Part Twenty

The sun was slow to rise, trying to fight its way through the clouds, only succeeding a tiny fraction of the time. But she lay there, watching the black sky turn to purple, then blue, then gray, eventually lightening to a dull shade of white that promised more snow was coming. The thought would have made her shiver, except she was in the inferno that was Elliot's arms, sandwiched between him and the fire, unable to identify which one of them was actually hotter.

Elliot was out cold, sound asleep with his vise grip around her waist. She'd discovered while the sky was still a pretty violet shade that he'd passed out without remembering to reattach her handcuffs. One of them hanging from her wrist, clattering noisily every time she moved. Elliot was such a heavy sleeper that he didn't stir no matter how much noise she made.

Olivia had watched the rainbow of colors through the window, trying to decide what to do with her hard earned freedom. It seemed like it would be cheating to run off while he was asleep. Plus, she couldn't dispute the gentle, loving way he'd cared for her, undoubtedly saving her life hours before when she'd taken an ill-advised stroll through the woods. She'd been on the receiving end of lectures about her utter lack of common sense starting in the third grade. Unlike most people, while Elliot always got annoyed with her, he never really seemed to think any less of her for all the stupid shit she tried.

Out of fear that she might actually melt from the heat, she stood up, carefully untangling herself from his arms, trying not to read anything into the intimate way they'd twisted themselves together. She waited there, watching, expecting that he would notice. But he flopped over on his stomach as soon as she wasn't there for him to lean on, and continued sleeping.

Olivia headed towards the kitchen, a grumbling stomach demanding that she acknowledge it. As she passed the couch where he must have been sleeping while she was cuffed to the bed, she saw a mostly empty beer bottle, standing next to it was a familiar amber bottle. With a sigh of disappointment, she knew he wasn't waking up any time soon, nor would he be particularly happy when he did. Shivering, she remembered how she'd recognized his angry red eyes when she'd been in the bathroom. She was tempted to dump the damn pills down the sink, but she hesitated. If he was hooked on them, detox would not be fun. And she wasn't about to sit through it as the only possible outlet for his emotions.

There weren't a lot of choices for food, only whatever he'd grabbed during that one stop. She settled on a bowl of oatmeal, staring at the handcuffs half attached to her wrist while she waited for the water to boil. The last time she'd known, the key had been in his pants pocket, the very same pants he'd left discarded on the living room floor, soaked from the snow. A million ideas ran through her head. She could uncuff herself. She could hide the damn cuffs somewhere so he couldn't use them again. She could cuff him, rummage through his stuff until she found her weapon, turn the whole situation back on him. Six hours of driving through the snow wasn't exactly her idea of fun, but she knew she could be back in her apartment, having dinner on her couch while Elliot rotted in prison.

She leaned back against the counter, folding her arms around her stomach, seeing the way his sweats pooled loosely around her. She couldn't do it. She couldn't run back to the city to have him arrested.

She couldn't say that she believed him. But she wanted to. So very desperately.

She ate her breakfast without tasting a bite of it, leaving the dishes in the sink while she poked around, curiosity and boredom spurring her to look around the cabin. Although she hadn't paid any attention the night before, she quickly realized the place was practically filled with pictures. Everywhere she turned were shots of a happy, smiling couple, always together, always touching, sometimes holding hands, sometimes with their arms wrapped around each other. She wanted to be jealous, to resent the pair who was so ridiculously happy and in love, but as she stared at the living room wall, covered nearly floor to ceiling with framed photos, she realized she knew the man, though she'd never once seen Don Cragen looking so damn happy nor so young.

The pictures no longer seemed so wonderful; the smiles taking on a dark foreshadowing. She didn't like knowing how their story, one that seemed so wonderful and perfect, ended. No wonder the man hadn't been able to return there. The evidence of his wife made Olivia want to drown her sorrows; she couldn't imagine the sort of effect it would have on the alcoholic spouse left behind.

An unhappy groan from behind her informed her that Elliot was awake. She panicked for a moment, fearing he would think she'd tried to escape again, wishing she had taken the opportunity when she'd had it. She wondered if that was what it felt like to go insane, to have her mind telling her to do two opposite things, to firmly believe two opposing ideas. She stood there, frozen, watching as Elliot struggled to sit up, moaning and whining and holding his head like he'd been on a three week bender.

Reminding her of how she'd felt when she'd woken up from her pill-induced coma.

After a minute of sitting there with his hands over his eyes, Elliot slowly climbed to his feet. With half closed eyes, he looked around at the pile of still wet clothes littering the floor. "What the fuck-" His eyes moved to her, noticing her presence. "What's with the creepy silent stare?"

She didn't know how to respond to him. She didn't know what to make of his behavior, the way he winced at the dull gray light coming in the windows.

"God, it's fucking bright in here." He stumbled to the kitchen with his eyes closed, pulling a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sipping at it.

Olivia followed him, expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment.

