He wanted to follow after her, Jesus, he really did, but McKenna was still sleeping peacefully in the bed behind him, apparently oblivious to the devastation Elliot's impulsivity had wrought, and he couldn't just leave her and Liv wouldn't want him to, anyway. Liv didn't want him, it seemed. It felt like relief, when he kissed her, felt like he finally, finally had a chance to reach for what he wanted most, but she'd said fuck you and pushed him away, and he didn't know what to do with it, the heartbreak in her eyes and the guilt in his chest.
It had seemed like the right thing to do, in the moment. Baring his heart to her, being honest, had felt so much like joy, and with the world coming to an end all around them and an angel on their heels he was certain there would never be a better time to reach for her, but it seemed he'd been wrong. Jesus, he'd been wrong; she'd told him she was sorry, told him she couldn't love him not because she didn't want to but because she couldn't stand to lose him, and where was the logic in that, he wanted to ask her, how did it make sense, to push him away now because she didn't want to grieve for him later? Couldn't she see it was too fucking late for that? It didn't matter, he thought, didn't matter that he'd never touched her, didn't matter if he never kissed her again; they were bound to one another, now and always. He would carry her inside his heart for all the rest of his days, and whatever she said he didn't think she was gonna forget him in a hurry.
Or maybe she would. She was however many fucking thousand years old; maybe she forgot everyone, in time. Maybe she really would move on. Maybe he'd been a fool, to think he could ever mean as much to her as she did to him, when he would only walk the earth for such a little while, and she would remain, timeless and inviolate, forever. Something like anger began to simmer in his belly; it was petulant and childish, maybe, but he felt it just the same, felt angry with her, angry because she meant everything to him, and he was beginning to worry he meant nothing at all to her.
The floorboards creaked softly as she drifted through the house beyond the door, and he listened to the sound of her, wondering what she was doing, wondering what he was gonna say to her when they finally had to face one another again. It was still dark, still another hour or so to go before dawn, and when the sun rose they'd have to talk. They'd have to see to McKenna, get her fed, quiet her fears, and they'd have to talk to Liv's friends, and try to come up with a plan; they were gonna have to be partners, and how the fuck was that gonna go? How could he work with her, live shoulder-to-shoulder with her in this little cabin, after he'd kissed her, after she'd spurned him?
They'd worked together in tense moments before, had managed to overcome fights and disagreements, had survived what about me and that bullshit at Sealview and everything else, but this felt different. Always before he'd swallowed down his feelings for her, refused to act on them, refused to let himself admit how much she meant to him, but he'd kissed her now, and there was no hiding from it, from the truth of what he'd done, from the truth of his heart, calling out for her. Would she be cold, now, trying to put distance between them? Would she try to pretend like nothing had happened? And when this was all over, if they all made it out alive, would he ever see her again? What if she just took McKenna and disappeared, started over the way she'd been doing for millenia, and left him all alone?
The door didn't sit flush with the floor; there was a gap about the bottom, almost a solid inch, more than enough room for him to see the light from the hallway, the light she must have turned on when she walked away, and in that pool of light he saw a shadow form, heard the soft sound of footsteps. Wherever Olivia had gone she hadn't stayed away long; he could see the twin shadows of her feet, right on the other side of the door. He pressed his palm flat against the door, and he could have sworn he felt it, the heat of her, standing right there, so close to him and yet too far away to reach. The house was still and silent, and he held his breath, waiting, wishing he could reach through the door, wishing he could grab her by the shoulders, wishing he could hold her.
Just give me a chance, he wanted to scream. Olivia believed herself to be cursed, unwanted on earth or in heaven, doomed to be alone, and maybe she was right but goddamn it he didn't want her to be, and if she'd just…if she'd just let him, let him hold her, let him love her, he was sure, so sure, that he could make her happy. That he could love her, the way she'd always deserved, that together they could banish the darkness that haunted her steps. Not forever, maybe, not for the rest of her interminable life, but for a while, and wasn't that worth it, he wanted to ask her, plead with her; wasn't a small piece of happiness better than none at all? Didn't she want to know?
The shadows on the floor swayed, a little, and the door rocked back like a weight had just gently pressed against it, and he heard the whisper soft sound of fabric on wood, and realized she must have sat down there, on the floor with her back against the door. Out in the hallway, alone and sad, Olivia was sitting by the door, so Elliot sat, too, sat down on the floor with his back against the door, imagined their bodies mirroring one another, the same, the way they always had been.
