She had told him that she keeps the medicine on the fourth shelf in the hallway closet, up high enough that Noah couldn't reach but not too high up that Liv, herself, couldn't reach.
He smirks as he pictures a three-year-old curly-headed boy getting into things he shouldn't and Liv toddler-proofing her home. He also feels his ears heat up at the image of Liv's shirt rising to reveal soft skin around her hips as she reaches on her tippy toes for the thermometer, or Paw Patrol themed bandages, or children's Tylenol from the tall shelf.
He'll never forget how he and Kathy had learned this lesson the hard way when Mo's chubby little hands got ahold of the Clorox bathroom cleaning products and had poured them out all over the living room and kitchen. She'd had it all over her clothes and they couldn't be sure if she had ingested any or not. In typical new parent fashion, they had contacted poison control and lost an entire night of sleep watching over her peacefully dreaming tiny body. She had been completely fine, and he shakes his head with a chuckle at the memory.
He can't help but feel shame for not taking the same precautions with his much older, but youngest, child. Eli had gotten his hands on mama's prescriptions and abused them in an attempt to numb himself. Elliot can't help but feel responsible for a multitude of reasons. If he had been present, if he had paid better attention, if he had gotten Eli help after Kathy's death, if he had made damn sure that his mother's medications were safely stored away where Eli couldn't find them. The what-ifs are thoughts devastating enough to bring Elliot to his knees if he allowed them to.
He shakes the dark funnel cloud in his head away and reminds himself that Mo and Eli are both doing okay, now. He won't make those same mistakes again. Shuffling noises from Liv's kitchen break him out of his thoughts. He knows that this stubborn woman is in there getting dinner started despite him telling her to sit down and rest. Winter has finally begun transitioning into spring and with the weather change comes fluctuations in barometric pressure and achy joints and bones. She has been limping around on her healed broken ankle for the last couple of days and refusing to take anything for the pain.
"I'm fine, Elliot, would you relax?" She had snapped at him yesterday. And the day before. And although they've made incredible progress with their growing relationship since his return, he still finds himself toeing a thin line. He lives in constant fear that he'll push her too far and she'll remember all the hurt he's caused her. He lives in constant fear that she'll finally shut him out of her life for good. He lives in that fear because he deserves it. So, he bites his tongue, and he doesn't lash out at her stubbornness. He reminds himself that Olivia Benson has never relied on anyone. He knows it will be a slow, agonizingly slow, process to teaching her that she can lean on him, can go to him, can trust him.
So, she's cooking dinner. "It's spaghetti night, Elliot. It's not hard to boil pasta." She'd mumbled under her breath in irritation not even ten minutes ago.
"Olivia. Just take a damn Advil, please. If you take something, I'll stop bitching about it." He adds that last part with a small smile on his face because he knows she can't deny him when he looks at her like that.
"Stubborn son of a bitch…" She whispered as she turned the burner of the stovetop on under a pot of salted water. Shaking her head, she unenthusiastically mutters, "fine… the medicine is on the second shelf from the top in the hall closet." He can't see her face, but he can hear the endearment in her tone and his smile widens as he walks into the hallway.
He can hear Noah and Eli arguing over a video game behind Noah's closed bedroom door and his chest warms with uncontainable emotion. The boys have a mutually beneficial brotherhood forming as Noah idolizes and Eli mentors. Olivia has given Elliot more than he could have hoped for in welcoming his children into her safe embrace. He can see Eli healing, can tell that he feels safe, wanted, and cherished around her and her boy. She doesn't hold him at a distance like she does with Elliot, but he can't blame her for that.
He has taken her friends for now straight to the heart and although their path is long, windy, and painful, it is also clear. He walks the path at her pace and waits, ever so patiently, for a sign from her. She's skittish and untrusting and he won't rush her. But he'd be lying if he said he hasn't wanted to crush his body up against hers and kiss her senseless for months now, decades if he's truly honest with himself. They're ready, he knows it. His children know it. His mama knows it. Their coworkers and friends know it. Olivia is the only one pushing the breaks, and she knows it too.
Elliot's not a patient man by nature, but for her, he bites back declarations of love and physical acts of intimacy. For her, he will wait until she doesn't feel like the floor will drop out from underneath her at any given moment. He will wait until she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is not leaving her again. That she can rely on them, on him.
He finds a box on the assigned shelf and begins searching for the Advil. He navigates through a small maze of cough and allergy medications, eye drops and Calamine lotion, antibiotic ointments, and hydrogen peroxide, what looks to be an expired tube of infant teething gel, and a few boxes of feminine products. What he stumbles upon next stops him in his tracks.
All the way in the back of the box sits various prescription drugs labeled- Patient: Olivia M. Benson with various date stamps from May 2013, December 2013, June 2014. His heart rate picks up as his analyzes them. Zoloft, Prozac, Xanax, Nardil, Silvadene. He reads warning labels about overdose and dependency risks. He reads through side effect cautions of sleep disturbances, loss of appetite, nausea, and drowsiness. He loses track of the environment around him as tunnel vision takes over. Why the hell was she prescribed all these dangerous medications? He takes note that they are all mostly full, as though she hadn't taken them as advised.
