"I'm not ready for this." It's a weakened breath, defeat, and repeating the words like a mantra is the only thing Olivia could do to stop herself from giving in to what she wanted so desperately. She feels the crippling grip of panic, the feeling that she's not getting enough air in her lungs, too little to breathe. There's heat creeping into her cheeks, an endless loop of I can't do this in her head, as the past couple of weeks come crashing down in the worst of moments, all because she let her guard down for a second.
She slipped, messed up, almost. Allowed the past few weeks, this hell of a day to get the better of her and break a resolve she's been building up for months when it comes to Elliot.
She's backed up to the counter, leaning against her cold fridge, and all she wants to do is crumble, but she can't do that, either, not with him here, so she tries to remember to just breathe in, breathe out, and in and out until the white noise in her head quiets enough for her to become aware of her surroundings, until she's escaped the looming thread of a full-blown anxiety attack.
Elliot stands there, a few feet of space she's created between them. Olivia can hear him breathe now, hear him think as she's trying to get herself together and get out of this with a shred of dignity. She can't even look at him, not ready for the hurt and disappointment her rejection caused.
She was about to kiss him.
Now that she's no longer breathing his air, her face touching his, there's enough clarity for her to piece the situation back together.
She'd heard him walk towards her while she went through cabinet after cabinet, pretending not to know where the hell she keeps her sugar, only turning around when she felt she could actually do so and face him after he said that he cares for her. To look at him. What she didn't expect was to find him so close, too close, basically no space between them, looking at her with the weight of his declarations and everything lingering unspoken between them. The weight of possibility.
It was her moving in, her resolve a losing game, as she allowed herself to let go for just a moment. If it hadn't been for Elliot uttering her name she wouldn't have thought to stop, wouldn't have been able. But her name on his lips has saved them, saved her, even though it might have been intended to check in with her, make sure they were on the same page. He cast a spell and broke it, and Jesus, she's as full with gratitude as she is with screaming regret.
If she had kissed him she knows one thing: She wouldn't have been able to stop.
Not after today. Not after being unable to sleep for weeks for fear of losing her son, or her son losing her.
Not with how Elliot looked at her, so sure and with intentions that still scare her more than the ghost of them ever did.
Olivia would have kissed him and she would have slept with him, and if she knows one thing it's that being together with Elliot in any capacity can't be something she questions or regrets in the aftermath, so she holds on for dear life with a mantra that's a searing truth on her tongue.
I'm not ready for this.
Until Elliot interrupts her spiral.
"It's okay, Liv. You're not ready, I get that."
She raises her head just enough to be able to look at him, and it's this big, broad man looking at her with understanding and compassion, no disappointment to be found. His now slightly tilted head brings her to her knees, shattering the last bit of willpower.
He says it's okay, and it's not on so many levels, because she's been chewing on a definition of their limbo-like state and her soul-crushing yearning for months, thinking she should have her shit figured out by now, but the more she thinks, the more she fears, and the more she fears the less she knows how to navigate this relationship, and she's so scared that she doesn't dare move in any direction—even now that Elliot finally shows some initiative.
There was a point where she figured whenever he'd make a move—any move—it would be too little too late. It's quite the opposite though, and the too much too soon makes her head spin to a nauseating degree.
It's not okay, but him assuring her that it is, that he understands , soothes and slices her all at once.
Futilely Olivia tries to stifle a sob. It comes out harsh and strangled as her head falls forward and the first tears slip down her face.
She was not gonna cry, not in front of Elliot anyway, but there's only so much emotional baggage she can handle.
"Liv," he breathes again, taking a tentative step towards her.
He's her downfall, so gentle with his words, soft but open with her.
"I'm sorry," Olivia manages, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth like it would stop her crying.
"Don't be, there's nothin'-"
"I don't know what I'm…" She blubbers, ache and regret pouring like acid rain.
"Olivia."
It's that same voice Elliot uses, the one he prompted her with to look at him, before. It makes her go weak in the knees and heart.
He's back in her space, now. She has nowhere to go, and before she can make up her mind on what to do or what to say she feels Elliot against her, warm and solid, arms wrapping around her and nudging her crying form into a cocoon of an embrace. It makes her fall into him like she's weightless, allowing him to catch her, hold together the pieces of her.
The proximity might be dangerous, allowing for this could be a match in their hands, but there's something reassuring about what Elliot said to her, something that makes her believe that even if she shouldn't be strong enough to stand temptation, Elliot won't participate in something he now knows she's not ready for.
She may not fully trust him, yet, but she trusts him with her son, and trusts him with her momentary fragility.
