3. Zoo York
Central Park – West 100th Street Playground
New York, New York
Saturday, August 15, 2009 – 9:26 a.m.
Hundreds of people breeze by without a second look. No one suspects anything of the small garden with newly tilled earth. It rests unobtrusively, bathed in warm August sun on the outskirts of the West 100th Street Playground. All who pass take a moment to comment on the vibrant colors and general splendor then keep walking. It isn't until Adeona, an overly curious Golden Retriever/Labrador mix, jumps into the flowerbed that the truth behind its beauty is revealed.
"Adeona! Adeona, get back here!"
Valerie Mactavish chases her dog, trying to grab the leash that has just been yanked from her hand. When the dog pauses, Valerie carefully places one foot in front of the other and creeps toward the spry dog. Just as she closes in, Adeona springs forward leaving her owner in her dust. The young woman sprints down the path after her high-spirited, often mischievous companion. When she finally catches up she sees her dog standing in the middle of a once pristine flowerbed, digging furiously. Valerie groans and hopes no one calls the authorities; she couldn't handle another citation due to her dog's fondness for burrowing in dirt.
"Adeona. Dammit, stop digging!" Frustrated, Valerie leans down and tightly grasps the loop on the end of the bright green leash. "Come on, girl. Let's go home and get some breakfast." She tugs lightly on the leash to ease the dog out of the flowers. "Come on, Ade," she coaxes.
After a few more tugs with no response, the tall redhead takes a few steps toward the stubborn animal. Bending down to grasp her collar, Valerie sees what the dog has unearthed. She screams, stumbling out of the flowerbed and falling backward onto the sidewalk.
Hearing the commotion, a muscular man in orange jogging shorts hurries over to her. He wipes the sweat from his hand on his shorts then offers it to her. "Are you okay?"
"I…I…"
He lifts her from the ground with ease. "What's the matter?" He asks noticing her alarmed face.
Valerie slowly raises her arm and points a trembling finger to the flowerbed. The jogger looks at her, scrunches his face then takes the three steps to where she's pointed. Inside, amongst the bright red and orange flowers and mounds of dark soil lies a small fist. He turns sharply back to the shaking woman.
"Do you have a cell phone?"
She nods her head unsteadily. Slowly she reaches in her pocket and retrieves the requested item. As she hands it to him, her trance-like stare fixes on his eyes. He takes the phone and dials 911. While the phone rings, he paces back and forth in front of the flowerbed.
"Yes, I'd like to report a body. In Central Park by the playground on west 100th street. Bryce Newman. I was just running in the park. Yeah, okay, thanks." The jogger flips the phone shut and hands it back to the woman. "They should be here shortly. You should sit down," he says and gently guides the woman and her dog to a nearby bench.
Twenty minutes later, the area is swarming with city officials. They tape off the perimeter and slowly continue to uncover the small body. Different officers spread throughout the small area to question witnesses. Tension is tight as everyone hopes they find something to put an end to the Central Park Rapist's tyranny.
Benson Residence
Manhattan, New York
10:15 a.m.
Olivia is just about to take a sip of her coffee when the knock at the door causes her to jolt. As she places the mug on her kitchen table she glances at her watch and grumbles. Looking through the peephole she sees the top of his head and lets go of a long sigh.
"I'm taking this isn't a social visit?" She asks as she swings the door open.
"How long do you need to get ready?" Elliot asks as he barges through her front door.
"What happened?" Concern forms on her brow when he doesn't even attempt niceties or apologies for interrupting her on their day off.
"We're needed at Central Park." A large breath is forced from his body.
Her step falters with his words and she quickly pivots toward him. "What happened?" She asks again more urgently.
"Liv…"
"Tell me, Elliot."
"There was a call, came in about twenty minutes ago. Dead body in the park on 100th street."
"Dead body," she replies shakily. "Robbie?"
"Don't know yet." He wants to give her time to adjust to the news but they don't have any. They only have maybe half an hour, tops, before the crime scene is inundated with reporters.
