Author's Note: All right, I finished it! I had to just draw this story to a conclusion at the risk of never finishing it. Thanks to all for the wonderful reviews and encouragement.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"I lost it"
"How so"
Her eyes dart to the woman across from her.
"I'm sorry I ran out last time"
"It's alright."
She's infuriatingly calm.
"I hate my partner."
"Do you?"
"No."
"Olivia."
"It was a panic attack. Elliot got me out to the roof before anyone saw anything."
"What started it?"
"Sounds."
"What kind?"
"What gave him the right? What in God's name makes someone think they can do that? He fucking killed me. How could he do that to me? To Elliot? Hell, to the whole squad? They all look like someone killed their best friend, and I suppose because someone did. What the fuck gives him the right?"
The therapist only shakes her head. Olivia is standing, shaking, she feels so tight, every muscle flexed, teeth ground in to each other, ready to fight.
"Olivia?"
She swings her head to the woman, still in the chair.
"Should you be angry?"
"Yes."
"Should you suck that anger in?"
"No."
"Are you dead?"
"No." She pauses, looks up, the therapist has this little smile, encouraging. "No, I'm not dead."
"Go to the gym. Hit the bag. I'll see you next week."
Elliot picks her up. His brow is creased, eyes a little softer than they have been. They're the eyes he saves for his baby boy. And he is looking at her with them.
"How'd it go?"
"You want to go to the gym?"
"Liv?"
"She told me to beat up the bag. You can hold it for me."
"Alright."
She doesn't stop moving for forty-five minutes, but by the end of it, Elliot is crying and she is sobbing and they can't stop saying sorry. Her skin doesn't hurt anymore. His hands aren't clenched. He drives her home, waits for her lights to blink. She thinks she might move, just to start over. But she goes into her room, a cup of chamomile tea and a David Sedaris collection. She sleeps.
--
Fall has wrapped its branched tightly around her. She finds it strange to know she is still alive, still breathing, that days have passed her by in a trance of sensations that felt a bit like having a gun pressed to her temple, or a man with too much power, a mattress, a prison. Sensation like realizing the possibility of dying alone. Like falling down.
Coolness snaps at her face, an auburn leave crushes under her boot, a man talks about coffee and meeting a woman. She's still hung-over from falling apart, and she wonders if Elliot will ever care about her again. But of he does. But of course he will.
He catches her walking into the precinct. Her skin is still cool from the air outside, and she feels clean for the first time in a while.
"Hey."
"Hey El."
He seems softer today, a little freer, a little less tight, a little more like the man he was five years ago. Or was it ten? They've grown older.
"It's nice outside."
"Beautiful"
"You want to grab a drink later"
"It's eight in the morning"
"How about in twelve hours then"
"Yeah. Sounds good."
And she knows that they won't go to Maloney's, and she knows she will order one beer and drink half of it because she has had too much to drink lately, and he will drink her other half. Because he is her other half. They will talk about Eli, the kids, he will say he is sorry because he is, because he would have let himself fall in love with her if Kathy hadn't given him one more son. She will tell him he has nothing to be sorry about, though she kind of likes that he is sorry. He will give her a hug, and she will smell old spice, and then he will make her blink her lights when she gets home. Instead she will send him a text message.
And she will sleep.