"Elliot?" He hears her voice faintly, like his ears are under water. "Elliot?" This time louder and her arm gently grabbing his elbow forces him back into the present moment. "What are you doing?" She asks.
The placement of the door means that she can't see what he's looking at but he can tell by the look on her face that she is concerned. "You were taking a long time," she states.
"Sorry," he clears his throat. "I was looking for Advil or Ibuprofen or something but…"
Uncomfortable silence fills her hallway as she waits for him to explain his sudden change in mood.
"What happened, Liv? Why were you prescribed all these drugs?" He decides to bite the bullet and she bulks in front of him.
"I think that's enough snooping, Elliot." She moves around the door and reaches for the box of Advil, knowing exactly where it was. She closes the door and hobbles back into the kitchen without another word. He follows.
He watches her take a pill in silence. Watches her attend to the boiling water and the uncooked noodles. He watches her as she puts a frozen loaf of garlic bread onto a baking sheet and pours a bag of 365 brand broccoli florets into an olive oil covered pan. He knows she's busying her hands as she thinks desperately how to react to his unexpected discovery.
"Liv…" She remains silent as she opens a bottle of red wine and pours them each a glass.
She leans her hip against the counter and takes a sip, prepares her body for battle.
"I…" Her mouth opens and closes. She tries again, "I was hurt at work a while ago, a couple years after you left." She won't meet his eyes and Elliot feels his fill with tears. Some of those medications were antianxiety and antidepressants, sleep aids, prescription burn creams. His mind comes up with a million potential horror stories that could have led to her needing these medicines.
She's already preoccupied with dinner again as her back faces him. He thinks maybe it's easier for her to open up about this when she isn't looking at him.
"I had recurring nightmares and needed some help sleeping…" She nearly whispers as she shares small details, "and for a little while I needed the antidepressants but I…" she pauses both her words and her movements. Her back still faces him and she adds, "I had burn wounds and some other injuries, Elliot." She lets out a burdening sigh and turns to him, picks her wine glass up and swirls it around a little, a distraction.
"But I'm okay now. It's part of why I'm hesitant taking any pills now. Why I gave you a hard time about the Advil." She's looking right at him now and Elliot feels completely frozen. "I was afraid I'd become reliant on them, so… I stopped taking them as soon as I could. That's why they are still in there."
His heart breaks for her as he thinks about Serena Benson. Olivia had always feared picking up some of her mother's bad habits. She and Elliot both know how the weight of addiction sits heavily on Liv's shoulders.
Elliot knows his eyes still swim with tears and he lets out a loud clearing of his throat before he walks over to her and picks up the glass of wine she'd poured for him. He doesn't touch her yet.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here." He states with devastation coloring his voice and his face. They're bodies face one another in front of her oven and the smell of garlic fills the room. His free hand rises to her face and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.
"You're here now…" She says quietly and blesses him with a small smile. She tilts her head just slightly into his palm.
"I'm here now." He agrees and he kisses her forehead.
"I can tell you more, just… not right now. Not with the boys here." She adds, taking another sip and he nods. He understands.
"Whenever you're ready, Liv."
What happened in the basement?
Nothing. I'm fine, El.
The memory slaps him in the face. She hadn't opened up to him back then, had felt like she couldn't. Like she'd be a burden to him when he already had his own family to care for, his own problems. This time, he won't allow her to feel that way. He's here and he's staying and he'll take care of her. As soon as she's ready.
"Mom! Is dinner almost done? I'm STARVING." Noah's loud voice breaks their small trance and she's suddenly turning her body back toward the pot of noodles. The open space of her apartment is now filled with the chaotic sounds of Noah and Eli flopping onto the couch and turning on the TV.
Elliot rubs his hand up and down her back before setting the table.
"Yes, my love. It's almost done." She calls back, the perfect painting of domesticity. "Did you finish your homework?"
"Yes, mom." He whines back and she chuckles. Part of her fills with relief that she and Elliot have finally breached this part of her history. She's been waiting for this ball to drop, aware that they can never fully move forward with their growing relationship if he remains unaware.
She brings a small pot of marinara sauce to a boil as Elliot fills their glasses again. She meets his eyes and doesn't fight the genuine smile that takes over her face.
The realization that she's happy, hits her square in the gut. Eli has a Knicks game on the television, and she hears Noah asking Elliot if they can please have soda with their dinner. They harmoniously move around her kitchen and the moment feels too good to be true. She thinks, maybe, this can be her reality. This can be her life, if she just grabs it, holds onto it. Elliot has made it clear that it's hers if she wants it. And she does.
She wants it, aches for it. And it's in this moment of familial, chaotic harmony that she decides she'll give him the sign he's been patiently waiting for.
