Tug of War

Fleeterberry

Spoilers: Anything through SVU 23x22/OC 2x22

Disclaimer: I don't own them

The last week has been a tough one and she wants nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and hide in a bottle of wine right now. But from what she can gather, Elliot hasn't had the best week either and his lack of contact with her about what's going on is making her nervous and with everyone in her life telling her to actually face her relationship with the man, well, fuck, she's not going to be able to quiet her thoughts long enough to relax with her wine bottle.

And so she finds herself at his door, nervous and fidgeting with her sleeves and taking several deep breaths before she knocks. She's prepared for him to smile and flirt. She's prepared for Bernie to greet her with some sort of embarrassing remark. She's prepared for Kathleen or Eli to announce her presence with a vaguely awkward assumption regarding her relationship with their father.

She's not prepared, however, for Elliot to open the door and stare at her with an irritated glare. She swallows hard and thinks, not for the first time, that every single person she knows is wrong about their relationship, and reminds herself, again not for the first time, that there's a reason nothing has ever actually happened between them.

He's not moving and he's not inviting her in and his demeanor remains entirely unwelcoming and so, since she's the one invading his space, she figures it's on her to break the standoff.

She avoids his eyes because it's easier to pretend she doesn't know he's mad that way, but her tone comes out sarcastic and stilted because, as usual, her mood immediately mirrors his. "Heard there was a party. Guess my invitation got lost in the mail."

"Just dinner with my family and my team, nothing big." The muscles in his face twitch as his jaw tightens, but he steps back from the doorway, not inviting her in, but not barring her entry either. It's only when he's closing the door behind her that he continues. "It's not like you show up when I invite you."

She winces, knowing he's good and pissed if he's throwing that in her face, knowing she's here and there's nothing she can do about it now, knowing it's going to take a lot of energy she doesn't have to keep this meeting from going from bad to worse. She steps into the living room, taking in the busted furniture and destroyed wall and the broken everything all over the floor and wonders what the actual fuck, but she doesn't mention it. Instead she turns to face him, ignoring the way he's leaning on the wall in the hallway with his arms crossed and his lips pinched into a frown and giving her every indication that he's about to ask her to leave.

"A Combat Cross is a big deal. I would have been there." She means it and she thinks he knows it and she feels like maybe he's softening a little bit when he shrugs.

"I didn't want it." He walks past her into the kitchen, pulls a single beer out of the fridge, and pours half of it back in one sip. He pointedly doesn't offer her one and she tries not to be insulted because she doesn't want one and wouldn't have accepted one and she wonders, fears, that maybe he's done asking. He takes another sip, a more reasonable one this time, and shrugs again. "I don't want it."

She doesn't know if this has to do with his father or Frank or something else entirely. She doesn't know if the redecoration of his apartment and lack of other occupants signals a descent into the angry, rage-filled Elliot of the past. She doesn't know if this anger is meant for her or not, and that really gets to her because she's fucking here and she wants to talk and she needs to figure this out before it kills her and she knows it's only fair that he's going to make her wait since she made him wait, but fuck she's tired of the waiting and the questioning and the suffering in silence on her high moral ground.

"Why not? You earned it." And she believes he did earn it, but she's heard about the way things panned out and she already knew he was too close when he was telling her about another Elliot Junior and there's nothing a bit surprising about his answer except perhaps the amount of venom laced in his voice.

"Frank walked in front of a fucking train in front of me, Olivia. I don't want a god damned medal for killing my friend." His hand tightens around the beer bottle and she can see the war he's waging with himself to not send the damn thing flying across the room. He seems to be winning over his temper as he swallows back the rest of the contents and sets the empty bottle on the counter.

"He wasn't your friend. He was a criminal, a dirty cop, and he tried to kill you." She can hear the talking-down-a-victim voice coming out of her mouth and she knows he'll recognize the tone and it's only going to piss him off, but she can't help her default patterns when she's talking to someone who is clearly not thinking straight.

