A/N: We all saw the picture of Chris wearing a wedding ring as Elliot. This one shot is a possible explanation. Part 1 is going to be rated T, the next part is going to be NSFW so stick around ;)
More A/N at the end
"Uno!" Noah squeals, throwing the one card left in his hand down at the kitchen island and makes a little dance in his seat.
Olivia can see Elliot laugh, the blue pools that are his eyes shine bright, and the small wrinkles around his eyes visible now, as a smile spreads across his face. He looks at her son, and she looks at him, and for a moment this whole weird, dangerous ordeal they got themselves into seems normal somehow.
Domestic, even.
The dishes are not going to wash themselves, though, and so she detaches her gaze from the two most important men in her life and turns the tap back on, letting the sound of water drown noises of laugher on her son's side, and fake discontent on Elliot's side, who she has been suspecting been losing purposefully for the last four rounds of the game.
"Best of nine?" the boy asks, raising an eyebrow mischievously toward the man sitting across from him.
"Last one!" Olivia calls as she places another plate in the dishwasher. She has been glancing at her watch for a few times now, biting her lower lip as she deliberates if she should have called it quits two rounds ago. It's late, past his bedtime, later than she usually lets him stay awake, and Noah has school tomorrow.
But they are finally connecting, and she doesn't have the heart to stop them quite just yet.
And she knows that when she sends Noah to brush his teeth and crawl into his bed, it will be just her and Elliot, alone, in her kitchen again, and she is scared of the moment and the words that will inevitably be said, the knot in her stomach that has been bothering her ever since the two of them arrived at her place makes itself known again.
What harm can one more round of Uno do, anyway?
So she turns her back to them, pretending to not notice the sour face Noah has been sending her way, and the exact same face she gets from Elliot, which sends Noah into another fit of laughter.
Olivia wonders if he remembers what it's like, raising a 12 year old.
He had to do it five times, after all. She only has this once.
"Can I ask you something?" Olivia recognizes her son's voice, would recognize it anywhere, and her ears perk up. It's not as if she is eavesdropping to the conversation. She is standing right there, and it's her house, anyway.
"As long as it's not why I am so bad at Uno, you can go ahead." Elliot answers, and Olivia catches a glimpse of his cards as he places another one on the stack before him. He could win this round easily, with the hand he got after Noah did a lousy job shuffling the deck, but she knows he won't, and a part of her wants to reprimand him for letting her son win so easily.
Maybe later, she makes a mental note, even though she knows their conversation later is not going to be about her need to teach her son how to lose respectfully.
"Are you married?" the boy asks as he brushes his finger against the cards he holds in his hand, before picking a card and placing it right on top of the one Elliot just discarded. "You didn't have a wedding band the last two times we met."
There is a moment of silence in the Benson's kitchen, and Olivia lets out a cough as she hears Noah's inquiry, leaves the dishes and turns around to face them, grateful she hasn't been holding a glass or a plate at the very moment the boy let out his question.
"I…" Elliot mumbles, lowers his head and rubs a hand over the skin of his neck in an attempt to earn a moment or two to find an answer, or maybe in an attempt to hide the white gold ring on his finger in vain. "I am a widower, actually." Elliot finally settles on something, and Olivia is grateful that he didn't decide to lie. "You know I am a cop, just like your mother, right?"
Noah nods, and Olivia expects him to answer with one of the teenage, snorty remarks he learned God knows where. He knows better than that, though, knows better than to be rude to a man who is particularly still a stranger.
"So this is part of an undercover operation." Elliot concludes, then stares at the few cards left in his hand as if his life depends on it, furrowing his brow in fake concentration.
"What kind of undercover operation? What does it have to do with being married?" Her son asks, his entire face lighting up, the cards in his hands suddenly forgotten on the island. She knows him, knows his curiosity and his good heart, but the boy can be relentless sometimes, and this is one of the moments he should just settle on the answer he has already been given.
"Ok, it's Bedtime!" Olivia calls, as she reaches for a dish towel and throws it over her right shoulder. As she does, she manages to pick up her own ring, the one she left on the counter top before she started to clear their dinner's leftovers. Hers is fake, of course, and she manages to slide it into the front pocket of her dark wash denim in one swift move.
The less he has to ask about, the better.
"But.." Noah starts, yet before he has a chance to make a complaint and lay out his arguments, his mother interrupts.
"Bedtime." She says again, crossing her arms around her chest and watches her son in something that resembles a staring contest somehow, his blue eyes almost identical to those of the men sitting right in the middle of the space between them.
"Fine." He finally huffs and gets up from his bar stool.
Olivia lets out the breath she has been holding the entire time, and she wonders how long she will be able to get away with this, get out of the difficult conversations and the answers she doesn't want to give.
God, she hopes that by then this thing between her and Elliot is going to be less complicated, somehow.
Noah is old enough to know there are secrets that are hidden from him, yet too young to have an argument, so he walks toward his mother, places his curly hair against her for a goodnight kiss, wraps his arms around her torso as he whispers "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, my sweet boy." She replies, fluttering her lips gently above his head.
