She opens her door, flustered and frustrated, and he exhales a sigh of relief. She's okay. Well, she doesn't look okay, she looks exhausted and defeated and a whole host of other emotions that scratch the surface of her expressions. But, she's alive, and she's safe.
She doesn't greet him, just lets the door trail open as she ceremoniously collapses back into her couch cushions.
"Why are you here, Elliot?" She's exasperated by his presence, but knew better than to keep him locked out. He wouldn't have left without seeing her for himself.
"I called, you didn't answer… I…" he's not sure how to end that sentence. He just needed to make sure she was alright. He heard about the shooting, and it scared him when Fin said he hadn't heard from her either, even if it was just a few hours of silence.
"Hm. Ironic, isn't it? How did it feel when I didn't answer?"
"Liv,"
"Scary? Devastating? Gut-wrenching? Or how about just plain old sad."
"Liv, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
She scoffs, a sarcastic laugh stuck in her throat. "You're a decade too late for that."
These moments are always there, just underneath the surface of their rekindled friendship, and Elliot knows he deserves every proverbial punch she's throwing at him. He hasn't been able to articulate all of the hows and whys behind his ten years of silence that she never deserved, but he's not going to hide behind excuses now. Not when the person he's hurt most in this world, the person he loves most in this world, is looking at him like that. Like she's exploded into tiny shards of glass, because of her job, and because of him.
"I know. I- I know."
He wants to say more; wants to apologize, again, but at this point they sound like empty words. He knows he needs to just be here and show her he's staying. That he missed so much, but he wants to learn about it all and support her now. That he knows what it's like to kill someone to save others, and while it's the lesser of two evils, it's still evil nonetheless. That she deserves to salvage a sliver of a Christmas, even though he doesn't deserve it at all.
"What do you need, Liv? What can I do?"
She gives him her best don't fuck with me look, the one she uses exclusively for interrogation rooms and fights with him. "You can leave, El. You're good at that."
"Well, as much as you hate me right now, that's not going to happen."
She softens, and he can tell it's taking every bit of her resolve to hold back her tears. "I don't hate you."
"You should." The moment lingers for a second, eyes finally meeting through the layers of heartbreak and healing.
"I'd like to stay, Liv. I'd like to get you fed, maybe pour you a glass of wine, talk, or not talk. Whatever you need."
He stands in the doorway, tentatively, hoping she'll reciprocate an ounce of what he's offering. He knows he's acting like a relentless bastard, but he's her relentless bastard. No matter what, he'll respect her wishes, but he hopes for tonight that maybe one of her wishes includes him.
She doesn't speak, but scoots over on the couch and gives the slightest of nods in his general direction. He'll take it. He slips off his shoes, and before he sits down, he walks over to her tree and plugs in the lights, turning off the lamp on his way to her side. They sit silently, shoulder to shoulder, letting the glow of Christmas envelop them. He won't say Merry Christmas, there's nothing merry about it, but maybe he can remind her of all the good in her life. Give her a bit of solace in their shared silence. Show her that maybe the company of an old friend, even one that doesn't deserve her, is a little bit better than being alone.