same time. It is a very odd sensation. I take several slow and calming breaths. I try to regulate myself, so I do not say something I regret. It doesn't work out as well as I want it to. This is my fault. Nobody told me to stay here and look after her. She sure as hell didn't ask me to, but I thought that was just what you do when you love someone. Maybe she would have been able to pull herself together sooner if she didn't have me to lean on.
"You're getting texts from strange people. Did you think I wouldn't be upset?"
"You never cared who I spoke to before. The fact that you even consider me cheating as a possibility is just proof that we shouldn't be having this conversation right now." I swallow hard, trying to control myself. It hurts to know that he's basically damaged her forever. Damaged us forever. When he ripped her of herself, he also tore away her trust in me that has been established in layers upon layers in over a decade of friendship and dating.
"Just leave." She says, and we lock eyes, I realize that there is nothing more that I can do right now. Nothing more than I can say.
"Fine." I agree. "I'll go, but I'm coming back. I'm going to bring coffee and macaroons from the little shop down the way. I'm coming back, because I'm not the bad guy Olivia. We have to work this out together. We can't give up on each other, not now." She's crying and I just want to go to her and hug her, but I can't. She shakes her head at me sadly, and then goes to the bedroom, letting the door slam behind her. I stand there, looking at the empty room for a few minutes before pulling on my coat, grabbing my purse, and walking out into the falling snow.
Authors Note:
Thank you to everyone reading Chapter 1 of Crawl! I am continuing to work on this story, as well as the video preview for YouTube, so I am so excited for both. Please READ AND REVIEW and let me know what you think so far!