As promised, it's a new fic from me. This one starts off during Post-Mortem Blues after Olivia returns to her apartment. It's written in TG-verse, but if you haven't read that one or just need your memory refreshed, here's the lowdown: Olivia and Elliot have been carrying on an unstable (yay puns!), on and off again relationship behind the backs of their significant others for about six months now while Olivia struggles with PTSD related to her assault, including alcohol abuse and self harm. She's fresh off a breakup with Brian, who is away for the foreseeable future on some sort of secretive work assignment. That's basically all you need to know.
This one is dedicated with love to Jaime for giving me the encouragement to come back to this universe.
Okay, now on with the story. I will say that I am *hugely* insecure about posting this after so much time away, so please be gentle!
Even with the sound of a gunshot still resounding in your head, you're able to recognize the footsteps you hear coming off of the elevator and down the hall to your apartment.
You're moving slowly, every step accompanied with a grimace and a pause, but somehow you manage to beat him to the door and open it before he can knock.
When he sees you standing there under your own power, he shakes his head and looks again as he's afraid that he's imagining things. His legs nearly give way underneath him and his left hand clings to the doorframe, knees buckling, out of breath like he's just ran all the way from Queens.
"I'm okay," you say, mouth set in a line and voice monotone. "He didn't hurt me."
You urge him to come inside before the neighbors start gawking and he takes two wordless steps into your apartment, just enough for you to shut the door behind him.
Your living room is exactly the same way it was when he last saw it two days ago - two glasses sitting side by side on the coffee table, throw pillows still lying on the floor right where he had tossed them off of the couch. You haven't been in your bedroom since Nick and Fin dropped you off about twenty minutes earlier, but if you had, you know you'd find the sheets still wrinkled just the way he had left them and the pillow still smelling of his aftershave. It's all neatly preserved; remnants of a bygone era.
But he couldn't have noticed, because he hasn't stopped watching you. "You're. Are you sure. You're."
"I'm not hurt," you repeat in what you hope is a convincing manner, and he gives you another once-over to verify. On the surface, your story checks out. The few scratches and bruises you have are hidden under the sweatsuit Amanda brought to the hospital for you to change into. And the rest, well, it's hidden even deeper.
He gives you half a nod and then stops, seemingly forgetting what he was doing. He's clutching the back of the couch with one hand and the other hand is resting on his knee, hunched over and still panting for oxygen. His stare is getting too intense and it has you feeling exposed with nowhere to hide, just like this morning when the car pulled over on a gravel road and the door flung open, a hand closing around your arm and dragging you out- "Don't. Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
You've got your back against the wall, arms crossed around your midsection and willing yourself to disappear. "Like I'm dead."
"I." It's enough to rouse him from his trance and he pulls himself up to his full height, sputtering and shaking his head. "I thought you were!"
"Well. I'm not."
"Jesus fucking christ, Olivia!" he shouts, his outburst in direct contrast to your own flat affect. "I have been sitting in a jail cell, no idea if you were even still alive -"
"Why were you in jail?" you ask, his statement managing to stir up a hint of emotion inside you.
"They said I was brandishing a weapon at an officer," he says, awfully dismissive for someone who's just described a Class D felony. "It'll go away. But shouldn't you know that already?"
You quirk an eyebrow at him. "I've been a little busy."
"But not too busy to have me tailed by a squad car!"
On that, you were guilty as charged. You had called Kathy to warn her before news of the great escape even hit the media, frantically promising that she could berate you for being the reason her husband was out until 5:45 in the goddamn morning LATER, but the three of you had bigger problems now. She had quickly gotten with the program once she heard what was going on, not wanting her husband to be out playing manhunter any more than you did. "He'll fucking kill him," she had said. You'd never heard her use that word before but you were glad she agreed, promising to try keeping him in the house and unaware for as long as possible while you sent a couple of unis out to keep an eye on him when he inevitably took off. "I wanted to stop you from doing something stupid!"
