Part Twenty-Seven
His mouth was on hers again, open and hungry and still searching for proof that his fears hadn't been realized. She couldn't imagine what he'd been through in those moments, seeing her there, thinking the worst. But she could imagine how she'd feel if the situation had been reversed. Actually, she couldn't imagine that either. The thought alone hurt so bad she feared it might kill her.
She returned his kiss, clawing at his back, tasting his mouth, trying to force more contact between them. It didn't matter if she was tired, not if he needed her. Not if he was hurting because of something he'd thought she'd done.
But rather than increasing in intensity and trying to move things along, he started to pull back, holding her tightly, but easing away from kissing her. She tried to chase him. They spent years miscommunicating and the previous night had been so perfect; she knew they were better off physically explaining themselves.
Yet he continued to resist. "No, Liv, wait." He loosened his hold on her, his hands moving from her back to her sides to her face. His hands were gentle, but his words were firm. "I need to take you home." He could barely meet her eyes as he searched around for something that might hold his attention for a whole millisecond.
There was something certain and final and crushing about his words. She grabbed at his arms, her nails digging in to keep him from turning away. "El, why?"
He held her eyes, revealing more to her the longer he stared. He was still hurting, still unsure, still guilt-ridden. His head started to shake as though willing away the tears she knew were coming. "I wasn't thinking when I grabbed you, Liv. I just wanted to keep you safe and I never thought this-" He stopped speaking, his breath coming in pants as he fought to keep his tears at bay. "It was a mistake. I didn't know what else to do, but I never should have done this."
And then he was gone, pulling himself out of the water, pushing himself toward the door, a wet trail across the bathroom the only evidence that he'd ever been there at all.
The relaxation and rest she'd sought in the bath were completely undone. Climbing out of the tepid water, she wrapped a towel around her and chased after him. She didn't have to go far, finding him in the living room, shoving things in his bag.
"El, what are you doing?" It was bad enough that he'd thought she'd ever resort to attempting suicide. She couldn't fucking guess what made him think she'd rather be back in the city with some fucking psycho after her.
He shook his head rather than answer, kicking the flannel blanket Olivia had come to love simply for the memories she'd attached to it, moving into the kitchen and throwing more things around.
She really hated it when he shut down on her. And she knew he was headed there, into the hideous depths of his fury and self-loathing that made him hard and mean and violent. She hated even more that she'd prompted it, even without knowing how. Worse than just knowing she'd caused it somehow was the fact that, although she'd learned long ago to recognize the behavior, she still didn't have the first fucking clue what to do with him when he got like that.
She followed him, chilly and feeling quite stupid for wearing only a towel, but she was facing Elliot, who'd pulled a shirt over his head without drying off first. The thin cotton served no purpose besides absorbing some of the water off his skin and jeans, leaving nothing to the imagination. But rather than admire the view and the body she'd so recently discovered she had the right to touch, she tried to catch his eyes.
"Stop! Elliot, talk to me. What's going on?" As if her attire didn't attest to her level of distress, her tremulous voice certainly should have.
His eyes kept darting around, still red rimmed from his tears, his face contorting as he tried to hold back more. Finally, though, he stopped searching for an escape, his mouth open to let out a breath that almost sounded like a sob, his eyes coming to rest on hers. "I never meant to hurt you, Olivia. I want you to know that."
"I do know that. Why do you think you hurt me?" She was panicking, her own demons telling her that he desperately wanted out of the physical relationship she'd pursued and instigated.
His hands moved to her face once again, his eyes filling with longing as he stroked her cheeks. "I scared you. I dragged you here against your will. I threatened you. I overpowered you." He sniffled, looking away as he pulled himself together once again. "You were no more able to consent last night than if you'd been drunk, Liv, don't you see that? You're terrified that I'm going to hurt you, worse than I already have, and you're doing whatever you think you think will keep me from hurting you."
Oh for the love of fucking god. She almost slapped him right across the face. "I don't have fucking Stockholm Syndrome, Elliot. And I didn't do a damn thing last night I haven't wanted to do for years."
He was shaking his head, disagreeing with her, while she knew he hadn't heard a single word. He was backing up, abandoning the things in the kitchen, running away from her. "Fuck, Liv, might as well as a few more fucking charges, right? I'll be in prison for the next twenty-five years. I fucking deserve it." He grabbed his bag and threw it by the door before he headed toward the bedroom.
By the time she followed him across the room, he'd already shoved most of her stuff into her bag. She grabbed at his hands. "Damn it, Elliot, stop it. How is getting yourself arrested going to help me in the slightest bit?"
He stopped his frantic movements, one of the shirts he'd just pushed into the bag popping back out. She thought she'd gotten through to him, but only until he opened his mouth. "You should get dressed first. I'll warm up the van."
She moved to block his path, knowing that for the moment at least, he was too afraid to dare touching her, even if it was just to move her out of his way. "Elliot, don't you dare set foot out in the god damned snow until you're in dry clothes."
His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, his level of upset precluding normal thought processes. Eventually he looked down, noticing his wet clothes for the first time. His face moved back level with hers, but he said nothing.
The adrenaline was wearing off, she recognized it in the way his body trembled slightly. But having Elliot tired and despondent wasn't much better than Elliot hysterical and in a flurry of activity.
She put her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him from locking back inside his walls. "How about we both get dressed and then we can sit down and talk about what to do?"
He swallowed, shivered, and remained silent.