"Give me…ten minutes." Olivia turns her head to him but doesn't afford him the comfort of her eyes. She hides them, keeping them to herself.
Central Park
Manhattan, New York
10:42 a.m.
The car door swings open slowly and she steps into the summer breeze. The strands of her hair are lifted and blown into her eyes. Instead of swiping them away in her usual Olivia fashion, she allows them to flutter across her face. Elliot observes Olivia as she squints her eyes toward the narrow path that will lead them to the crime scene.
A few ticks of the second hand later, Olivia jerks her head slightly to the left then walks away. He's watched her do this countless times in the ten years they've known each other. But for some reason this time seems different. He misses the soft swishing noise of her long leather coat trailing behind her. The leather coat he's always seen as her shield against the ugliness of their job.
"What do we have?" Olivia asks as she walks up to the small crowd of officers. She absently holds her badge out for everyone to see.
"Well, detective, we just started to uncover the body. But from the looks of it, it's your Amber Alert kid." A short officer motions toward the flowers and offers her a look of apology.
Olivia nods her head. Her worst fear has just come true. The Central Park Rapist had finally killed.
"Who found him?" She asks trying not to stare at the flowerbed.
The officer points to the redheaded woman of average build. She's outfitted in black yoga pants, a Hudson University t-shirt and frayed nerves. As she nervously picks at her nail, she looks around the area taking in the flurry of activity. Standing calmly beside her is a large dog whose fur almost matches the color of her owner's hair.
"Valerie Mactavish. Her dog stumbled across the body when she decided to hop in and start digging. Ms. Mactavish is pretty shaken up. Fellow over there," the officer says and motions to the jogger in the orange shorts, "called 911 with her cell."
Both detectives thank the officer then walk in the direction of their witnesses. After a few paces they separate – Olivia directing her attention to Valerie while Elliot heads toward the jogger.
11:36 a.m.
On the other side of the police blockade the press buzzes and clicks. With every lead, the press follows meticulously. Like clockwork they arrive at a scene thirty to forty-five minutes after the perimeter is set. This time is no exception. They crowd behind the barrier, wanting to be the first to uncover the secret behind the tape. Wanting to know if what they all prayed would not happen – had. But naturally, more concerned about their ratings, each wanted to be the first to expose the fate of the little boy with the blonde hair and red bathing suit.
Several feet behind the mass of assertive reporters and news crews, two men exit their sedan and stalk furiously toward the blockade. Their serious faces harden at the gathering of vultures who flock to impede their access.
"Captain Cragen!"
"Can you confirm there's a body?
"Can you confirm that it's Robbie Baker?
"Is this the work of the Central Park Rapist?"
The questions overlap as they are shouted in Captain Cragen's direction. Microphones are shoved in his face and he tries to push his way through the sea of reporters. Fin does his best to help by blocking the reporters from engulfing his captain.
"Excuse us," he grates through clenched teeth. "Let us through," he barks at a few others.
"No comment," Cragen gruffly says as he squeezes through the group.
When they finally reach the perimeter, Cragen flashes his badge to one of the uniforms guarding the scene. The officer lifts the tape to allow the two men through. Cragen's brisk pace causes his suit jacket to flap in the breeze almost creating a superhero cape-like quality though he felt nothing like one. As the two men continue down the wooded path to the 100th Street Playground, their scowls intensify.
"Who found him?" Cragen barks as he nears the small grouping of people.
Upon hearing her captain's tight tone, Olivia emerges from the center of the group and walks to her boss.
"Valerie Mactavish, sir." She points to the young woman who now sits on a park bench. "She's a grad student at Hudson. She was walking her dog, Adeona. Adeona got free and ran down the path, ending up in this flowerbed. When Valerie finally caught up, she found Adeona in the flowers digging."
"Who's he?" Cragen asks and motions to the jogger in the bright orange shorts.
"Bryce Newman. He happened to be jogging by when Valerie screamed and fell back onto the sidewalk. He helped her up and asked what happened. When she pointed to the flowers he went over to take a closer look. He called it in."
