Day Twenty-One, cont'd

When Olivia was five years old, she'd lived in a tiny, cramped apartment with her mother that had been carved out of the third floor of a house that had been built sometime long, long ago. The place was boiling hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. There was a persistent draft in the hallway that always resulted in causing the curtains to move, seemingly on their own to the eyes of the petrified child that spent too many hours by herself in the darkness caused by faulty wiring.

Those late nights alone would usually end with Serena tripping home and collapsing face down on her bed. Olivia spent nights on the couch in the living room, the only room besides the bedroom and bathroom. Between the weird, creepy noises ancient houses made, the wind that never went away, and the awful way Serena snored when she was drunk, little Olivia spent those nights as terrified after her mother staggered home as she had been before. And usually, she'd cower in the doorway of the living room, peering down the dark, scary hallway, hearing the combination of sounds that made her too terrified to chance venturing out there to get to the bathroom.

Eventually, of course, the desperate urge to relieve herself would overwhelm her fear, causing her to tiptoe slowly, cautiously halfway down the hall, fearful of leaving the welcome, protective light of the living room too far behind. When she reached the halfway point, there would always be a creak or a gust of wind or a marked change in her mother's labored breathing that freaked her right out of her wits. Of course, at that point she was too scared to turn back and would duck her face down, hunch her shoulders and sprint for the bathroom.

And it was with that same panic that a grown up Olivia faced the prospect of crossing that god-awful alleyway that Howie's sick fucking mind had told him was the perfect place to grab her. Although she recognized that she had to look positively insane to any outside observers, she was more frightened of the thought that Howie was somehow going to be there again than she was of a trip to Bellevue. So she moved terribly slowly, putting each foot millimeters in front of the other, barely moving at all with each step. But eventually, she found herself halfway between the buildings, a ridiculously short distance of maybe four feet on either side of her, but it may as well have been miles. Still too far, at least in her mind, from safety behind her, she was determined to continue. Too scared to take so long to reach the other side, she did the same as she'd always done in that freaky hallway, pulling her shoulders up, squeezing her eyes closed, tucking her chin down, and running like the wind for the blessed safety of someplace else.

She was mighty damn proud of herself when she put one hand on the handrail of her building's steps.

So fucking proud that she actually pulled out her phone to call Elliot.

But the pride faded before she pressed the button, knowing how stupid her accomplishment would seem to a man she was sure had never, not even in childhood, been afraid of things that went bump in dark alleys. Besides, it wasn't just that she was afraid of the alley, really. She was on a fucking mission to prove someone wrong, didn't even matter who, because Olivia meant business when she was out to prove that no one but her knew shit. She couldn't prove her independence from Elliot if she called him less than fifteen minutes after leaving his side.

Disappointed that she couldn't share her victory, disappointed more that she couldn't hear his voice, she let herself into her building, chose the elevator because it was better-lit than the stairs, and finally found her way to her own apartment. Another accomplishment she felt worthy of praise that she wanted to share with the man who would have been happy to lavish said praise on her, but she reminded herself of how fucking happy she would be when the sun rose, when she called Huang and told him to go fuck himself, when she could call Elliot and tell him she was never, ever leaving his side again. They were partners, after all. She could probably get away with it for a while. At least until she needed to use the bathroom.

It had been eleven days since they'd found her in Howie's basement, eleven days spent glued to Elliot's side. It had been eighteen days since Howie had turned her into a clingy, dependent basketcase. As much as she wanted to prove Huang wrong so that she could go right back to Elliot, she understood Huang's hesitance over her inability to be alone, because even at five, Olivia had been strong enough to deal with her fears alone. She'd never once called her mother to save her. Although in retrospect, she'd swear it was because her mother probably wouldn't have helped her anyway, Olivia knew deep down that she simply had never been dependent. She'd wanted to do it alone. She'd wanted to deal with her problems on her own. She'd wanted to count on herself.

She needed to know that surviving on her own was still an option, even if she chose a different one.

She moved through her apartment slowly, looking at everything with a critical eye, idly wondering if she should repaint or perhaps replace some of her furniture. Ikea, and furniture shopping in general, hadn't been nearly as hideous as she'd remembered from the first, and last, time she'd done it. With a smile, she remembered sucking face with Elliot every time Maureen had turned her back, and suspected he'd be game for another round as well.

But thinking of that aspect of being with him brought her to something she really had tried not to dwell on or even think of at all. Sitting down heavily on her bed, she dared to let her mind consider just what the hell they were doing. She'd had a shitty fucking week being held by Howie, terrified and awaiting some unspeakable act that was certain to come her way. By vague allusions, she'd picked up that Elliot's week looking for her had been pretty fucking awful too. They'd shared the relief that was being reunited, coupled it with the unprecedented intimacy that had barely happened before their separation, and made their relationship into something she wasn't sure it was.

Not for the first time, she looked at the mess that he'd made of her bedroom and wondered what the hell had happened while she was gone. She stood up, tracing a foul smell to her washer, and opened the lid, only to be nearly overpowered by the source. It took a flashlight and barbeque tongs, which she didn't care about throwing away since she didn't own a barbeque, to identify a set of half-disintegrated, moldy sheets. Appalled, she dropped them and the tongs back inside and let the lid slam closed. The man owed her new sheets, which she didn't really think he'd dispute. The new washer, which she was going to demand since she was never touching that machine again, would be a harder sell.