The realization that she's safe, not in danger of losing herself with him and in him lets her relax enough so she can finally take a proper breath in. His palm rubs slow, soothing circles across the middle of her back. It's almost enough to stop the tears and quivering of her body, just enough to let her face find a place to rest against his neck, breathe him in and out and just be… still.
"It's okay," he says, his voice deep and so low, it's barely above a whisper. "You've got nothing to figure out right now. We're okay."
To her it feels like they are far from okay, that possibly they've never been worse off, but instead of allowing that feeling to fester she nods her agreement, chooses to believe that this is okay, that they are okay right where they are. That there's nothing to figure out here, but that they will, eventually. That they can .
"Okay," she manages, the sound a little ragged from tears and desperation, and then she goes from limp and passive to actively seeking him out, hands coming up until both palms flatten against Elliot's chest.
"If we…" She falters, shakes her head that feels so right, so home where it's buried, still.
"If we what?" he prompts, careful.
Olivia swallows despite the lump in her throat, her heart thumping in her ears.
"If we kissed… I wouldn't be able to stop" She thinks it rings true tonight in particular, but she's not sure that stopping is ever a doable option when the moment comes. "And I'm not in the right place…we're not…"
"That's not gonna– Liv, I wouldn't let it go there tonight." He leans back slightly, just enough to prompt her to lift her head, but she can't quite bring herself to lay her eyes on him, see the look on his face, so she stares at the dark wet spots on his shirt that are her tears and saliva, and Jesus, she thought it could not get more embarrassing than admitting that she doesn't possess enough self-control to be trusted not to spread her legs for him, so she deflects.
"I'm scared," she says, subdued and vulnerable, and when he winces she raises her glance just enough to make eye-contact, but she breaks it just as fast.
"Scared of what?"
Olivia's eyes slip closed and she shakes her head slightly, pressing her lips together before letting her forehead roll against Elliot's, their noses almost touching.
"Everything," she whispers, sounding defeated. "Wanting this. Wanting you. It's exhausting, Elliot. It's exhausting to think of all the ways this could end badly. For you and me. For… for Noah."
"Why do you think it would end badly?"
She shakes her head, stretching out her fingers that are still settled against his chest before slipping them upwards to his shoulders, his neck, until she's cupping his face, five o'clock shadow a prickling sensation against her skin.
"Because it always does," she whispers, because loss is all she's ever known. She's learned early on that there was an ending to all of her beginnings, and the end of their partnership, their friendship? It had been the worst of all. "I can't lose you again."
"You won't-"
"Don't," she pleads. "Don't say that to me." Because it hurts too much, splits her open and breaks her to pieces he can't put back together.
"Liv…"
She can't. She can't listen to promises he's already broken by leaving, so before he can speak further, she does.
"You broke me. And Elliot, as much as I want to be, I'm not over it. So, I am scared of committing to something when I'm not in a place where I fully trust you. We haven't even talked about any of this. Not about how you left, not about how things were for the past couple of years. I don't know how to do this with you while I'm still so… so hurt."
He nods, his hands moving from her back to her hips, nudging his nose against hers. She gasps with the intimacy of it, her heart making somersaults again because there is just an inch keeping their mouths apart, and she's too aware.
"So, let me fix it. We'll talk," he assures, his hand crawling up her sides. " I'll talk."
"Why now?" Olivia sounds hollow, like she doesn't fully believe that something could change, that he'll come through this time. She's hoped for this before and got burned, learned that it were empty words that cut even deeper than the silence. "Because I heard something like it before…"
"Because… you shouldn't be scared of endings, and I shouldn't be scared of beginnings. If talking is going to help us move forward then we should talk. Can we talk? Can we do that?"
Him wanting to talk after all this time is bewildering, and while she thought she was over it, she wants it, still. Not tonight, though. Tonight she's in no state to delve into their complicated history. Sighing softly she pulls back to look at him, reflecting, her thumb brushing across the slope of his cheek.
"We can talk. Just… not right now? I… I think I need some time."
"I can give you time. Whatever it takes. Until you're ready." Elliot's fumbling for something tangible it seems, as her shaky hands settle against his shoulder. "Just…please don't shut me out. Don't give up on us…"
Olivia's heart is heavy, sinks, because he knows her well, knows that when he leaves she might overthink, knows it might end in radio silence for weeks. It wouldn't be the first time. Her avoidance of him never served to hurt or punish him, and if it did, it was friendly fire. In the very first place she always ended up punishing herself for her inability to take a step in any direction. Maybe them being here, tonight, like this, is as much on her as it is on Elliot.
He's scared she's going to give up on them for good and the sadness she feels at his warranted worries reflects in her eyes. Lowering her gaze she admits: "I've wanted to, you know." She draws a shaky breath before making eye contact again. "But I've never been able to. Not then. Not now."