"Like what, slipping your security detail and running after someone who already almost killed you?"
His eyes were filled with regret before he even finished the sentence. "Liv. I didn't..."
"I think you should go now," you say, voice as sharp and delicate as fine china. "You saw for yourself that I'm okay. I'll call you when I get my new phone."
"Are you really? Okay?" he adds, making no move to leave.
"Yes, I am. You heard me the first time. So if you'll just leave me alone -"
"If you think I'm gonna let you be here by yourself all night, you are out of your mind. Not gonna happen." He takes off his coat and lays it over the arm of the sofa to emphasize his point.
Tears start to form in your eyes, your fragile composure on the verge of shattering. He's not like Brian, he won't obey a simple 'fuck off' when he asks what you've been doing behind the locked bathroom door for the last hour and a half. "Elliot, I'm asking you nicely, please don't argue with me...you don't need to be here. I'm just going to go to sleep."
"Sounds good, I'm exhausted. Hard to get much rest in lockup," and now he's the unemotional one, obnoxiously so, acting like he's preparing for a slumber party while you're shaking in barely contained frustration. "Should I stay on the couch, or?"
"You should go home!" It's suddenly weighing on you how much he doesn't know - about what went on before, about what happened with Brian, about what you've just been through - and it feels like a chasm that's too wide to bridge, one that you were ridiculous for ever thinking that you could cross. You've already seen how this story ends and now here you are, back at the beginning.
He shrugs, still nonplussed. "Well, the only way I'm going home is if you're coming with me."
"I swear to fuck, if you don't leave right now, I'll -"
"You'll what, huh?" he asks as your hands clench into fists, tone beginning to sharpen again. "What are you going to do if I go? What am I keeping you from?"
"I don't know," you say, and it's the truth. You remember how it felt holding that gun to your temple, realizing that you didn't really want to die, not at all, but now the adrenaline has worn off and you find that you're just not sure anymore.
He goes into the kitchen and takes a glass out of the cabinet, making himself at home. "Good. Then I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"Why are you being such an asshole about this?" you ask, cringing as your voice becomes too much of a whine for your liking.
He points toward his chest. "I'm being an asshole? Because I'm not going to let you spend the night alone after you've been -"
"You have no idea what I've been through and for the last time, I told you, I'm fine!"
"Well, maybe I'm not! Did you ever think of that?"
You're still recovering from the strain on your sore chest and stomach muscles caused by your mini-outburst, so he keeps going. "You're alright? You don't want to talk about your day? Great, then let's talk about mine! About how I've been this close to shitting myself for the last two days because I didn't know where you were or what you were doing, you wouldn't return my calls-"
"I told you, I was a little busy-"
"And then I hear all these rumors that you're missing, that there was a shooting, officer down-"
"You should know better than to-"
"What the fuck were you thinking?" He slams the glass down onto the countertop and you flinch automatically, jumping backward with your hand over your mouth and your eyes squeezed shut. "How could you be that selfish?"
You recover quickly, anger overtaking fear before he can ask the dreaded are you okay one more time. "Selfish? He was holding a little girl hostage!"
"And you walked right into his trap, put everybody else's asses on the line when they went to find you," he says, jabbing an accusing finger in your direction like he hadn't just been arrested for assaulting an officer himself, "For what? To prove that you weren't afraid?"
"I knew what I was doing -"
"Trying to get your ass killed?"
"Maybe I was!"
He tosses the glass into the sink and you hear it shatter against the stainless steel, your whole body heaving at the sound, and you brace yourself for an apology that doesn't come. "Don't you ever fucking say that shit again, do you understand?"