Did she know he was there? He wondered. Could she feel him, the way he could feel her? He always seemed to know when she was near, always seemed to gravitate towards her, always had, from the moment they first met. He'd always stood too close to her, his hands drifting to her shoulder, her elbow, the back of her neck, seeking the comfort of her, without conscious thought. He always felt better when she was close by; maybe she did, too. Maybe that's why she'd come back, why she was sitting there now; maybe she'd decided that it was too dangerous to love him, but she couldn't abandon him, even now, and that gave him cause to hope.
The gap beneath the door was just big enough for him to slide his fingers underneath it, and so he did. He was facing away from the door, facing the bed where McKenna was sleeping, reaching out blindly, but he trusted in that moment that he would find his mark. He knew her, and he knew where to find her, knew in the dark, knew without looking, and he would not ever stop reaching for her. She was afraid; I'll be bigger than her fear, he thought. She was his partner, and he would not leave her to the shadows alone. He would be there for her, always.
And she must have known it, must have known that he wasn't gonna let her go without a fight, must have known that he was there, reaching for her, because after a moment he felt the warmth of her fingers, wrapping around his own. Through the gap in the door she found him seeking her touch, and she clung to him, and the touch of her hand gave him hope, even as it shattered him. For several long, slow minutes they stayed just like that, sitting, wishing, holding onto one another, and he found solace in the softness of her skin, even as he wondered if this would be all he'd ever have of her. Maybe this was as close as they would ever come to holding one another; maybe this was all they'd ever be, human and nephilim, frailty and divinity, separated by the veil of fate, each inhabiting a world the other would not ever know. On his side of the door was love and death and endings, and on hers was God and lonesomeness and a cruel eternity, and maybe they would never truly bridge that divide, but for now, for this brief moment in time, they had reached across it, and found comfort in one another.
She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks and rose slowly to her feet, stretching her back and trying to prepare herself for what was to come next. There was no way to avoid it; she would have to face him. There were so many things to do, so many things to talk about, logistics to work out and mysteries to solve and cataclysms to prepare for, and as much as she wanted to stay right there with her fingers laced through Elliot's she knew it was not meant to last. Nothing with humans ever was.
There was no point in trying to go back to sleep; the sun would rise soon, and she could never sleep while it was light out, and if she went back into the bedroom now Elliot would be waiting for her, and he might want to talk, and she really didn't want to talk anymore, and didn't want to risk waking McKenna, anyway. Instead she left the bedroom behind, drifted into the kitchen and dug around in the cabinets until she found a container of coffee grounds and a package of filters for the old Mister Coffee on the counter. The carafe was clean and the coffee grounds still smelled like coffee, and she figured that was good enough; it might taste like shit but making it would give her something to do, so she focused on that. She went through the motions only half aware of what she was doing, staring out the little window above the sink and into the inky black of the woods beyond the cabin.
How safe were they here, truly? She wasn't comfortable out in the country like this; she'd been living in cities for over a century now, and she'd got used to having people around her, and it was unnerving, the stillness. It made her see things that weren't there, had her jumping at shadows, her ears straining to hear every little noise, every whisper of a breeze through the trees, every crack of a stick beneath some little creature scurrying through the night.
As she stood, and listened, and made the coffee and stared out the window, there came a sudden, shocking burst of light in the back yard, briefly illuminating everything bright as day, as if a bolt of lightning had just struck, though no rumble of thunder followed after it.
Olivia reacted immediately; she dropped the coffee and snatched her gun up off the counter where she'd left it, and then darted to the back door. Slowly, carefully, she eased the door open a crack, peering out into the yard, but the light had fled, and all was once more in darkness, and she couldn't see shit.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck the words flowed through her mind, a mantra of horror, her eyes scanning the grass, the treeline, but it was dark, too dark, she couldn't see -
"You can come out," a soft, warm voice called out from the darkness, sounding faintly amused.
It wasn't Michael's voice, she knew that at once. Michael's voice had been deeper, harder, and he wouldn't bother to announce himself like that, wouldn't give up his advantage, would've attacked her quickly, before she had a chance to defend herself. So who the fuck was it, and what the fuck was she gonna do now?