She purses her lips, fresh tears shimmering in her eyes at the relief she sees washing over Elliot's face, and it's the first time in maybe all this time that he's back that she feels fully seen , feels he truly cares and wants to get it right. That he's fully in this, wherever it'll lead.
"We'll figure it out. We'll talk and we'll figure it all out, and no matter what, it's going to be all right, Liv. No pressure."
And then, after a few beats that allow her to process: "Come 'ere."
She releases a shaky breath as Elliot pulls her into his body, her arms slipping around his neck, his around her middle, until they are both fully entangled in a tight hug. He holds on, scared to let go, and although it feels like he might crush her it feels perfect and safe and blissful. The tears rolling down her cheek are a liberation of tension and anxiety she's been battling for as long as she can remember, a release of emotions that finally found their valve in this moment. So she lets it all go this time, her face nuzzled in his neck, caged in by the welcoming pressure his clutch exerts on her.
They stay like this, she doesn't know how long. Long enough for her to stop crying, for his lock hold on her to loosen, rubbing a sweet pattern into the sore muscles of her back. Long enough for her to be completely aware of their position, the heat created between their joint bodies. Long enough for the scent of Elliot and his cologne to lull her into wondering if there will be traces of it left in the morning if he stayed, if he'd make her sheets smell like him, and long enough for her to think that if she parted her lips it'd be enough to get a taste of him, that if only she moved she'd be kissing his neck, and God, she needs to stop the wandering of her thoughts, they need to end this because she wants him no less than she did before, and she's no more ready, either.
Olivia pulls back just enough to not find herself skin on skin with him, reluctantly mumbling the only excuse she can think of, nasal and husky from crying her heart out. "It's late…"
It's his cue to move, but as they disentangle they come cheek to cheek, and she freezes, releasing a shudder of a breath while fisting his shirt. There's not an ounce of control left in her body. Not when the corners of their mouths are this close, not with Elliot's hot breath caressing her cheek. She feels the rush it causes in every part of her body, the pull, the yearning to touch him, feel him. But she can't. God, she can't, but she has no idea how to step away from it this time. They've been right here before, not fifteen minutes earlier, and it couldn't hit more like a bolt from blue.
"I really need you to leave, Elliot." she breathes. "Now."
Inside she's screaming, because she doesn't want to send him away. She wants to beg him not to leave just yet, wants to waste her breath on declarations of not being ready but wanting it, wanting him, wanting them. However, Elliot's presence is a dangerous game she's not going to win, not when she knows he could fill in all the cracks and fissures of this goddamn day. How long is she supposed to withstand knowing she could feel whole, if only for an hour or two, for as long as their coming together lasts.
He retreats when she doesn't, kisses her forehead. His mouth lingers for a couple of seconds before granting her the space she so desperately needs.
"Goodnight, Liv."
And then she's cold and vulnerable and alone in the big space of her kitchen, watching Elliot grab his jacket by the door and walk out of her home, giving her a last tight smile.
She's left tired and confused, sad and barely relieved, yearning and cursing as the front door clicks shut. She had hoped she'd be able to hold it together by telling him to leave, but she just feels shattered and out of place. She wishes him back, even at the cost of the tension.
She's so conflicted, she doesn't know up from down.
She's home and Noah's here and safe, and he's hers, but she feels so lonely in this place, now. With Elliot here it was the first time in a long time she felt cared for, and she hugs herself to self-soothe the ache that comes with missing him.
Olivia exhales, shaky and slow, taking a step towards the island and gripping the top. His unfinished tea catches her attention–the fact he wanted sugar for it–the bag discarded on the counter.
"What do I do?" She breathes into the silence, not quite sure if she means about Elliot, or them, or her fears, or what to do now that she's alone, dead-tired but too anxious to sleep, every fiber still buzzing with a want that's been building for two decades.
There's tea, lukewarm by now, and Chinese in the fridge Elliot brought home for her that she was grateful for, but couldn't have after hearing Duarte didn't make it. She's hungry, but she thinks if she eats, she's not going to be able to keep it down.
She settles on the tea, walking around the island, only to drop the cup at the startling sound of her ringing phone, tea spilling all over. After all these nights of sitting guard and not sleeping properly she's still so on edge, the tiniest unexpected noise can scare the crap out of her.
Underneath her breath she curses, tea now dripping down the island top, but with her phone ringing she prioritizes and goes to the round kitchen table, the name 'Stabler' flashing on the display.
She bites her lip picking up, his name rushing out before she can stop herself.
"Elliot."
"I need to be sure you're okay," he says, and even with the conviction in his words he sounds oddly vulnerable. It makes her wince.
"I'm… I don't know, Elliot. I guess I'm…" she breathes a heavy breath, closing her eyes, at a loss what to say.
