Fallout

As he sat back in the chair, staring at the bed that contained his best friend, he swore at himself for letting it get this bad. He should have known how out of control this was. Carrying his stumbling partner into her apartment tonight and depositing her on the bed, fighting with her as she tried to pull a bottle out from her bedside stand, he finally took the time to actually look around. He was disgusted at the number of empty bottles he found, not to mention the number of half full ones he found stashed in the cabinets and as a collection on the coffee table in her living room. She lay back on the bed telling him stories about how much she missed Alex's soft lips on hers.

He could hear the pain in her voice when she slurred apologies to him that she wouldn't remember in the morning. The tears that fell down her face hurt him, knowing the emotions that poured out of her drunk were ones that she wouldn't express sober. He listened to her sob into her pillow with an intensity that he didn't realize she possessed. He sat beside her and put his hand on her back as she cried herself into a semi-unconscious state.

He wanted nothing more than to help her, but he couldn't help her under a haze. He had started to realize that this problem was bigger than him; it was bigger than both of them. She needed help. She needed professional help.

He watched her until the sun started to rise, trying to decide what to do. He heard her start to move, a quiet moan, her head turning away from him, away from the light. He swallowed hard and he stood up next to the bed, leaning over her and steeling his resolve. "Liv," he whispered shaking her shoulder.

She turned away from him. "Go away," she whined at him, pulling her pillow over her head.

"I can't, Liv, get up," he said, pulling the pillow off her head and throwing it onto the floor on the other side of the bed.

She tried to focus on what was happening. Her head was throbbing with a pain behind her eyes that made them feel like they would pulse out of her head. Her whole body was sore and she just wanted to lay still and will the headache into her pillow. She didn't want to talk to Elliot…she didn't even want to think about what the hell Elliot was doing in her bedroom in the first place.

"Come on, Liv, rise and shine." He said, shaking her again, which honestly made her consider swinging on him.

"What do you want?" She whined at him.

"Come on, Liv. You've got to be at work in an hour."

"I'll be late." She said, rolling back over.

"Nope, you're getting up." He said.

"Jesus, Elliot, do you have to be so god damn loud?" She asked. She tried to piece together what had happened the night before. It wasn't the first time that things were fuzzy for her. She remembered bits and pieces, the bar, the shots. She didn't remember Elliot, or coming home, or how she had ended up in bed. She tried to remember but the harder she tried the more pieces flew out of her head.

"Consequences are a bitch." He said, "Get up," he commanded, pulling on her arm.

"Elliot, please, go away." She begged him, pulling her arm out of his grasp.

"No, we need to talk."

"I don't want to talk." She said.

"I want to know what you think you're doing." He said.

"What the hell do you care?" She spat at him, sitting up on the edge of the bed, rubbing her hands through her hair, closing her eyes to try to stop the spinning sensation that suddenly overcame her and made her stomach feel queasy.

"Obviously I care about you or I wouldn't still be here trying to save your ass." He said, trying to retain his calm, but feeling his voice starting to rise.

"I can handle myself."

"Do you remember last night at all?" He asked her.

"Of course," She lied, wishing she did remember.

"So you remember all the apologies and all the tears?"

"I'm fine, Elliot." She said.

"And at three am when I was carrying you to the bathroom so you could puke your guts out? Were you fine then?"

"No one asked you to come here." She said, not remembering whether or not that was true.

"I came here because I'm worried about you. Do you have any idea what it's like for me to watch you do this to yourself?"

"I'm sure you can handle it."

"God damn it Olivia. What's it going to take for you to admit you have a problem? Do you really have to be so cliché as to crash a car or get assaulted or end up in a hospital with alcohol poisoning? How many times do you have to see that every day? Do you really need that to be you?"

"Elliot," She said, taking a deep breath, looking at the floor. "I, I don't want to stop. I don't want to stop because it's the only way I know to deal with…this…feeling." She said.

"Let me help you get help." He said, looking into her eyes, pleading with her.

She looked away from him, staring at the floor for a few minutes. "You think I need it?" She asked, watching him warily.

He shook his head. "You're sick, Liv."

She bit her lip, and let her eyes sweep the floor again. "I'll take care of it," She said. "I know where to go."

From that night, he watched as her and it was as though she had managed simply to turn her fondness for alcohol off. He asked her how she did it and she shrugged at him. "I got help," was all she'd say. When they met for drinks, she drank soda. It was a rare occasion that he saw her drink a beer, and then, it was only one and never more. When they went to dinner, she sipped water, passing on anything offered to her with a smile. He surprised himself to the point where after awhile, he didn't think about that night anymore and those months of watching her self destruct seemed like nothing but a distant memory.