"Please? There's still someone out there who tried to rape me and you're in a whole shitload of trouble, so there's no pressing need for us to get back to the city right this second, right?" She held his eyes, wondering if he was in shock, wondering if it was even possible for him to be in shock simply from firmly believing he was an asshole. She tried to force a smile, refusing to allow herself the comfort of hugging him only because it wouldn't be comforting to him under the circumstances. "We get dressed and then talk? Deal?"
He nodded slowly, probably too afraid of hurting her to disagree. As novel as the idea of a docile Elliot was, she hated it. She much preferred crazy, irate Elliot. Docile Elliot meant something was very, very wrong. But she knew that he would do as he said and it gave her enough time to get dressed.
When she returned to the living room, Elliot was sitting on the couch, donning dry clothes and slightly less pale skin. She took the time to hang his wet clothes over the towel rack along with her towel and drain the tub. Just in case Elliot demanded to go back to the city, she didn't want to leave Cragen's cabin in such a hideous state.
Finally, she joined Elliot on the couch, turning toward him and pulling her feet up under her. He hadn't said a word, but she could tell he was already more like himself. He'd needed a minute to think, to calm down, and she felt fortunate for having hit on the right thing to do.
He wasn't breaking the silence though, and continued to stubbornly avoid her eyes. She sighed and decided she was going to have to take over the driver's seat, since Elliot clearly wasn't about to.
"Ok, El, so why do you want to go home so much?"
He kept his stare directed at the burned out fire, working his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowing as he tried to come up with an answer. "I never should have brought you up here." He winced, apparently rethinking his words as soon as he said them, and then dared a quick glance in her direction. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for," his voice stopped as the emotions reared up again.
But she didn't wait for him to get control of them again. The last thing she wanted was to listen to him apologize over and over until she really did go insane and beg for mercy. "Jesus, Elliot, I'm fine. Look at me." She scooted over, touching his shoulder, trying to turn him to face her.
He did look at her then, his pain and fear and sadness nearly strangling her. He was beating himself up over hurting her, for putting her in a position where he honestly thought she'd been willing to trade sex for her safety. She wanted to shake him and point out that his remorse and horror for something he hadn't done was exactly how she knew he wasn't the kind of man who could ever do so in the first place.
And it only served to make her feel guilty for ever having doubted him. She'd been so quick to judge him, to convict him, to turn on him. The pain of realizing how horrible she'd been to him felt like a knife in her chest and she had to struggle to breathe for a moment before she realized it was really in her head.
She reached for his face, her fingers crossing over his stubble, pressing into his cheek until he turned to look at her. "Elliot, please, we've both made some mistakes here, and I did things that I know were absolutely despicable, but making love to you last night wasn't one of them."
She watched as he tried to keep looking at her, though he eventually turned away as more tears spilled down his face.
"Maybe kidnapping me wasn't the most brilliant idea you've ever had, but I understand it, El. I know your hands were tied. I helped tie them. You were right that I wasn't going to listen to you no matter what you did. You were trying to protect me and I can't fault you for that."
Slowly he looked back at her, unashamed of the tears that kept falling. "So what changed? You never would have listened to me. You thought I was trying to rape you. So why did you decide to sleep with me?"
It was a hard question to answer. Because she'd been so sure of his guilt. Because she'd become so sure of his innocence. Because nothing he'd done had been any different in between.
"I thought about it, I guess. I can't even really explain it, El. But I'm not upset about changing my mind and trusting you." She knew she couldn't keep his stare and so reached for his hand, gripping it in both of hers. "I'm pissed off at myself for ever doubting you. I don't know how I can ever make that up to you. I don't need you making it worse by thinking that you've hurt me."
He nodded, although she couldn't be sure he was listening to her. His gaze was once again fixed on the charred remains of the fire, the faraway look in his eyes revealing that he didn't even see what was left of the heat that had warmed them.
His hand moved out from hers, pausing to brush against her wrist as he pulled away. "I should have stopped you last night. I should have realized you weren't in a position to make that kind of decision."
She grabbed his arm, her nails digging through the fabric of his shirt. "Fuck, Elliot, why won't you listen to me? You woke up screaming for me all fucking night! How can I possibly think you would ever hurt me when you're so god damn scared of something happening to me?"
And that was crux of the matter, after all. The icing on the cake. The last thing she'd needed to see before she knew that it had been she, and she alone, who'd been so very wrong.
He turned toward her suddenly, unexpectedly, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. "Until we're back at home, until you know, really know, until you see the fucking son of a bitch who really tried to hurt you in jail, I can't believe that any of this is real." He took in a breath, his eyes displaying so much anguish it turned her stomach. "You really fucking believe I didn't do anything wrong here, Olivia, but I did. And you're trying to make it be ok, but it's not and it never will be. I have to take you home. Then when you're safe, when you're really safe, on your own fucking terms, then you can think about how you really feel." His thumb brushed across her cheek, so softly, so gently, that she knew he wasn't going to touch her again. "And I won't fight any charges you bring. I hurt you. I kidnapped you, Olivia. You're my fucking prisoner and you're trying to make me feel better. Don't you see that?"
She shook her head, reaching for the hand he withdrew, wanting the contact he was denying her. "No, Elliot, that's not true."
He stood up, pulling his coat from the back of the couch. "Yes, it is." Her heart nearly stopped in her chest when he pulled her gun from his pocket and motioned at the door. "Get your stuff. We're leaving."
Standing, shaking, she looked at him, at the gun he was brandishing at her. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I have to." His emotions were gone that fast, once again locked up tight inside him, his face back to the blank mask he'd worn the night he'd grabbed her. "Don't make me cuff you again."
Slowly, she moved toward the bedroom, knowing he wasn't kidding, hating that she'd failed entirely to earn his trust, wondering if he'd ever trust her again.