"Open the door?"
"W-what…" She turns and then just stands and stares at her front door as if she could will it open, a nervous shudder crawling up her spine.
"I know you asked me to leave, and I get that you need to be alone to… to process and think, but Liv, they came after you and Noah, and by some miracle they only beat the shit out of you, and you may say you're safe, but I don't trust that. Not after what happened to that guy…Duarte?" He's terrified for her and rambling, which sets her into motion. "You don't have to talk to me, we don't have to do anything at all, but I can't in all good conscience leave you and Noah, not wi–"
Olivia swings the door open, his gaze finding hers, an apologetic look on his face, that makes her body erupt in hot flashes.
"The couch is comfortable to sit on, but a pain in the ass to sleep on," she warns, lowering the phone.
"Sounds great," he says into the phone, smiling at her sheepishly, before hanging up. For a few moments they just stand there, looking at each other until her face softens completely, the nervous energy ebbing somewhat.
"Thank you, El," she murmurs, which is as far as she can go in terms of admitting that him staying for her is exactly what she needs.
He steps back into her apartment and they move around silently as he doffs his jacket and follows her back to the kitchen. Olivia follows his gaze to the spilled tea, feebly pointing out the obvious.
"Bit jumpy since the attack."
"How about you try and get some sleep? Let me clean this up."
Her lips make a thin line as she looks around ruefully, not sure what to do with herself.
"I'm not sure I can sleep," she says, when in fact it's more like she doesn't want to be alone just yet. She'd only think of what happened to Duarte, what might as well could have been her fate, and the mere thought of leaving Noah an orphan makes her sick to her stomach, so she'd rather not be alone with her thoughts.
"How about some tea then?" His face is relaxed and the thought of a cup of herbal tea is enticing, so she nods her head yes and rips a few leafs of paper towel to clean up. Elliot moves about her kitchen like he's not an almost stranger to her place, finds the tea and clean cups, filling the kettle, and she's never seen him so domestic, least of all in her four walls. It paints a picture of what could be, and in her hollow stomach there's a flutter of excitement.
"Liv, I've been thinking." He interrupts her thought process, catches her full attention.
"Thinking about what?"
"About how it seems we keep missing each other. There's a lot going on, you have your squad, Noah… we both work terrible hours," he sounds casual but she can see the tension in his shoulders and jaw. "There's too little time and I know I haven't been prioritizing the way I should have. I want to change that. I want…" He licks his lip, gripping the counter and leaning against it with his full weight. "I want a little bit of your time every week. Time to catch up, a time that's reserved for just us. I know life gets in the way, and it doesn't always have to be long. I'll make do with five minutes if that's all you can offer at the end of a long day, but let's not be an afterthought to each other."
She's stunned into momentary silence, because this proposal was not something she expected from Elliot. Sure, she's been ignoring a few of his calls and found excuses not to see him in the past, but it was complicated, and she didn't always have the energy to put up with him and his issues when she hardly had the mind to work through her own.
"Elliot, I… I don't know if I-"
"Please, Liv. An hour. Will you give me that? An hour to spend with you every week. I want to be better. I wanna get to know you again, no strings attached. I want a time and space for just us, and if it's been a rough day, we'll make it quick."
It's an agreement he's looking for, something she will not simply get out of, no more missed calls, no dodged meetings because she's tired or stressed, or simply not in the mood. He wants to put in the effort she'd hoped he would make, show her that their friendship matters to him, but it's so unexpected and new, that she hardly knows what to say to it.
"Liv?"
She thinks about it, his reasoning, the proposal that's as sweet as out of the blue. If they want to figure this out, maybe it's not the worst idea to have a schedule, that she makes time for time with Elliot.
He scratches the back of his head, nervous while her eyes are on him, uncertainty reflecting in them.
"I'm free Thursday night."
A broad smile stretches across Elliot's face and it steals her breath. It's genuine elation radiating off of him, something infectious that makes her lower her gaze and smile bashfully.
"Thursday sounds perfect," he accepts. "And we'll talk. Whatever you need to talk about, we'll talk about it."
Olivia nods, trying to swallow down the doubt that's bitter as bile.
"Okay."
He'd promised her to talk before and never followed through, and while this feels different she's secretly going to prepare for another heartbreak, just in case.
He's looking for a commitment and she's willing to give him that, willing to try, again. For him.
The water comes to a boil and he fills up their cups and she pictures him in her kitchen this coming Thursday, pouring them something stronger, because she has a feeling they'll both need it if they have a conversation about him leaving. She pictures them finding a routine, much like Elliot proposed, a first commitment heralding change.
Then, bit by bit, a second, a third…and, maybe, more.
Until she's ready.