Disclaimer: 'Abyss' quote by Nietzsche. Lyrics from 'Dreaming With a Broken Heart' by John Mayer and 'The Call' by Regina Spektor. Recognizable dialogue and characters belong to Dick Wolf and NBC.
November 29, 2013
When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part
You roll outta bed and down on your knees
And for a moment you can hardly breathe
Sixty days. It's been sixty days since your life changed forever for the second time. Sixty days of unending winter. The nights are longer and harsher now and you often find yourself waking up screaming, drenched in sweat, on the rare occasions where you allow yourself to fall to sleep. Most nights you simply sit up on your couch, glass of wine (or, in many cases, two or three glasses), staring out the window, your service gun never a few feet away from you.
You know he's lying there somewhere, in restraints, but that doesn't reassure you. The only thing that would reassure you at this point, you no longer have. It's been gone a long, long time. You've gotten accustomed to the absence now, made a space for it in your life, but you still walk around like one piece is missing.
He's not dead – that you're aware of - but sometimes it feels like he is. In the days following September 11, you'd look up and notice how empty the sky seemed without the presence of the Towers. For so long, the city was filled with those big, empty gaps, in the skyline and in hearts.
And there are some gaps that stay open and hollow, some spaces that are never filled, even though others now occupy them.
My old partner, he would have known what to do…
Your memories are a kaleidoscope of blood and tears now and they come to you in shades of orange and black. They push at you unrelentingly, with you all the time. You're trapped by them and you can never forget.
A sharp ring interrupts your brooding.
"Benson?" You hate how your voice is so shaky, so unsure. Two months later and you're still not the same person you were before William Lewis abducted you. And maybe you never will be. Maybe that Olivia is gone and buried six feet under. Along with many of your hopes and dreams.
You hate even more how you still, over two years later, pick up the phone hoping to hear that familiar voice on the other end. Sometimes you get so angry because you're trying so hard to move on and to forget and you just can't. No matter how hard you try.
"Hey, Liv." It's Nick. Checking on you. Again. For about the thirtieth time that week.
"Hey." And you're a little bit frustrated because what on earth can you talk about that you haven't already covered? And you really, really don't want to talk about those four days. You just want to forget as best you can and at least try to get back to the person you were.
If that was even possible anymore.
What the hell? Miracles happen, right? At least El thought so. He always believed in those kinds of things. You were always skeptical.
After Sealview, after all the things you've seen, how could anyone even believe in God? Or miracles?
But El did. Always had.
"Nick, I'm fine," you say, slightly exasperated. "No need to keep checking up on me every…" Bloody thirty minutes, it feels like. "….few hours."
"I know, I know." He says and there's something in his voice that stops you. Something underneath the overprotective concern. Is it pain? It sounds a lot like blame. And you're going to stop that before it even starts.
You can't carry the weight of their misplaced guilt. It's too much.
"Nick, this wasn't your fault. This wasn't any of the squad's fault…"
"We shoulda found you sooner, Liv." In your mind's eye, you can see his eyes, dark and haunted.
"Lewis was a clever bastard." You respond quietly. "That wasn't on you. None of this is on any of you."
"I should have protected you."
"I can protect myself, Nick." You say quietly, even though you've done a fucking piss poor job of it lately. "I don't need anyone to protect me."
But you really miss the one who did. The one who always had your back.
And everything burns, it feels like all your flesh is on fire from the pain. You've screamed so much that your throat is raw and you can only talk in a whisper. There's not one inch of your body that he hasn't violated in one way or another.
[Come on, baby, I'm going to make this real good for you. When I'm done, you're going to pray that I killed you in the beginning. I'm gonna make it so's that I'm always in your head. You'll never be rid of me]
"Liv? Liv…you still there?" Nick's voice pulls you out of that place where you always go these days. That dark and empty place. Where you remember.
"I'm here." But not really here. "Thanks for checking in, Nick, but I'll be fine."
You're always fine.
You have to be. You have no other choice.
And you gently hang up the phone.
You appreciate them checking in, you really do, especially now that Cassidy is gone. Has been gone awhile now. You can't really blame him too much for leaving, you'd shut him out so many times. He deserved better than what you were willing to give – what you were able to give.
The Olivia he met, loved, made smart ass jokes with – she was a different person. You are no longer her.
I am so sorry, Cassidy. Sorry I can't give you what you need. Be who you need me to be.
…...
Knock, knock.
You close your eyes, maybe if you ignore it they'll go away. Why can't they just leave you be?
All you want is peace. Peace from all of it.
You're so tired and all you want to do is hide. Lindstrom says you'll get past that but you doubt that. How does anyone get past any of this? You're a survivor, you always have been but even survivors have their breaking points.
You went far past yours those months ago. Parts of you shattered and you're still struggling to make yourself whole again.
The knock is harder now. Whoever it is won't give up. Sighing, you get off from your usual spot on the couch and shuffle to the door, glass of wine in hand. And you brace yourself for another round of polite chit chat that never gets past the surface. Small talk is fucking exhausting.
You always could do it fairly well before but now…you look at people and you wonder if they're couching their words to spare you. Are they treating you differently because of what you've been through? What you've suffered? You're not sure of people anymore. And it makes talking difficult because all of you are dancing around that elephant that never leaves the room.
No one talks about it. Not directly. This is both a frustration and a relief. You don't want to be treated like china but, at the same time, you don't want to go back there. Don't want to look down into the darkness. You already do too much of that when you're alone.
And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you…
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Dammit," you exclaim, now really annoyed, "I'll be right there."
Fucking prick.
Taking a deep breath (you can do this), you open the door.
"Hello, Liv."
And time freezes.
As you head off to the war
Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye
People talk all the time about time standing still. But you've never experienced it yourself. Just a damn metaphor, you'd think.
But, no, it actually happens. For a moment, everything just stops.
It's the voice you've dreamed of hearing a thousand times. One that you've replayed over and over in your head when you were handcuffed to that bed.
The voice that kept telling you that you weren't a quitter and don't give that son of a bitch the satisfaction of seeing you break.
My old partner, he'd know what to do…
His hair has thinned more and you can see a lot of gray. But the blue eyes are the same. That goddamned smirk/smile is the same. And the look in his eyes he always had for you, just for you, is still the same.
Despite the weight of memories, the years have been good to Elliot Stabler. At least physically. Emotionally...as wrecked as you are, you haven't missed the shadows that are lie behind the smile he wears for you.
"El…?" Your voice comes out as a faint gasp, a bare stirring of the air. You can barely see through the sheen of tears that have appeared out of nowhere. You had cried so hard after he left that you thought you had no tears left to shed. Not for him. For yourself, maybe.
But this can't be him. You have to be sleeping because the only time you've seen him is in your dreams. And it's killed you every time to wake up and realize it was just your head playing tricks on you.
The lines between reality and dreams blur real thin some days. And you wonder which world you're inhabiting half the time. Because so many nights you find yourself back in that beach house, back in that squad room two years ago...the past is as real to you now as the present is.
But you can't let yourself believe this is him because you had everything planned out in your head about what you would say, what would you do, if he ever came back. And you can't remember one single fucking thing.
"Liv." His voice is low, raspy and rough. Like sandpaper.
Old friend, I've missed you the most.
And before this is not a good idea flashes through your head, you're in his arms. And they're solid and strong and exactly how you remember.
And tears come hard and fast. You haven't cried since those days in the beach house but now you do.
Because now you're safe.
And against your hair, as you hold tight to him, you hear his broken voice:
"I'm sorry. I should have come sooner."