"What else we got?"
"A whole lot of nothing, cap," Elliot says as he walks up. He rips his latex gloves off and shoves them in his pocket. "There's nothing unusual in that flower bed except Robbie. And from the looks of it he took quite a beating. Warner's putting t.o.d. between 10 and 12. Body's on the way to the lab now. She said she'd call when she knew something definitive."
"Was he assaulted?"
Olivia nods her head.
"Fluids?"
"Warner thinks he was wiped down, maybe bathed. She's not sure until she gets him on the table," Elliot responds.
Cragen scans the park. "I'll have Munch notify Mrs. Baker then we'll have her come in to make a positive ID. Let's get back to the house and sort out this mess. I want to catch this s.o.b."
Somehow the information leaks to the press that Robbie Baker was found in the park – dead. Within hours of the first news story, New York City turns into a zoo of activity. The city is a frenzied mess of mothers trying to protect their sons, vigilantes searching for the predator and the press trying to squeeze as much information out of the NYPD as they can. There isn't a moment of rest for anyone in the Special Victims Unit – not that anyone would have requested any. Their perpetrator had finally killed and they were helpless in stopping him again.
SVU Squad Room
Manhattan, New York
Saturday, August 15, 2009 – 2:45 p.m.
"Dammit!" Olivia yells and slams her hand on her desk.
The three detectives jump at the outburst and stare at their colleague. Each has his own questions and speculations for the outburst but none are voiced. Elliot watches helplessly as his partner slowly comes undone in front of them. He's noticed that Olivia seems to have taken on this case like a cause, something that is typically his M.O. when a child is involved. Something about her had changed when their third victim was found. And no one could figure out what it was, not even Elliot.
"Where is this piece of crap? Who is this piece of crap?" She says staring at the crime scene photograph of Robbie Baker. She grabs a handful of photos and starts to spread them across the desk.
"Liv, this isn't your fault."
"How do you know, Elliot? How do you know?" She glares at him through glassy eyes. "What if we hadn't given up last night? Maybe we could have found him."
"Olivia," he says in a disapproving tone.
"Don't 'Olivia' me, Elliot."
"Liv, just…let's just wait until we get Warner's report before we draw any unfounded conclusions. Okay? He could have been dead already. He could have been dead Thursday, Liv."
Munch walks up to the table and picks up one of the pictures. "Is this where he was found?" He asks turning toward Olivia.
"Yeah. Why?"
"These look like poppies."
"Okay," Olivia states not seeing how the type of flower would be a significant clue.
"Poppies aren't planted in Central Park this time of year. I'm not even sure if they are planted in Central Park at all," John says matter-of-factly.
"So you think these were intentionally put there? That Robbie was intentionally left in these flowers?"
"Maybe," he shrugs his shoulders then moves toward his chair.
"Why? Is there some kind of significance to poppies? Maybe his favorite flower? His mother's? Sister's? Girlfriend's? Boyfriend's?"
John turns his eyes to the ceiling for a few minutes in thought. "In Greek myths, poppies were offerings for the dead. They were often placed on headstones. The myths also say poppies have hypnotic traits and can cause death if one is exposed to them for too long."
Olivia's face distorts in confusion. "What does that mean? Why would the perp place a dead body amongst flowers that could eventually cause death?" She stares at the pictures on the surface of her desk. "Was Robbie not dead before he was buried?"
"I don't know, Liv. I just know what the myths say about the flowers."
"We should contact someone at the Central Park Conservatory. They would know what was planted where and if they planted any poppies this season," Elliot suggests.
"I'm on it," Munch says and leaves the room.
Olivia paces back and forth in front of her desk. She brings a tight fist to her mouth. As the pieces and clues float around in her head, her eyes flutter erratically. Her thoughts are so loud Elliot thinks he can almost hear them.
"Why?" She says into her hand. "Why would he put Robbie in poppies?" Slowly she turns her head to Fin. "Did any of the other victims mention flowers or poppies?"
