Easy Going

"You ready?" Olivia asked him, coat in hand, swinging a scarf around her neck, watching as Elliot typed the last few lines of a report and hit the print key. He pulled the report off the printer and stared at it, while she stared at him, puffing her hair out of her eyes.

"Umm, yeah." Elliot said, watching her. They were headed out to O'Malley's, somewhere he most desperately did not want to go. He had done everything he could to stall their departure, including breaking out the dictionary, which almost made Olivia throw herself on the floor like a child. He didn't want to drink tonight, more importantly, he did not want Olivia to drink tonight.

"So let's go," she said, shifting from one foot to the other, eyeing him impatiently. Elliot stood slowly, watching her.

"You going to take it easy tonight?" He asked, as he threw the memo down on his desk, grabbed his coat, and they headed to the door. He considered throwing himself down the stairs to slow their progress, but realized with his luck, he'd be dead and she'd step over his body and continue to the bar.

"Don't start with me, Elliot." She warned him. "I'm fine."

"Liv, I'm just worried about you." He said.

"I'm fine." She said again taking the lead to the car, walking with a determination in her step that he hated.

"You've been drinking."

"Not yet," She said with a smile over her shoulder at him.

"Olivia." He reached for her arm, trying to turn her to get her to look into his eyes.

She pulled his arm out of his grasp. "I'm an adult, Elliot. I have it under control."

"Do you?" He asks.

"Yes, Daddy, anything else?" She said, over her shoulder looking at him rolling her eyes.

"Liv, come on, don't be like that."

"Like what?" She asked.

"You know."

"No I don't," She said.

"You've just been, you know, hitting it a little hard recently." He said, choosing his words as carefully as he could.

"I'm a big girl." She said, as she slid into the car and slammed the door shut leaving him standing on the sidewalk alone. He bit his lip as another opportunity slid away from him. He'd been watching as she had folded into herself—as she broke away from everyone around her. Alex had been shot, and after, it was as if Olivia's life had stopped in that moment, right along with Alex's .

When Alex had been there, Elliot had no idea that Olivia's emotions for the blonde had run so deeply. He thought, every once in awhile, that he would see something there but he always wrote it off as his imagination. But then, after the van pulled away and he was left holding a person he hardly knew, the pieces started to fall into place. They had been flirting in secret, dates that he had never heard about, sharing only pieces of themselves before she was gone.

He had tried to help her. At first he watched her mourn, a faraway look in her eyes that he couldn't cross. He would try to talk about it, but she would shut down. Then he watched her self-medicate. Every morning, she'd show up red eyed and exhausted. He had begged her to stop—to talk to him. To talk to anyone. When that didn't work, he threatened her. He would tell Cragen. He would tell IAB. He would tell someone something. She called his bluff.

He tried to bargain with her, and she answered him the same way each time. She had it under control. So, he watched her carefully and he sat back and watched as she drank herself senseless. He didn't want her to push him away entirely.

He was always watching for any sign that she was drinking at work, but he never found one. He had felt an incredible sense of guilt as he searched her desk drawers, checking when he knew she wouldn't see. He felt guilty when he would lean into her to smell her breath, when he would watch her eyes to judge whether or not she was entirely there.

Perhaps, she was only self destructive off the clock but that didn't mean he didn't worry about her. Her sad expression haunted him, whether she wanted to talk about it or not.

For her part, she ignored his worry because she knew what she was doing. She knew it she didn't have a problem and she didn't need his or anyone else's help. Alcohol was a medicine she had used all her life. It provided a relief that couldn't be found in her tears or her anger. She had let the tears flow for weeks after Alex had left, waiting for the therapeutic effect to take hold, but the pain got deeper. When she was angry, she pounded a punching bag in the gym, her whole body behind her slamming fists until she couldn't stand, and when she was done, she was still angry.

She couldn't shake the feelings, they were endless, and she wasn't strong enough, and she took the first drink. It provided forgiveness. The second let her forget it was her fault that Alex wasn't there. The third helped her forget the way Alex looked, or the way she smelled, or the way she felt. She could finally numb the pain in her chest when she thought of her name or when she saw someone in the street that, for a brief instant, she thought, just maybe, could be Alex in the flesh, but never was. Then when she could forget, she could drink to the things that were gone. The pieces of Alex that had disappeared from her head were just as painful as the ones that remained, and she drank until the pain stopped and she didn't remember anymore.

She was careful. She always had her mother as a reference. She remembered vividly what that life was like. She didn't wake up with strangers; she didn't do it every day. She did it when the pain was so great that she couldn't go on anymore. She did it when she needed to forget. As long as she was never as bad as her mom, everything was in control. She could stop. She could always stop. She just didn't want to, not now, not until she didn't feel anymore.