He glanced at her again, doing a double take, and then slowly raking his eyes up her body. She nearly shivered from the intensity of his eyes when they met hers. "Are those my clothes?"

She nodded, wondering why she felt more naked standing there in baggy sweats several sizes too big than she had when he'd stripped and redressed her a few hours prior. Perhaps because he hadn't seemed the slightest bit enticed by her half-frozen body, which, she unhappily realized, didn't appear to be the case anymore. She suspected he liked seeing her wearing his clothes. It made her want to strip them off, despite the comforting scent she knew and loved that wafted from them when she moved.

He nodded at the mess of wet clothes in the living room. "Did we go out hiking or something last night?"

She'd thought she was the crazy one, but it was looking like it was him after all. "Or something."

He dropped into a chair, looking like he just wanted to crawl back in bed. "How'd you get out of the bedroom anyway?" He didn't pause long enough for her to answer, instead forcing his hooded eyes to hers. "Weren't you handcuffed to the damn bed post in your own clothes last night?"

She sat down across from him, pulling her feet up onto the edge of the couch, letting the shiny metal of the cuff draw attention to the beer bottle as she motioned at it. "I don't think you should take those pills anymore. At the very least, don't drink when you do."

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" He narrowed his eyes at her, immediately taking offense where she truly hadn't intended. "You weren't a doctor last time I checked."

She glared back at him, wanting to point out that she hadn't run off while he was asleep, but afraid to point it out for fear he'd lock her right back up. "You probably wouldn't remember if I was."

He stood up, approaching her, holding his hand in front of her face. "Where's the key?" She only shrugged. She really didn't know because she'd been too stupid to go for it. "Give me the god damn key, Olivia, or I'll fucking search you for it."

She stood up, feeling stronger and better able to fight with him when he wasn't towering over her. "You wouldn't fucking dare."

His eyes sparked, adrenaline or desire or something chasing the drug hangover from his system. "You want to find out?" His eyes held hers, challenging her, waiting for her to fold.

But there was nothing for her to give him, except the satisfaction of backing down. It just wasn't her style. She jutted her chin out and put her hands on her hips. "Go ahead. Search me. Put your slimy fucking hands on me and prove me right about what a sick freak you are." She wasn't entirely convinced she didn't want him to. She wasn't sure she was fooling him either.

She thought she might actually swoon when his hands reached for her, finding her waist, grabbing the hem of his shirt. But all he did was pull her against him, trying to intimidate her with his sheer size.

"Give me the fucking key, Olivia!"

"I don't have it." She wasn't sure how far he was willing to take it; she only knew that he was calling her bluff.

"The fuck you don't." But even as he glared at her, she could see the doubt in his eyes. "How did you get out of the bedroom without the key?"

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to inform him of her little nature walk if he didn't remember it. But she wasn't sure he wouldn't do a full body cavity search looking for the damn key otherwise. "Unless you've got Alzheimer's all of a sudden, you need to stop taking those fucking pills."

He let her go, his hands settling on his hips instead. "Oh, please, enlighten me. What did I forget this time?"

Hating herself for doing it, and him for making her, she dropped back down on the couch and told him. All of it. Her calling him, his anger, her attempt to run, his dragging her back to the cabin.

He stared at her from his perch back in the chair until she was finished. He didn't look like he particularly believed a word of it. "So, after you ran off in the snow, I brought you back here and just forgot to keep you from trying it again."

She shrugged. "I don't know." She'd passed out before he had. She couldn't begin to guess at his motivations. "Maybe I learned my lesson." At his disbelieving glance, she smiled, she couldn't help it. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

With a heavy sigh, he shrugged back at her. "You don't have to keep trying to get away from me, Liv. I'm not going to hurt you."

She wanted to point out that he'd just threatened to strip search her, but she couldn't honestly tell if he'd been serious or not. She didn't know what she thought anymore. The whole thing, the indecision, was wearing her out and making her crazy. "I want to believe you." Shaking her head, she looked down and stared at the floor. "Half of me already does."

He moved from the chair to the couch, reaching out to take her hand. "Then what do I need to do to convince you?"

"I don't know." She peeked at him, but found the floor much less emotionally charged. "What do you expect me to do? What would you do if you were in my position?"

He chuckled, his genuine amusement bringing her eyes back to his. "Liv, if you kidnapped me and cuffed me to a bed, the last thing I would try to do is escape."

She couldn't help but laugh, feeling the familiar tingle of flirtation between them. But the mood turned serious quickly and she held his stare. "If you want me to believe you, then explain something to me."

He nodded, not breaking eye contact for even a second. "What?"

She shrugged, needing to turn away from the eagerness she saw in his face. "Anything. Any of the evidence. Explain one piece of it to me." She felt her heart pounding, reacting to her anxiety rather than the gentle pressure of his hand on hers. She did want to trust him again. She just needed an excuse. She needed him to give her one.