It was very, very late when Elliot heard the front door swing slowly open. Close to 2:00 a.m., in fact, much later than he'd expected - much later than he'd been hoping, and he was trying, really he was, not to hold that against her. Not to grumble, or complain, or remind her that she'd promised to check in with him but hadn't. He knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of that kind of admonishment, when the infraction, however severe, hadn't been intentional, hadn't really been in his control in the first place, and he didn't want to nag Olivia, or make her feel guilty for doing her job, but Jesus, he had never really understood Kathy's complaints about his work until now, and wasn't that something, really, that when he finally had the chance to experience life from Kathy's side of things, when he finally got it, it was already too late to do anything about it.
"Hey," he called hoarsely, trying not to make too much noise. It wouldn't do, to shout, or jump up, and risk waking McKenna now. The girl had endured a long and trying day, and she hadn't spoken a single word to Elliot - beyond a sweet, shy hi when Olivia first brought her here - but she had fallen asleep on his lap on the sofa, and he was loath to wake her, unwilling to move her. It felt nice, sitting still with a child in his arms; it felt familiar, and warm, and comforting, and he didn't want to give it up. No child stayed small forever, and he'd learned long ago to savor moments like this when he could.
"Hey," Olivia called back, keeping her voice low to match his. He heard the twin thunks of her boots hitting the floor, and then she was padding softly into view, her socks making no sound on the cheap laminate floor. She looked wrung out; she looked exhausted, and sad, and he couldn't blame her for that, because she was coming up on twenty-four hours without sleep, and she hadn't called him, and that meant, he figured, that she hadn't found the man who'd killed McKenna's mother yet.
"She's asleep," Liv observed softly, swaying to a stop just in front of the couch. Her eyes were fixed on McKenna, and there was something like wonder there.
"Passed out about an hour ago," he said. "She fought it like hell."
McKenna absolutely refused to sleep in Eli's little toddler bed; Elliot read her a story and sang her a song - Sweet Baby James, the only song he'd ever really sung to any of his children, not being much of a singer in the first place and being more inclined to leave the lullabies up to Kathy - but the second he turned his back McKenna was on her feet, following after him, doggedly refusing to settle down, and so at last he'd given up trying and turned on some cartoons for her and the exhaustion had won, in the end, as he'd always known it must.
"She must be afraid," Olivia said sadly. "Who knows what she's seen. Did she talk to you at all?"
"Nah," he answered, wishing he could tell her something different. He'd tried to coax some words out of the girl, but to no avail. "She understands just fine," he said. "I don't know if she can't talk, or if she just won't, but she knows what we're saying to her."
"May just have to give it some time," Olivia said around a jaw-cracking yawn that made Elliot wince just to see it.
"You hungry?" he asked. "I made spaghetti. There's some left."
"Starving," Olivia confessed. "But I really need a shower first. It's been a long day."
It was easier to focus on the practicalities, to address the simplest, most urgent details first and leave the more complicated stuff - like the investigation, and the question of angels, and the matter of kidnapping - for later, so he did.
"You go, get cleaned up," he said. "I'll take her to bed and I'll warm up dinner for you."
The apartment was small; there was a bedroom for Elliot and a bedroom for Eli, and an air mattress for Elliot to sleep on if one of the twins came to stay the night, which neither of them had wanted to do so far - not that he could blame them - and just the one bathroom. They'd have to share it, Elliot and McKenna and Olivia, and that meant Liv was going to have to shower in his shower, and it didn't look to him like she'd brought a bag, so she'd have to use his soap, and his shampoo, and the thought of it pleased him in a way he didn't want to think about too much.
"There's clean towels under the sink," he told her. "You need something to wear?"
Olivia looked down at her clothes, the same clothes she'd been wearing since for about twenty hours now, and frowned.
"Yeah," she said. "Just a t-shirt and some sweats, if you don't mind."
"I'll put 'em on the floor in front of the door. You can just grab 'em when you're done."
"Thanks, El," she said, and sounded like she meant it.