Now, she could feel the hunger growing inside her. It became a mantra in her head that was all she could focus on, as through nothing in the world mattered right now besides the thing that she craved and needed more than she needed air. She needed that drink. It was how she had gotten through the day, the thought of the liquid in front of her, the taste, and the feel as it danced on her tongue and slid down her throat. She wanted the relief it would give her. She wanted its solace. She wanted to feel its rushing warmth and feel the wave of relaxation wave over her. She didn't care that Elliot would stand next to her counting. She didn't care about the look on his face, or the worry in his eyes. She cared about one thing only. Getting that drink.

Stepping inside the bar, both of them walked to the familiar table they claimed every week and slid into their ritually assigned spots. Olivia stared into the chair that Cabot had used to occupy on the occasion that she would join them, and pushed her chair back from the table. Not being able to stop herself, she stood and walked across the room, Elliot's eyes following her as he watched her slide up next to the bar. The bartender smiled at her, she tilted her head at him, and their brief exchange ended with a shot glass in Olivia's hand. Elliot frowned as she downed it and the bar tender refilled the glass, while she smiled at him. She downed the second shot, and the bar tender slipped two beers into her hands. She grabbed them and sauntered back to the table, slid into the seat across from him, and pushed one of the beers in front of him daring him to speak.

"Liv," he said, quietly, trying to catch her eye.

"What?" She asked, daring him with anger laced in her voice.

"What's happening with you?"

"Nothing." She said, grabbing her beer and drinking it down in gulps. He reached for it to stop her.

"Please talk to me." He begged her.

"Shut up and drink your beer," She said, leaning the chair back so she was far enough away from him that he couldn't stop her. Staring off into the corner, picking the beer up, she sucked on it until she was holding an empty bottle that she stared into vacantly.

"Liv," he said. "Alex wouldn't want you to…"

"God damn it, Elliot. Can you please fucking drop it?" She said, standing up and staring at him. "She's not fucking here and she's not coming back. I get it. Stop bringing it up." She slammed the bottle on the table between them. Walking away from him, she slammed her hand into the back of a chair as she slid back to the bar. Munch and Fin filtered in, finding their chairs. They didn't mention Olivia's absence, and she didn't acknowledge the three pairs of eyes that took turns watching her back. Elliot shook his head as he watched her slam down shots. The three of them pretended to be interested in each other's company and ignore the self destruct sequence that was going on directly behind them.

Elliot watched her until he couldn't stand it anymore. "That's six shots," Elliot said, acknowledging the thing that none of them were talking about.

Munch and Fin turned to look behind them as she demanded another shot. This one sat in front of her while she stared into it. They watched her hold her head in her hands, her body swaying just slightly. Just enough for Elliot to see.

"I'm going to go talk to her." Elliot finally said, breaking their silence.

"Man, let it go." Fin said, "You know she don't listen to you when she's like that."

"I have to try, she's going to make herself sick." he said, shrugging, knowing Fin's words were true.

"We've watched her do worse." Fin shrugged.

"You going home with her to clean her up?" Elliot asked, already knowing that he would be the one with her. Slowly making his way up to her, he slid himself onto the bar stool next to her. "Hey Liv," he said quietly.

"What the fuck do you want?" She asked. He could see her teetering on the edge of her stool, and he resisted the urge to put out his hand to steady her.

"Just to see if you're okay." He said, turning away from her and facing the bar.

"I'm fine." She said, picking up the shot and holding t unsteadily in her hands.

"Don't you think you've had…?" Elliot started to ask. He could see the fire flash behind her eyes. She was dangerously angry. He hated it when she was like this.

"Don't say it, Elliot." To punctuate her sentence she poured the shot down her throat and flashed him an angry grin.

"I'm worried about…"

"Can't you leave me the fuck alone?" She cut him off with a nasty tone to her voice. Her shoulders tensed, and she let her arms leaned hard against the bar.

"Liv," he begged.

"Elliot," she warned.

"How about we just call it a night, huh?" He said with a false smile on his face. He reached for her, giving her his hand, and she turned away from it, pushing herself up on her arms.

"I'm not done." She sneered at him.

"I think you are." He said, reaching for her arm.

"Get the fuck away from me," she warned in a low whisper.

"Olivia." He said, reaching for her. This wasn't her. This wasn't who she was. He looked into her brown eyes seeing only pain behind them. He saw her turning to him and for a minute he thought she was going to swing at him, but he realized she no longer had the balance or the coordination to manage it. Instead, he took her arm and let her sling it over his shoulder. She fell into him without a word. The fight that was in her was gone in an instant. Like so many nights before, he walked her out wrapping his arm around her waist. Without speaking, he led her home, following the steps to their own personal dance with destruction.