She's right about it, but she doesn't even have time to realize it before he's smashing the empty beer bottle into the sink. The sound of the shattering glass hangs in the air in the silence that follows. She can practically see her next visit with Dr. Lindstrom playing out in front of her where she admits she went to see if maybe it was time to pursue something romantic with Elliot finally and instead he's lost in an angry rage and she can hear herself admitting that she isn't even the least bit scared or nervous at his anger because she absolutely trusts him. It makes her think about Rafa too, because he called it unconditional love, but it's not about the love, it's about the trust and no matter how many times he's hurt her emotionally, she still knows she's perfectly safe physically locked in a cage with an angry tiger.

Hell, she's probably safer here with him right now than anywhere else with anyone else ever.

The stillness lingers for a long time as she's distracted by her thoughts and eventually Elliot turns around from where he's been staring at the shattered glass in the sink and she just watches as he realizes she didn't sneak out while his back was turned and she can see he doesn't know what to think about that and he's mad as fucking hell and she's here and she knows it's unlikely to resolve peacefully, but she doesn't feel like she can walk away from him.

She's simply staring at him now, unsure what to do, and he's staring back and she knows that he's left the ball in her court for a long time and he's waiting for some kind of definitive response from her and he deserves some kind of definitive response from her and she wishes she had one to give him and she fucking wants him to not be having a crisis for five whole minutes straight so she can figure out if there's anything real between them besides her being his emotional support system when his family can't handle the truth.

"He was my friend." He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, but it's in anger rather than resignation. "I don't have any others, so I can't really afford to be picky."

She feels the insult exactly the way he intended and she quietly acknowledges that she was right and everyone else was wrong and she, not them, will know when, if, she and Elliot are ready to face this head on. She nods, at herself, at him, and wishes that things had been different. "Ok, well, you're obviously not in the mood to talk, so, I'll see you later."

There isn't much ground to cover before she's out of the apartment and she's not in any hurry to be gone because now not only will she have the weekend to ruminate over all the shit people have been saying, but she'll also have this whole fucking scene with Elliot to replay and imagine what she could have done differently and as she's reaching for the doorknob, she tries to deny that she really was ready for a conversation with him, but just not this one.

"Why are you here, Olivia?" His quiet inquiry stops her in her tracks and she tells herself that this confrontation which got them nowhere wasn't what he wanted either. "Why did you come here?"

She turns back to look at him, feeling every inch of the distance between them and wishing she knew what to do to fix it and recognizing the slightest softening in his expression for the first time since he answered the door. "I wanted to congratulate you." She barely gets the words out before she sees his face harden again, telling her the lie was the wrong answer. So she swallows and tries the truth instead. "I thought maybe we could talk now that you're not undercover."

It's not an admission of her feelings. It's not a profession of love. But it's something, a big something, coming from her.

He holds her eyes for a long time and it's been years since they've really been able to talk without words and she feels like he's having a whole conversation while he's looking at her, but she can't understand a damn word of it. All she understands is the pain she sees on his face and, she's too far away to see them but she knows they're there just the same, the tears gathering in his eyes.

"Let's not do this, ok?" His voice is cracking and he's clearing his throat and she doesn't know what's coming but she knows she doesn't want to hear it. "Just let it die."

"What?" She has no idea what he's saying, no, actually, she knows exactly what he's saying, she just can't believe he's saying it so she pretends she doesn't understand in the hopes that he'll change his mind because he cannot expect her to survive if he's going to pull the rug out from under her again just when she's getting her balance.

His shoulders are slumping forward and his head is hanging and she knows he's a few seconds away from being on the floor but she feels no mercy for him because he has none for her. "We've both been pretty clear about our feelings here." He shakes his head and folds forward, supporting himself on his arms over the counter. "I don't want to be friends with you, Liv, and you don't want to be more, so can we just not do this again?" He looks up and she can see the tears on his cheeks now. "Can we just walk away and let it go, please?"

She feels sick to her stomach and her lungs are squeezing closed and she can feel her legs shaking because she really did come here tonight against her better judgment to actually pursue something with him and instead he's closing the door on her again. She wants to cry and scream and throw things and collapse into a sobbing ball, but she doesn't have that option and she can't, won't, let him see that he's broken her and so she turns away from him.

"I guess we know why you don't have any friends."

It's pure mental strength that allows her to reach for the door, but he's behind her in a flash and his hand is light on her wrist and she can feel the way he's shaking. "Liv, wait, I'm sorry."