"Nope," Fin responds. "All they remember is following the stranger into the woods and getting really sleepy then waking up in a hospital bed. Nothing specific. They each gave similar vague accounts of what happened."
"Did they say they could ID the guy?"
"They both initially sat with a sketch artist. But, they are five and six. And their memory was shaky after being unconscious for so long."
"And not one of them had DNA. This guy's smart." Olivia speaks as if she's the only one in the room. Absently she rubs the joint of her thumb along her bottom lip. Suddenly she starts arranging the photographs on her desk again. "What are the similarities between them?"
Fin walks over to the large computer and starts to type in information. "First victim, Christopher Parville. Five-years-old." A photograph of a young boy with freckles and brown hair pops up on the monitor. "Disappeared at the West 110th Street Playground on July 29th. He wandered off when his mother was talking to a friend on a nearby bench. Was missing for about six hours."
"Where did they find him?" Olivia asks, staring at the monitor.
"They found him, beaten and unconscious by the pool between west 100th and 103rd." Fin types in the coordinates and two small markers appear on a map with Christopher's name. "Next, Joseph Banks. Age six. Disappeared from the Robert Bendheim Playground on east 100th street on August 6th." He starts to type again and a small boy with black hair and bright blue eyes appears on the screen.
"How long was he missing?"
"Approximately six hours."
"And they found him where?" Olivia questions hoping the answer will give them a clue to the perp's identity.
"By the North Park Recreation Center, which is mid-park around 97th street. Also beaten and unconscious." Fin once again types in coordinates as Joseph's name appears on the screen with two small markers. "Victim three, Henry Wyatt, six-years-old. August 10th disappearance." Once again a picture of a boy appears on the screen. The little blond haired boy smiles out at the detectives. "He was last scene at the Rudin Family Playground on west 96th. And he was found somewhere in the North Meadow by the edge of a baseball field between 97th and 102nd. Again missing for around six hours. Each kid disappeared while his mother was distracted by someone else."
"Any news on Henry?" Olivia asks.
"Vitals are still strong. Still no improvement but things also aren't gettin' worse."
Olivia nods her head then redirects her brain to the case. "So they were all taken and left in the north part of the park. Familiarity? Opportunity? There are plenty of other playgrounds in the park. Why the north end?"
"Maybe topography," Elliot suggests as he leans forward in his chair. "All the other parts of the park are pretty populated. If you think about it, the north end is the most spread out, isn't it?"
Slowly he gets up and walks to the monitor. As he pokes his finger on the monitor, the other detectives stand next to him to look at the colorful dots peppering the screen.
"Robbie was taken by the Ravine on his way to the West 100th Street Playground," he continues and types in the coordinates. Robbie's name appears next to each one. "No two places are the same. How is he picking them?"
"Do you think it's significant that Robbie was found near his intended destination?" Olivia asks.
"Fin? Did the boys have any connections to the locations they were found?" Elliot asks turning.
Fin shakes his head. "They didn't mention it. Neither did the parents. The only consistencies seem to be is that he kept them for around six hours, he leaves them in places where they'll be found, and they are all taken and left in the north part of the park."
"And there are no physical similarities between them except that they are boys. There's no connection between the boys. And we still don't know how the perp is luring the boys away," Olivia interrupts.
"The boys wouldn't say why they followed the stranger into the woods," Fin says with a sigh. "We've got nothing."
"What did they say, Fin?" Olivia turns her tragic eyes to him.
"That they couldn't remember what happened."
"Concussion maybe? What did the tox screen say?"
"Docs say the memory loss could be from a concussion. They were both beaten pretty badly. Tox screens were negative on all three for any of the serious drugs."
"Dammit." Olivia paces in front of the monitors.
"Wait, Fin, you said Henry was found by the ball fields?" Elliot asks as his eyes widen with a memory.
"Uh, yeah," Fin responds skimming the information scrawled in his notebook. "Why?"
"Henry was found on the 10th."
"And?" Olivia asks, confused by her partner's excitement.