"No! You're the one who doesn't understand! You don't know how long of a year this is been for me and how tired I am, okay," and it's not like you explicitly had a death wish. It was more that you just...didn't care. Part of you needed to confront your own literal demon, to finish the job you started last year and to save this girl in the way that you failed to save the Meyers', and if that brought about your own demise, then so be it. "As soon as I heard his voice again, it was like being right back there. Like no time had ever passed." And then two days later you were back in another hospital room, fresh off of a brand new violation with dried blood on your face and a single gunshot playing on an endless loop in your mind, wondering if you were so lucky to have survived after all. "I don't, I can't, come back from this again. It's too much."
"Liv," he says quietly, steadily. "I know it's overwhelming right now, but you're going to get through this."
"What if I don't want to, huh? Did you think about that?"
His momentary attempt at a calm demeanor abandoned, he fires back. "And where the hell does that leave me, if you got what you wanted?"
"I don't know, Elliot, you'd go on with your life and get over it," you snarl, fuming at the audacity he has to make this all about himself. Which one of you is the selfish one again? Unlike you, he has options. He doesn't have to live with this.
"Fuck you." He comes out of the kitchen, the countertop no longer serving as a barrier between you. "Y'know what I was thinking about the entire time I was sitting in that cell, when I wasn't wondering whether you were alive or not? I was thinking about you, about us, all the time that I've wasted and how I'm done with that now. No more. I told myself that if you made it out of this, then I'm making some changes. Life is too fucking short."
"So what's that supposed to mean?" you ask, silently pleading with him not to come any closer.
"That I want to do this for real. Us. I'm tired of this back and forth thing we have going on when- I know what I want. And I think you do too."
You let out a laugh that sounds a lot like a sob, shaking your head in disbelief. "This is a hell of a time for you to put this on me! Elliot, I can't even...let alone..."
"I'm willing to wait if that's what you need. But I want you to know that I'm serious about this. I told you I love you and now I'm going to prove it."
"No. Stop." Your back still against the wall, you slump down to the floor, your fingers digging into your scalp with your arms bracketing your head. "You don't want me. Not like this."
He takes another step toward you and you pull your legs up to your chest in anticipation, but he doesn't come any closer. Instead, he keeps his distance and kneels down so you're at eye level with each other. "You told me that before. Remember? You let me see your scars so I'd know what I was getting into. And I'm still here."
"This is different," you say softly, unwilling to expand on how.
"Doesn't matter. I'm still not going anywhere."
"El..."
"I mean that literally," he chuckles. "Kathy made it clear that I'm not welcome back home. So if you kick me out, I guess I'm on the street." He sees you wince, uncomfortable in your current position but struggling to get yourself back up on your feet again. "Do...can I help you?"
You shake your bowed head in humiliation, tears dripping onto your lap. You expect him to try coaxing you into acquiescing, but instead he stays still and waits, the two of you in a silent showdown until you finally reach out with one hand.
"There you go. Easy does it," he says, one arm around your shoulders as you gingerly stand up and shuffle over to the couch. "Are you sure everything's okay? You got checked out at the hospital?"
"Yes," you say, and it's not a total lie.
He nods, his face grim. "You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be dumping all this on you after everything you've just been through. But Christ, Liv...I honestly didn't know if I was ever going to see you again."
"I didn't either," you admit, and when you see that your own eyes aren't the only ones overflowing with tears, something inside you breaks. You envelop him in an unexpected hug, sobbing against his shoulder and murmuring apologies as he does the same, all the while thinking about everything that lies ahead. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I can't promise you anything..."
"You don't have to. Just let me stay here tonight, even if that involves me sleeping out in the hall, and we'll take it a day at a time. I meant what I said, but I'm not gonna run out and file for divorce tomorrow."
"Don't," you warn him. "You can stay, but...I can't be the reason you lose your family. Especially n-not now."
"Who said I'm losing them? My kids will always be my kids, whether I'm with their mom or not."
"But Eli-"
"Will still have two parents who love him," he finishes. "This, between me and Kathy...it's been going on for a long time and I don't want you worrying about it, okay? Not right now."
You give in because you're too exhausted to argue.
And one way or another, soon it won't matter anyway.
tbc...