Day Eleven, cont'd
It wasn't really all that long before Olivia's death grip on him loosened. Between her terror and the painfully early hour, Elliot assumed she'd drifted back to sleep. He guessed the stress of everything was enough for her exhaustion to outweigh what had to be intense pain of her thin arm sandwiched between his weight and the floor. He wasn't even able to pretend it was comfortable enough for him to sleep with the way she'd positioned them. But he ha no desire whatsoever to disturb her and so didn't dare move a muscle. He concentrated on willing the throw rug, the edge of which was digging into his left shoulder blade, out of existence.
With his mind as preoccupied as it was on Olivia's choice of floor covering, he didn't notice her position shift.
But he couldn't deny the sound of her voice, not even as timid and small as it sounded. "I'm sorry."
Her apology was even less expected than her consciousness had been. It took him a moment to attempt to make sense of what he'd heard, and that moment didn't help at all. "What?"
Sitting up and extracting her arm from under him, she sniffled and rubbed her eyes. "You don't deserve this."
His body followed suit, relieving the painful pressure on his back as he sat up. With a crooked smile and a feigned confusion, he shrugged. "I knew it was too good to be true that you liked to snuggle."
Her expression didn't ease at all with his joke. She shook her head at nothing. Her whole body moved away, carefully folding up into itself, denying him any hint or hope of contact. "I'm sorry, El. I'm so sorry." She folded her arms across her knees and dropped her face down.
In all their years of partnership, Elliot had never quite had the luxury of completely understanding her, but that was the first moment he'd ever faced the idea that he might never achieve such a feat as figuring out just what was rolling through her brain. Psychoanalysis wasn't his cup of tea on a good day, but in the middle of the night, after far too many days without quite enough sleep, he didn't expect that he could even fake it.
If there was one thing he knew about Olivia, it was that she prized her personal space, so he respected the boundaries she'd established. His eyes were the only thing that moved, fixing on her temple since it was the only part of her face that he could see. He really wanted to make eye contact, to remind her that the link between them was never, could never be, broken. So many times the mere sight of the other's eyes had said everything that needed to be said, so many years of denying what flowed between them, so many lies proven untrue in one honest moment of looking at one another. He needed one of those moments, when he could hold her eyes and remind her that she wasn't alone, that he could never leave her, that their feelings for each other were simply too strong to ever fully dissipate.
But her eyes remained hidden from his, denying him the reassurance that he needed as badly as she did at that moment. "What are you sorry for?"
She remained unresponsive so long that he started to wonder if she had fallen back asleep. And even when she did answer, her slight shrug was hardly worth the wait.
And it pissed him off. Because it was the middle of the night. Because she'd begged him to keep her out of the hospital. Because he'd been through hell without her. Because he had no intention of watching her go through hell without letting him help.
"Damn it, Olivia!" As soon as his shout passed his lips he regretted it, but he was no more in control when he slammed his fists into the floor, hissing in pain when he was quite suddenly reminded of the shape of his broken hand. "Fuck, Olivia! Give me something to work with."
Her head lifted slowly, her eyes downcast, her chin trembling, her eyes wet with tears. "I'm sorry."
He threw his head back, staring at the ceiling as he counted to ten. Strangling her was not going to get him anywhere; at least, that was what he promised himself. Unfortunately, as he lowered his head back down and saw her dejected face, he realized he wasn't necessarily going to get anywhere no matter what he tried.
"Why are you apologizing to me?" Although his voice had softened, his tone was still laced with anger. He didn't see any point in hiding it. Olivia had always been able to see through him.
She started to shrug again, but thought better of it in the middle of the gesture. Her eyes darted up to his for only a second, spotting the incensed glare forming on his face at her answer. Rethinking her response, she forced out words that were just as likely to be true as they were to be something she hoped would calm him down. "I'm apologizing because I keep pissing you off." She ducked her face back down, resting her forehead on her arms once again.
He shook his head in disbelief – that she would care that she'd pissed him off, that she would expect him to buy it. "You were sorry before I was angry, Liv."
With a sigh, she unfolded slightly, lifting her head and shoulders up. "Would you believe that I knew you were going to get mad?"
"No." His voice and his face remained stoic, but her attempt at humor raised his spirits more than she would ever know. The irritated, sarcastic response told him that she was still in there, somewhere, hiding behind the fear Howie had instilled in her.
There was a quiet moment, one in which she seemed to find her own voice. When she spoke, her words were soft, but Elliot was heartened to recognize his partner's familiar voice. "I didn't know." She lifted her hand, motioning vaguely in his direction. "When I asked you to let me come home, I didn't know it would be like this."
The corners of her mouth turned down and Elliot hated that he could only watch as she tried to fight back tears. His instinct was to soothe her, to reach for her, to comfort her. But he wasn't sure that his touch would be welcome and therefore didn't dare make any move toward her.
She managed to fight through it, gaining control before any moisture escaped her eyes. But her gaze was fixed somewhere on the floor and she didn't even blink. "I didn't know I'd be this scared."
He opened his mouth to speak, to assure her that he was perfectly fine with helping her, but her eyes snapped to his, her intense, piercing stare silencing him.
"How come you're so fine with what happened?" She paused, obviously expecting an answer that Elliot was unprepared to give.