"It's something Robbie's mother said to me. She mentioned they were watching a baseball game earlier in the week."
"So you think the perp saw him there? Maybe even met him?" Olivia's eyes grow large.
"If he did, he could have lured him from the path that way," Elliot suggests – excited at the possible lead he may have just uncovered.
"El, did she say if she saw Robbie talking to anyone?" Olivia asks excitedly.
Elliot thinks back to the conversation with the hysterical woman. "No. She didn't mention it."
"I'll go talk to her again," Fin says and rushes away.
They watch Fin as he quickly jogs out of the bullpen. After a few moments, Elliot turns to Olivia with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"We aren't going to get anything from the previous three vics, Liv."
"I know," she replies sadly. "And the only clue we have for Robbie, until we hear from Warner, is the flowerbed." Olivia paces the space between the desks, frustrated.
"Shall we?" Elliot asks.
With a shrug of her shoulders, Olivia leads the way to the elevator.
Central Park – West 100th Street Playground
New York, New York
Saturday, August 15, 2009 – 4:08 p.m.
Olivia kneels beside the flowerbed and scoops up some of the soil. As it filters through her fingers, she breathes in the earthy scent. This is Robbie's final resting place. When the last of dirt falls to the ground she tightens her hand into a fist. She pounds it into the spongy ground and curses. The word echoes through the woods, bouncing off trees and carrying higher into the sky.
"Liv," Elliot says and hesitantly places his hand on her shoulder.
His mere presence is enough to hold the fast crumbling pieces together. But the soft touch and concern in his voice breaks her. Not a words escapes as her shoulders start to shake. Neither moves from their position until her body stills several minutes later.
"I should…I should have stopped this. Maybe if…if I hadn't -"
"Olivia, this isn't your fault." Elliot crouches next to her and speaks to her profile. "Nothing would have changed even if you had been at work earlier in the week. This guy isn't going to stop."
"But I should have been able to find him. I should have stopped him. It's my damn job, Elliot."
"Why is this one different?" He has wanted to ask her this question for days. From the moment he saw her after the first visit to Henry's hospital room. It was at that moment he saw the light in her eyes dull.
"I don't know."
"Is it because Henry's in a coma? Because his mother is an alcoholic?"
"I don't know, El."
"Liv…" He looks at his belt when it starts shaking vigorously. He tightens his lips at the interruption then turns back to his partner. "Olivia -" The offending item's dance starts again.
"You should answer that," she says indifferently. "Could be Cragen."
"Stabler," he huffs in the phone's mouthpiece. He slowly straightens to a standing position. "They're sure? Okay. Can you get some uniforms down her to block off the scene? Okay. Thanks, John." Elliot stares at the face of his phone until the screen goes black.
"What did he say?" Olivia asks quietly.
"He talked to the people at the CPC. They don't have any records of planting poppies this month."
"Okay. So the perp planted them."
"Liv," he says lowly.
"What?"
"They don't have any records of a flowerbed being here."
Her surprised eyes turn to him. "He…he made his own flowerbed? Why?"
"This spot must mean something to him."
"Crap." Olivia rubs her head as her brain spins with information. "What does this mean?"
"Cragen's holding a press conference. But he's withholding the fact that the flowers are poppies and that the perp created this flowerbed. I have John sending some uniforms so we can seal the scene and get these flowers covered."
They stand shoulder to shoulder, staring at the flowerbed until they hear approaching footsteps. Two uniformed officers stroll up to the detectives.
"Officer Doyle and Officer Browning," the taller, darker man says and extends his hands to them.
"Stabler. Benson," Elliot says and motions toward Olivia.
"What do you need us to do, detective?" Officer Doyle asks.
"We need you to seal this scene tight. We don't want the press to have any access whatsoever," Elliot responds.
"Yes sir," Officer Browning answers.
The four stand for a few more minutes before Elliot turns to Olivia.
"Come on, Liv. Let me take you home."
Not having enough fight in her to argue, Olivia nods her head and follows him back down the path.