And she wants to give in and let it go, but dammit he's just hurt her again for no fucking reason and she's at the end of her rope and maybe he was right about them just giving up on each other.

She pulls her wrist away from him and watches the way he accepts the rebuff and nods as he backs up a step and she knows at least that's one thing she was right about, he isn't going to hurt her, not physically at least, but it's not really much of a consolation prize when he can emotionally eviscerate her with a few words.

She can see the fear, the worry, the unease, the uncertainty, all vying for dominance on his face. It's finally sorrow that wins out and the tears are spilling over again and she doesn't even need to hear it to know.

"I'm sorry, Liv, I'm so sorry. I just keep fucking everything up." He meets her eyes, unashamed of his tears.

As always, she hurts more just seeing him in pain and she knows he was just lashing out at her because she hurt him by not accepting his invitations but he's not innocent in this cluster fuck of a relationship either and he gives as much as he gets with the needless infliction of pain on one another and she finds the words she didn't even know she needed to say. "Those feelings you made clear? Those are a little different from the feelings you made clear when you disappeared for ten years, Elliot. That fucking hurt." She feels bad for the hurt she sees in his eyes, but she feels better for finally getting things off her chest and she feels a lot better for the fact that she finally found the nerve to say them, consequences be damned. "I'm trying, Elliot, but this is hard for me. I don't know if I can trust you. I don't know if you're going to answer when I call. I don't know if there will be a 'for sale' sign in your yard if I come by. I'm trying to get used to you really being here again, so don't get pissed off at me because I'm not moving fast enough." And finally she can't see his tears because she's blinded by her own.

But she can hear them in his voice. "This is why I don't deserve a fucking medal."

She shakes her head, unable to follow the leap he's making. "One has nothing to do with the other."

"I'm a bastard, just like my father. I treat everyone who actually cares about me like shit while I worry about people like Donnelly thinking less of me." He shakes his head, backing up several steps. "I know it's not enough, but I'm sorry for what I did to you. You'll never know how much I regret leaving like I did and there's nothing I can ever do to make up for it."

He turns then, clearing the hall and the living room and disappearing into his bedroom before she even realizes he's done talking. She stands there for a long time, trying to figure out what she should do, what she wants to do, what he wants her to do, and, most importantly, what has the best chance of working out for both of them because she knows better than to think their futures aren't hopelessly entwined.

Finally, she realizes there's really only one option and follows his path. He's sitting on the foot of his bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, shaking from the sobs he's fighting back. She sits down next to him, her hand going to his back and rubbing small circles.

"I knew you were in a bad mood when I got here. I should have left before we got into an argument." It's true and she knows it and she knows she's partially responsible because she could have walked away and she didn't.

He doesn't look at her, doesn't sit up, but he doesn't reject her proximity. "I don't deserve you."

And then she's smiling, wondering ruefully if her life is some cosmic joke to someone somewhere. She knocks her knee against his leg. "But maybe I deserve you."

She means it in a good way, but he assumes the negative and shakes his head in disagreement. He still hasn't shifted away from her though and he doesn't seem to be looking for an excuse to start fighting again, and so she plods onward. "I had three very interesting conversations about you this week. Everyone seems to have an opinion about us."

She feels the way he stills, tenses, and she worries this really isn't the time, but she's here and he's listening and they got off to a shitty start, so maybe things can only get better from here.

"Do I want to know?"

"Do you?" She moves her hand from his back to her lap and she stares at her nails while she feels the way he studies her profile.

"Who are the three people?"

She feels nerves rising up, but fuck if she doesn't just want to move beyond this part. "My therapist thinks my idealized relationship with you is getting in the way of me being happy."

She dares to glance at him, watching as he takes in the statement, as he sorts through several different questions, and finally chooses one. "Since when was our relationship ideal?"

She shrugs, knowing she's probably not paraphrasing the doctor correctly, but satisfied that Elliot will get the broad strokes of the conversation, at least as close as she got. "He thinks we should make a decision, go for it or move on." She sighs as she realizes that what she thought was guidance was really just the man telling her to fucking decide already. "Maybe he's just bored with me." She can't really blame him, she knows she's a frustrating patient. She doesn't come to therapy regularly, doesn't take his advice, lies to him at least half the time, and then gets angry when the therapy doesn't work.