She wonders how much longer he will allow her to do this, as well.
"Goodnight, Elliot." Noah says as an afterthought, as he runs to his bedroom and closes the door behind him with a loud click.
"I guess you didn't tell him, then." Elliot finally breaks the silence that has enveloped the kitchen for the last half hour.
It seems like Olivia had a thousand little tasks at hand, a dozen things or so that needed to be fixed before she could finally sit down. She organizes the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, picks up the Uno cards and places the box in the little toy cabinet they have in the living room, vacuums and cleans every last crumb that might have fallen to the floor. She roams her bedroom for a few long minutes to find one of the many extra blankets and pillows she keeps in her walk-in closet, all the while the ring burns a hole in the fabric of her jeans and scalding the skin on her right thigh as it does.
They need to talk, she knows it, the conversation she has been dodging like a bullet coming her way whether she likes it or not, but god, if she can have a few more minutes of grace, she will hold onto them like a lifeline.
"What can I say?" Olivia asks, as she finally dumps the pillow and blanket on the leather sofa. "How can I explain your presence here? How can I tell him that I agreed to be part of this undercover operation, putting him at risk?"
"Hey…" Elliot finally gets up from the seat he has been occupying for the last hour or so, suddenly taking up space in her kitchen, in her apartment, in her life, in her heart. "When you agreed to this, I promised you I would keep you both safe, I promised you there is no danger in this for the both of you, and I have every intention of seeing those promises through." He is close now, too close, as close he had been since the night he drove Noah back from the McCann's, and there is a breath catching in Olivia's throat as he keeps walking toward her.
"How am I supposed to explain to him you sleeping on our coach?"
"You don't have to." He promises, his left hand finally reaching up, placing a rogue piece of dark hair that fell from her ponytail behind her ear, before settling on her cheek. "I am going to be out the doorway before Noah wakes up for school. Damn it, I will probably have to wake up before the sun itself. You don't have to do any explanations. Just let me spend the night, in case I have been followed. Help me sell this fake marriage to the people I need to believe we are married."
The metal of his ring is cold against the skin of her cheek, ice and yet fire, a frostbite and a burn all at the same time.
"Elliot…" She breathes out his name, a prayer on her lips, a whisper that is meant to be anything but seductive, yet manages to send a shiver running down her spine. "Nothing changed."
"Oh, I know…" He chuckles, before finally taking a step back, finally giving her some personal space and some clarity of mind.
Damn it, why does it seem like she can't think rationally whenever he is this close?
"If things changed, I wouldn't be sleeping on the coach, trust me."
She laughs, then, something that is true and reminiscent of an easier time, a time when she didn't feel betrayed and angry, a time where Kathy was a bright red stop sign that helped her shove her feelings deep into her stomach, ignoring them for twelve long years. A time when there were no possibilities. A time where this man had a real wife to go home to, instead a fake one for an undercover operation and a coach he had to sleep on.
"Goodnight, Elliot." Olivia bids him, sending another smile his way before turning around and heading toward her bedroom.
She can't help but wonder if this is the first genuine smile he managed to get out of her ever since he returned to her life.
"Thank you, Liv." Elliot whispers in return, and she can barely hear him as she steps into the dark room and closes the white wooden door behind her.
She wants to head into the shower, wants to wash the day off her skin and her hair, yet her body feels heavy suddenly, like it is made of lead instead of human flesh and tissue, and it drags her down, down until she finally finds a spot on the floor, her head and back resting against the door.
Her joints are protesting, loudly, aching and making crack noises she is pretty sure are not supposed to be there, as she folds her knees up and presses her palms against the floor, reminding her of her age all of a sudden.
And if she feels him at the other side of the door, feels him sitting down, the only thing separating the heat of their bodies is a door that seems paper thin and made of steel at the same time…
Well, then she does nothing about it, and neither does he.
Olivia is there again, in the dark street outside her apartment, a few post lamps lighting the otherwise dark and ominous night. She can feel Noah's presence behind her then, can hear his outcries, his still childish voice calling out "Mom!"
The rest comes back to her in flashes, as if she is watching a movie with her nose touching the screen, as if she is hovering closely over her own body, watching the scene as a stranger.
And in that moment, it is easier to believe that none of this has ever actually happened to her.
The humming of the bike's motor, the sound her body makes as it hits the ground. The movement of a leg over her, the pain of having someone kick all the air out of her lungs.
The flash of metal in front of her face, the deafening sound of a bullet leaving the barrel of her gun. The cold road under her body as the boys leave the scene, leaving her there in the street like a wounded animal, stripping away over twenty four years of experience in the NYPD, taking with them her self respect, her composure and her pride, leaving her with nothing but pure rage.
And then the scene changes, and all she sees is blood, Duarte's body on the floor of the little bodega, his screams, and then silence, as he gathers all his strength to inhale a few last elaborated breaths.
When she wakes up, jumping into a seating position, her entire bed is soaked with her own sweat, her heart racing in her chest, so loud she can hear it, can count to the thump- thump- thumping of its beats.