They had a plan now, so Olivia turned away from him then, slipped silently across the living room and disappeared inside the bathroom, left Elliot alone with a toddler on his lap. McKenna wasn't so very heavy, and these last few weeks with no job and nothing to do meant he'd been spending even more time than usual in the gym, so it wasn't hard to stand with her in his arms. It came back to him as natural as breathing, holding a child, moving in just the right way to keep from jostling her too much - though her wings were a new consideration he hadn't ever had to take into account before - and with the sound of running water rushing through the pipes for white noise he carried McKenna across the apartment, into Eli's room, laid her down gently on the bed and tugged the blanket up over her. As he watched she rolled onto her side, slid one of her thumbs into her mouth, and folded her wings gently on top of one another at her back, the white feathers rustling softly as they settled into place. She really was a beautiful child, a special child, and she was his responsibility, and a fierce sort of protectiveness filled him, looking at her. He would do anything, whatever it took, to keep that child safe.
But for now she was asleep, and he was satisfied that she was going to stay that way, and so he left her to her dreams, went instead to his bedroom and opened the drawers of his dresser. He pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants with a drawstring Olivia could use to tie them tightly round her hips - don't think about her hips, don't think about her ass, don't be an asshole - and an old white NYPD t-shirt, folded them up neat and stacked them together and then carried them to the bathroom. He set them on the floor in front of the door, and tried not to listen to the gentle sound of splashing water, tried not to think about Liv naked, tried not to think about her wings, tried not to think about how nice it felt, her coming home to him.
There was no telling how long she'd be in the shower so he plated up some spaghetti for her and resolved not to put it in the microwave until he heard the shower cut off, wanting the food to still be warm for her when she was dressed and ready to join him. That left him just standing in the kitchen listening to the shower, though, so he grabbed a beer from the fridge just to give himself something to do, and made more of a production out of popping off the top than he probably needed to.
When Liv came out they were gonna have to talk. Really talk, about what she'd learned over the course of the day, any leads she might have, about her other angel friends and their network and what they knew, what they suspected. He and Liv were gonna have to talk about McKenna, about getting her some clothes and whether his place was really safest for her and just how long they were comfortable harboring her here. Liv's friend had lied for them, but who knew how long that lie was gonna hold; suppose Cragen or somebody decided to call a friend with the Feds for help, and discovered that the FBI had no idea that McKenna even existed? They were treading through dangerous waters, and they needed to prepare themselves for the fallout should this thing go south. Liv had reinvented herself God only knew how many times, but Elliot had only ever been Elliot, and he couldn't just walk away from his life and start over fresh somewhere else. He had something that Liv didn't; he had a family, and though it grieved him he had to admit that made all the difference.
Maybe Liv would want to take McKenna with her. Just disappear, out in the world somewhere, pick a new name and a new life and devote herself to raising the newest nephilim child. Maybe she'd like that, but Elliot wasn't ready to lose her. To lose either of them. Maybe he was just being selfish; maybe Liv wasn't really his to lose. Maybe he was always meant to lose her, because they came from different worlds, worlds that were never meant to intersect in the first place.
He'd gotten so lost in those bleak thoughts he hadn't noticed the shower turning off, but the bathroom door opened then, and one lean, tan arm snaked out, snatched up the clothes and then disappeared again. She'd been moving quick, but not quick enough; a cloud of steam had escaped when she opened the door, steam that smelled fresh, and clean, smelled just like his soap, the soap that Kathy bought for him because he'd never had the time to do it for himself. Olivia had used his soap, and she was gonna wear his clothes, and sleep in his home, however briefly, and it was weird, really, sharing so much with her. Over the years they'd shared so much, so much time, so much heartbreak, so many meals. Petty arguments and life-shattering losses. They'd shared soda and late night confessions and the fragile, jagged fragments of their childhoods that neither of them had ever shared with anyone else. They'd shared space, at their desks, in the car, crowded each other in the locker room and slept on bunks next to each other in the cribs but they'd never shared this. Shower, and soap, and he was gonna make her sleep in his bed no matter how much she protested because she was gonna have to work tomorrow and it made more sense for him to crash on the couch seeing as he had nowhere to be, and if she slept in his bed she'd wake up smelling even more like him than she did right now, and he liked that. She'd probably tell him he was being a dick if he told her that, though - not that he ever would.
He put her spaghetti in the microwave, and listened to the little machine whirring, and tried to focus himself on the troubles before them, and not his partner in that bathroom ten feet away from him, pulling his sweatpants up the long length of her legs.