Benson Residence
Manhattan, New York
Saturday, August 15, 2009 – 5:58 p.m.
"Olivia, you should eat something." He pauses his hand halfway between the table and his mouth to give her a stern look.
"I'm not hungry."
"I went to all this trouble of making you dinner and you're not going to eat it?" He says in a disbelieving tone.
She smirks at him. "I don't know if picking up a phone can count as making someone dinner. But nice try." Her sarcastic look evaporates his guilt trip.
"Well, you should still eat something," he says finally lifting the fork to his mouth.
"I told you, I'm not hungry."
"You're not helping anyone by starving yourself," he says watching his fork as it scoops up some pasta.
"I'm not -"
"Just eat a little. For the boys." He eyes her seriously.
"Low blow," she says and narrows her eyes at him. As she lifts a piece of bread to her mouth, Elliot puffs his chest out. "What are you so proud of?"
"Got you to eat, didn't I?" He smiles at her and takes a bite of pasta.
"Jerk," she mumbles into the crust.
After suffering through each dry bite of bread, Olivia rises from the table and stumbles to the couch.
"You never answered my question," Elliot grunts as he slides onto the seat next to her.
"I know."
"Why won't you answer it?"
"Because I told you. I don't know."
Giving her a few moments to collect her thoughts he waits. He clasps his hands and taps his thumbs together.
"Olivia."
"You saw his medical reports," she says to her hands. "That's a lot of healed bones, even for a six-year-old boy." Her eyes shift farther away from him as she tries to dam her emotions inside. "Then…then the mother came in. And she was -"
"Olivia," he interrupts. "He's not you. And you're not him."
"Don't start with me, Elliot. I know that. I know that you don't think I should carry around these ghosts forever or compare myself to the vics. I know."
The quivering in her chin compels her to turn her head away from him again. He's already witnessed two weak moments in the last two days. Two too many.
"I don't think you're weak."
His words crush her resolve to a fine powder. It blows away as the sobs escape from her mouth. He ropes her to him, holding her tight as she cries. At first she doesn't even realize he's doing it. But with each circular motion on her back, it calms her – eventually almost putting her to sleep.
"Liv?" He asks into her temple when her breaths start to even out.
"Hmm?"
"Thought you fell asleep."
"No. Still here," she says softly. She smiles against his chest when he resumes his motions. "El?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. This is strangely just what I needed."
He smiles into her hair and squeezes her tightly. It's not a normal gesture for them but he finds it comforting. Just like he can't help but find comfort in the feel of her in his arms. His head questions this new revelation his heart makes.
"Well, I should let you get some sleep."
"Okay," she responds through a yawn.
As she walks him to the door his pounding heart makes a decision without consulting his brain. Once she reaches the door she turns to say something but his mouth on hers interrupts the flow of words. The moment he touches her soft full lips they tense, sending their rigidity throughout her entire body. She plants her hands on his chest and shoves him harshly away.
"What the…Elliot, what was that?" she asks breathlessly.
"Uh…uh…" he stammers. His shocked eyes lift to hers. He blinks furiously trying to flicker back on the last few moments.
Hadn't she just cried on his shoulder? Hadn't she just leaned on him? Hadn't she just let him hold her? Hadn't she just told him he was what she needed?
'Yes. Out of devastation, you *idiot*. She was upset,' his brain answers.
As he realizes this he brings his hand up to rub his eyes. "Liv, I'm…I'm -"
"Save it, Elliot," she says looking at him angrily. Her nose flares as she breathes hard and tries to calm herself. She opens her mouth to yell at him but stops and visibly deflates. "Just…just please leave," her weak voice utters moments later.
As she looks at him, he sees the fire extinguish in her eyes.
"Liv, please, I'm sorry, I just -"
"It's fine," she says through a deep breath. "I'll…I'll just see you later."
She turns away and walks toward her bedroom. Her steps are heavy, weighed not in anger or sadness but disappointment.