Another nightmare.
She should have been used to them by now, she thinks as she finally manages to calm herself down, finally manages to convince herself it was just a bad dream, that she will never have to experience the terror of being face to face with a machete ever again.
Olivia peeks through the windows, catching a glimpse of the moonlight, before she turns her head to the nightstand, where she stares at her bedside clock, blinking a few times before she is able to read the time.
3:34 AM.
She still have a few hours to rest before she has to finally pull herself out of the cover, before she has to leave her bedroom and pretend like everything is alright, pretend she doesn't wake up covered in sweat before the crack of dawn more often than not, pretend that she sleeps peacefully through the night.
Her body catches up to her need before her mind has a chance to drive her away from the man who sleeps on the other side of the door. She pushes off the heavy covers, slips out of the cotton sheets and tiptoes quietly until she can feel the cold doorknob under the palm of her hand, her fingers twisting around it as she takes in a shuddered breath, gives herself one last chance to turn around, to leave this door unopened.
It's a bad idea, she tells herself. It's a really, really bad idea, because nothing changed. She is still not ready. She is still scared that things won't work out, and she will lose her best friend once again. She is still angry at him for leaving her all those years ago. She still can't be sure he won't walk away on her again when she needs him most.
Inviting him in is a bad idea, but the thought of being alone in the king size bed, turning and tossing the rest of the night, when he is on the other side of her bedroom door…
That idea is unbearable.
She knows Elliot will never do anything she is not comfortable with. He won't push, won't try and make her change her mind before she is ready.
She trusts him. It's the person she becomes in his presence she doesn't trust.
Olivia yanks the door open, and there he is, so close she almost crashes into his chest head first, towering over her, his bright blue eyes filled with concern as he tilts his head just a little bit downwards so he can meet her eyes.
Damn him.
"He is fine." Elliot reassures, and Olivia furrows her brow at his words, trying to piece together this answer to a question she never asked. "He slept through all of it, didn't hear a thing. I just checked on him, he is still out like a light."
"Noah." Olivia whispers her son's name. Elliot's right hand travels up then, confident, skimming across her face, brushing away tears she didn't realize she was shedding.
"You called out his name in your sleep."
"I'm sorry." She feels a need to apologize.
"There is nothing to be sorry about." He reassures. His hand is still on her cheek, warm and heavy, his fingers lightly trail the paths her salty tears left behind. She looks down then, finally detached from his gaze, her eyes roaming his body.
He is naked from the torso up, and she wants to scold him for sleeping shirtless in her house, when her teenage boy, who is prone to asking questions she can't answer, might wake up at any given moment and walk through the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water. She wants to be angry, but when her eyes start to roam, travel slowly up from his navel to his collarbone, she can't be bothered with anger, her breath catching in her throat.
"How long have you been having these nightmares?" Elliot asks, forcing her to look back up to his eyes instead of mapping his body, bruning the sight of him to her mind like a tattoo.
There is another question in there, a "Why didn't you tell me?" she sees in his eyes, even though he doesn't let that particular inquiry slip past his lips.
"They never stopped. They just change, with time. Stronger ever since I got Noah. More frequent. Vivid in a way they never were before."
She doesn't plan to tell him about those nightmares. Not tonight.
It's been over two years since his return, and she is yet to find strength in herself to tell him the truth about what happened in that prison. To mouth the name William Lewis in his presence.
She doesn't want him, of all people, to look at her as if one strong blow of wind will shudder her apart to a million little pieces.
"Let me go grab you a glass of water, and then I will let you go back to sleep." He tries when the silence is finally too much for both of them to bear.
"Elliot…" She breathes out his name as he turns around to walk away from her, a whisper, a prayer on the lips of a person who is desperate to believe in something, anything, again. Her right arms shoot up, lightly holding onto his left shoulder blade, her left hand holding on to his left wrist for her dear life.
Olivia leads him slowly inside her bedroom, closing the door behind her with a soft knock, making their way to her bed in the darkness. "Nothing changes." She repeats the statement she made earlier that night, part for him, but mostly for herself.
She knows it's the furthest thing from the truth. Everything will change once he crawls into her bed, once he holds her, once his strong arms finally pulls her to sleep. Everything will change, but if she lets herself admit it, she will have to admit to herself how much she wants to be touched by this man, how much more she wants him to do beside hold her, how she wants pleasure to wash away the pain, pleasure inflicted by him.
"Nothing changes." Olivia breaths again, intertwining their fingers as she climbs back to her bed, pulling him down with her.
"Nothing changes." He promises, finding a space right next to her, and for a moment it feels like he belongs, as if he was the missing piece that always made this bed look too big to accommodate her solely. He shifts a little, places her head on his chest and brushes his hand through her dark locks. "I got you." He swears.
And even if sleep is still a struggle, an illusion she is trying to grasp onto as her head rises and falls with every breath the man beneath her takes, she feels safe now, in this fake marriage, wearing those paper rings.
In the safety of his arms, her heart beat finally slows down and evens, until both of their hearts beat as one.
More A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I would love it if you tell me what you think.
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