She returned to her bedroom, turning over the idea that he'd slept in her bed while she was gone. She didn't mind, didn't consider it a violation of any kind. She trusted him. So he'd slept in her bed and attempted to wash her sheets, probably only letting them be destroyed because he'd been distracted by finding her. And certainly, had the same course of events unfolded minus a particular intimate encounter, she wouldn't have objected to her partner of so long finding solace in her apartment. In his place, she might have done the same.

The real issue, the real problem, was that the intimate encounter had occurred. Usually when she slept with a man it was calculated in some way. Even on those extremely rare occasions when she went out with the express intent of finding herself a bedmate if only for the night, there was a still a decided intent to do so. Or when she was seeing someone special, she always decided long in advance when and where and how sex would take place. It simply wasn't something that happened randomly and without forethought, not for her.

But she had not gone to work that day expecting to be fucked. And if she had, she would not have imagined that Elliot would be the man to do it. She'd flirted with him for years, considered the possibility sometimes that something physical might take place. But it had never gotten to the definite, planning stages. It had happened outside of a romantic relationship, outside of a desire for physical pleasure. It had just happened. Randomly.

She didn't know if she would have been so eager to snuggle with Elliot following the encounter had Howie not made Elliot seem so god damned perfect in comparison. Rough, hard, and angry wasn't her thing. She didn't really think it was Elliot's either. It seemed like something had taken over her, him as well, something feral and wild and scary, something undeniable, something that might have been better left buried in their history while their friendship and partnership continued unchanged.

The thought hurt her, more than she would have expected, causing the corners of her mouth to turn downward, prefacing tears she feared would follow.

The hurt, however, struck her on a profound level. Because, although she'd never really, legitimately, consciously considered pursuing a romantic relationship with her partner, she realized she desperately wanted one. He meant something to her, something she'd never thought about, something she'd never named, something no other man had ever come close to.

She loved him. She absolutely loved him. And the thought of losing the connection that had happened that day in the crib cut her as deeply as losing him altogether would have. It wasn't a silly, attracted to him, easily replaceable kind of love. It wasn't a he's a great guy who's a good friend kind of love. It was real fucking terrifying love.

Maybe it hadn't been planned. Maybe it hadn't been expected. But finally being intimate with him, finding release in his arms as he did in her body, was hardly random. It was the opposite, she discovered, like abstinence before marriage, not touching until there was complete certainty, true commitment, enduring love.

She shivered at the thought, pulling the phone from her pocket. She didn't give a fuck what Huang thought. She needed to talk to Elliot, to hear his voice, to tell him what she'd figured out.

He answered before the first ring was complete, his readiness to come to her rescue making her smile. "Are you ok?"

Just the sound of his voice made her laugh, confused at first at her reaction until she finally identified it as joy. She was laughing with joy. She'd never thought such a thing happened outside of Disney movies.

Unfortunately, Elliot hadn't been made aware of that newsflash, and instead assumed her laughter was based in hysterical fear. "I'm coming. I'll be right there, Liv."

"No, no, I'm ok," she gasped out between laughs.

"Did you huff some paint fumes or something?" His concern was so obvious even under the joke.

It just made her want to hug him. She could barely contain herself until she got the chance. "I'm fine, El. I'm home. I'm just sitting here and I realized something and I just really wanted to tell you."

"What in god's name did you realize? Cause I'm not sure I believe anything short of recreational pharmaceuticals could make a person laugh like that."

She giggled, having to wait a moment until her smile faded enough that she could speak. "I love you. That's all."

He was dead silent, as though he really hadn't expected to ever hear those words from her.

Finally, the quiet got to her, making her wonder if she'd said something wrong. "El?" Her voice was much more timid, free of the laughter that had plagued her when she'd dialed. "Is something wrong?"

"You know, Olivia, sometimes you fucking frustrate the shit out of me." His voice was hard and flat and didn't hold a single note of humor. "Jesus fucking Christ, Liv, what are you thinking?"

"El?" Her voice cracked, sheer happiness turning to sharp pain instantly. He'd said he loved her. He'd seemed so honest in it. Was it possible he hadn't really meant it? Maybe he did love her, but just not like that.

"You decide to tell me that after you insist on running off? Fuck, Olivia, I've wanted to hear you say that for fucking years, woman!" He let out a laugh that didn't sound the least bit amused. "I swear the next time I get my hands on Huang I'm tearing him the fuck apart." He sighed in frustration. "I love you too, baby."

He wasn't mad. He loved her. For real loved her. She was shaking. The high to the low to the high again had sucked all the adrenaline right out of her body. But there was something else she wanted him to know, something that struck her at the alarming ease with which he returned her sentiment. He'd said those same words before, to his wife, to his children. She didn't doubt the veracity, but she knew he'd spoken them before. She took a deep breath.

"I've never said that to anyone before. I've never meant it before." She'd thought she'd loved him, but it took the awareness that only came with Howie's interference for her to know how true it was. She remembered those terrified moments in the dark, cold basement when she'd gotten over her initial outrage over the physical violence that had comprised the sex, when she'd just wanted to see his face again. It had taken eleven days after he'd saved her for her to realize that what she'd felt in those moments had been real, true, fairytale love.

"Olivia, listen to me very carefully. I love you, I do, but I'm not talking to you anymore until I can fucking touch you, ok?"

She laughed again, the tumultuous emotions rolling through her finding the first release they could. "Ok."

"Goodbye, Olivia."

She grinned, feeling the urge to say it one more time before she hung up. "I love you, El." She sat there grinning at the wall for a long, long time.

Splintered.5