He hadn't expected this reaction from Olivia. If anything he was expecting either complete acceptance or complete anger. Not evasion and not disillusionment. He saw it in her eyes. She thinks he took advantage of the situation.
He hates that she thinks he only kissed her to lessen the pain of today's events. He hates that she thinks he was trying to take advantage of her.
Never willing to leave well enough alone, he stalks back to living room and plants himself in the chair facing her bedroom. He waits for her to come back out and for her to realize the truths behind the action. He waits for another chance.
What seems like hours later, but was really only about forty-five minutes, the bedroom door swings open. Only the movement of the displaced air makes a sound as Olivia steps through the door. She walks toward the living room with fervor. Each step she takes is carefully monitored. As she takes the last few steps to the end of the couch she looks up and stops. The atmosphere around her startled by what she sees.
"Elliot." Her head jerks slightly and her eyes widen. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting."
"Waiting?" She asks in a confused voice. "Waiting for what?"
He can sense the low level of hostility she still holds for him in her voice. Taking a deep breath he tries to recall his scripted justifications. "I want to explain."
Her eyes slip shut and her jaw tightens. "Elliot," she sighs.
"No. I need to explain, Olivia."
"And what if I never came out? What if I had stayed in there for the rest of the night?"
"Then I would have waited."
"Why? Why is this so impor-"
"Olivia." The softness in his voice as it passes through his lips causes her to freeze. "I didn't do it to take advantage – of you or your emotional state. I didn't do it because you were upset. I did it…I did it…because…because –"
He had been sitting here for forty-five minutes. He had sat in silence formulating a plan, a speech. The speech was all worked out, every last detail, every last word, every last breath. But now, he tripped and stumbled over himself. This is not the way he had wanted to tell her. This is not how he had envisioned it. She deserved better. She deserved more than what he was offering.
"Elliot?" She asks confused by the abrupt lack of words.
He had waited forty-five minutes for this moment. Actually, if he really stopped to think about it, it was more like three years, four months, twenty-nine days, fifty- six minutes and fourteen seconds that he had waited for this moment. Ever since the day she stepped back into his life after being gone for months. The Masoner case.
"Liv." He turns his head to hers and offers a lifetime of apologies. "I'm just…I'm sorry if you think I acted inappropriately. And I'm sorry that you think I did what I did for whatever reason you think I did it."
The tiny deepened wrinkle in between her eyes creases. She turns her 'Elliot you're acting insane' stare to him. The look almost makes him laugh.
For as much as they think they know each other and their movements and thoughts, they really have no clue. At least not anymore. He can't even pinpoint when they'd lost that ability.
Maybe they never had it to begin with, maybe they had just imagined it, maybe they just convinced themselves it was there – to convince themselves they were special. Maybe it wasn't even them, maybe it was everyone else projecting the pure and simple attraction they had for each other into a more appropriate connection. Maybe it was his freedom – the divorce.
The maybes swarm around him, attacking him at every exposed piece of skin – at every morsel of doubt he wore on his weakening armor.
"Then why did you do it?" She asks him directly.
"I…I…I'm sorry Liv. I am."
He gets up from his seat and stares down at her. As she watches him walk toward the door her astonishment forces her eyelids apart. She propels herself forward and grabs him firmly by the arm.
"Elliot?" Her eyes remain ripped open as she wrinkles her brow.
The brown he'd come to compare all others to paces from side to side causing a beautiful frenzy of activity on her face. He'd always loved when she did that – loved that she read faces like she would read a report or a book. Her eyes flow from side to side, working their way down. Never stilling until she understood exactly what was lying beneath the expressions.
He's not sure what she reads in his expression. But he could tell she either didn't like it or didn't understand it because her eyes continued their frantic journey across and down his face.
"Good night, Liv." He places his hand gently over hers and removes it from his arm. Without another word he walks slowly to the door.
She doesn't move a muscle when the door creaks as he shuts it behind him. She's not even sure how long she stands in that spot. All she can remember is finally crumbling to the floor and staying huddled there all night.
*~~~~~*