"If your therapist is bored with you, maybe you should move on from him, not me." His hand slides over hers, his fingers curving around hers. "Who else?"

She takes a deep breath and decides to go out of order, because she wants to get past the one that might spark another fight. "Don't get mad, trust me, I'm still not talking to him and I'm not over it and I'll probably never be over it." His body tenses the slightest bit, letting her know he's bracing himself for something he's not going to like. "Barba." She meets his eyes again, sees the carefully blank expression that hides his fury from everyone on Earth besides her, and she appreciates that he says nothing. "He told me I can't be objective about you or anything to do with you because I love you unconditionally."

It's hard to say, not just because she's never been so open about her feelings, but mostly because it's absolutely true and she wishes she'd realized that and had a chance to think about it before she said it to Elliot. Of course, his confession was akin to hers, unintentional, and raw and real. She's terrified, but she watches him processing her words, her lack of dispute, and she sees something like hopefulness buried in his eyes.

She breaks the eye contact, letting it sink in that she's not going to deny it, and moves on to possibly the best, and worst, conversation about them. "And Amanda, well, she's not your biggest fan, but that's mostly because she had to deal with me when you left." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "She thinks we should get a hotel room and get it out of our system."

She realizes only as she says it that his mind has undoubtedly gone exactly where hers did at the idea, to that hotel room, to a bed in that hotel room, to the exorcism of their tension, and her cheeks are flushing red the same as his are because they're sitting on his bed and she's just mentioned having sex with him and at this moment, there is exactly nothing she wants more.

It takes him a moment, and she's silently panicking the whole time and praying he doesn't notice the way her palms are sweating and hoping he can't feel the way her pulse is racing where his skin is pressed against her wrist and she notices that he's breathing a little faster and so she thinks maybe he's too caught up in trying to hide his own visceral reaction to the images in his head to notice her doing the same thing. But his thumb is caressing the back of her hands now and his fingers are closer to pressing between hers and she thinks she shouldn't be surprised that he is attracted to her and isn't dismissing her words as a joke.

"I, uh," he clears his throat and she wants to hug him for the fact that he's actually as affected, if not more, by the idea. "I'm not sure being in love with someone for twenty-three years is something you just get out of your system."

She's not sure how it's possible, but she loves him a little bit more for saying exactly what she thought, once she contemplated the idea of them fucking it out. "Yeah, me either."

He turns to her again and she can feel the surprise and it takes her a minute to realize that not only did she fail to dispute Rafa's claim that she loved Elliot unconditionally, but she has now also agreed with Elliot's own statement about them being in love for twenty-three years. She remains perfectly still, concentrating on the feeling of his hand on hers and the way his leg is against hers and she doesn't even remember when they moved up against one another, but apparently they did and she doesn't mind it at all and she just needs a little more time and he finally turns to look at something else.

"So what did Fin have to say?"

She wants to hug him for not pushing it, for letting her run the show today, and so she smiles. "Fin knows better."

"Maybe you should ask him. I'm not sure the rest of your friends know you very well." She can hear it in his voice, the way he's deflecting the gravity of the situation with humor, giving her the opportunity to back away if it's getting to be too much for her.

"Not as well as you do." She leans her head on his shoulder, realizing as this feeling washes over her, that she never, ever wants to be separated from this man again.

He's quiet for a long time and she's thinking she might drift off to sleep sitting here beside him and if she does, she suspects it will be the most peace she's known in a very long time. But just as her eyes are starting to drift closed, he breaks the silence with a soft voice.

"What are you trying to tell me, Liv, because I want to make sure I understand." She realizes it then, while she was having the calming release after finally opening up, he was worried and unsure and trying to figure out what she wasn't saying and she can feel the way he's breathing a little too fast and his heart is beating hard against his chest.

And maybe part of his confusion stems from the fact that she wasn't even quite sure what she was doing here when she knocked on the door, but now she thinks she finally understands. "I'm working on it, El. I'm getting there." She feels tears building in her eyes and she fights back the lump that forms in her throat. She's not good at asking anyone for anything, but she needs to this time. She needs to ask him so he'll know. "Don't give up on me, on us."

"Never." His hand tightens as his fingers finally slip between hers and a moment later she feels the pressure of his head resting on hers. "Not averse to the hotel room though."