Huang had told him not to dispute her claims, but he hadn't offered any suggestions for how to deal with a question like that. And Elliot wasn't about to lie to her. Instead he chewed on his lip for a minute, saying a quick, hopeless prayer for some sort of divine inspiration.
Unexpected as it was, divine inspiration did strike. Except that it struck Olivia.
Her eyes slipped downward as her brow furrowed. She was a detective, an investigator. She was used to putting pieces together, even when the pieces didn't seem to fit. When her eyes met his again, they were hopeful and curious, but still uncertain, still looking for his support. "You weren't there, were you?"
He shook his head, a small smile forming on his lips. It had to mean something that she'd come that far on her own. It had to mean something that she'd gotten there so quickly and, with the exception of a very short period of time with Huang while she was eating her dinner, without anyone's help. "No, Liv, I wasn't." Knowing that she was no longer scared of him, he slid over beside her and let his hand rest against her leg. "I was looking for you." He was more encouraged by the fact that she hadn't pushed him away. He lifted his hand from her leg, gently tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips.
For that brief period, the pain, the circumstances, the uncertainty, faded away, and he marveled at the idea that he was finally, actually touching her. She wasn't scared and seeking his reassurance. She wasn't hysterical and in need of physical restraint. She wasn't a terrified victim looking for mercy from anyone willing to give it. No, she was Olivia. His friend, his partner, his Olivia. And she was letting him touch her so tenderly without reproach.
Free of the physical sensation that had overwhelmed any true sense of the situation as it happened in the crib, Elliot's mind was reeling from the intimacy. Regardless of having told Huang, regardless of having danced around the subject with Olivia, regardless of having replayed the event in his mind, somehow he'd avoided fully grasping what had happened between them. His mind had focused instead on the thought that he'd raped her and thus had never really moved on to accepting the change. All the fantasies in the world wouldn't have had such an effect on him.
Instead, it was while he sat there, his skin barely touching hers, watching her work through a problem that he finally got it.
He wanted to reach for her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. He wanted to kiss her and love her and worship her body in a way he hadn't the first time. He wanted to snuggle with her and laugh from the sheer joy of it. But he couldn't.
Because she wasn't there yet.
Because she was way behind him in the process.
Because she hadn't had any time at all to comprehend what had happened, let alone ponder any permanent changes to their status.
Because she was so injured that she didn't even realize there was a permanent change in their status. She'd been seeking comfort and reassurance and support from him, from her partner, from someone she felt safe with. And he realized with a sickening conviction that her acquiescence to his touch would have occurred two weeks or two years earlier. That she was allowing him to touch her had nothing to do with accepting him into her life as a lover. She was simply looking for and accepting physical proof that she was there with him rather than Howie.
She turned to look at him, blissfully oblivious to the thoughts floating through his mind. She had her own issues and was looking to him for the answers she couldn't find. "Why did I think you were there?" She shook her head for a moment and then met his gaze again. "Why do I remember you being there?"
Unfortunately, Elliot was distracted by the crushing idea that he'd have to go through the whole thing again, that he'd have to wait until she was feeling better to bring up their relationship, that he'd have to continue on in limbo as he'd done while she was gone, without really knowing what would happen with them. He answered her without giving it much thought, without being careful. "Maybe it made you feel better to think I was there."
She didn't seem scarred and fragile. She seemed almost annoyed. "Why would that make me feel better? To think you were trapped in there too. You think it would make me feel better to know something bad happened to you too?"
"No, that's not what I meant." The sudden shift of her mood left him completely unsure as to what she wanted to hear. So, as usual, he said something that he intended to clarify his words. And no matter how many years he'd known her, he forgot, like always, that they were utterly incapable of communicating when one of them was upset. "Maybe thinking I was there made you feel safe when he was hurting you."
Her scowl told him exactly what she thought of his words, but she elaborated anyway. "Right, like that makes any sense."
Perhaps it was the dismissive tone. Perhaps it was the stress. Perhaps it was years of following ingrained behaviors. Whatever it was, he opened his mouth and said something stupid, as he was prone to do whenever he fought with her. "You're the one who thought it, so why the hell are you asking me what it means?"
"Fuck you." She glared at him as she stood up, seeming to dare him to answer her back.
But sense dawned on him when he saw the way she favored her shoulder, reminding him that she was the injured party, both physically and mentally. He stood up, taking a small step toward her as he reached out, half in an attempt to make peace, half because he really needed to feel her solid form to convince himself that she was really home.
"Liv, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"His words trailed off as he realized they were pointless at the same time as she backed away from his outstretched hand. "Please, Liv. I'm sorry."
"Whatever." She was looking at anything but him, something she usually did when she was particularly angry with him and entirely unable to do anything about it. "I'm going to bed." She didn't wait for a response before she turned away and started walking.
He caught up with her in two steps, reaching for her hand, stopping her in her tracks with that soft touch. "What did he do to you?" He didn't know why he was asking, not when she was so clearly pissed off at him, but he felt like if he had that much information, he would be that much more prepared to deal with her.
But Olivia was done talking for the night, snatching her hand out of his so fast that she wound up grabbing her shoulder in pain from the motion. She didn't even look at him. "I don't want to talk about it." Without waiting for another word, she stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door.
