October 23, 2015

"I was thinking," Kathy said as she smoothed lotion along the length of her shapely calf, watching him pace around their bedroom from her perch on the edge of the bed, "Eli's birthday. I'd like to have a party, invite his whole class."

"Uh-huh."

He wasn't really listening; he'd kicked off his shoes, was in the process of tugging off his tie, trying to shed his clothes and the burden of his working day along with them, but it was futile, really, trying to set thoughts of work aside. The sun had gone down and it was Liv's voice he heard in his head now, the same way he'd heard it every night this week.

Maybe I don't wanna be free.

"I'd like to fly the kids in, too. I think Maureen can pay for her own ticket but the twins are both a little strapped right now. We can afford it, don't you think?"

He could still see it when he closed his eyes, the fire in her dark eyes, the sharp rise and fall of her chest as she breathed a little too hard, a little unsteady, could still smell her, almost, lemonade and lavender. What the fuck did that mean, she didn't want to be free? Didn't want to be free of herself, of the memory of her old life? Didn't want to be free of him?

"There's not really enough room here for everybody, especially if Maureen brings Carl. But we can swing a hotel room, can't we? Dickie and Lizzie could stay there, and Maureen and Carl could have the spare room here, and Katie could sleep on the sofa."

It wasn't right, he knew, thinking about her this much, but he just couldn't seem to stop.

For a married man you seem awfully interested in who's in my bed. That was it, he thought, that was the closest she'd ever come - either of them had ever come - to naming the line they weren't supposed to cross. The closest they'd ever come to even acknowledging that the line existed. They never said it, never admitted that his feelings for Liv and his marriage were incompatible. She'd never done that before, thrown Kathy in his teeth like she felt the need to remind him where his duty lay. It was out there now, though; she'd seen right through him. They were supposed to be friends, and it shouldn't have made him angry, the revelation that another man was interested in his friend; if she truly were just a friend, he ought to have been happy for her, glad she'd found someone kind to pass the time with, glad that she wasn't alone. But Liv wasn't just anything, and he damn sure wasn't happy for her.

"And I'm thinking maybe I'll move to Aruba."

"Uh-huh."

It had never been like this before, he thought. Before, in the old days, back when they were partners; sure, she'd always been sexy and a part of him had always wanted her, wanted her close, wanted to talk to her, to protect her. A part of him had always wanted to touch her, but wanted it in the way he wanted to stick his hand into a fire; wanted it, and knew it would hurt, and didn't dare act on it. Before, in the old days, he'd kinda always thought she felt the same, and their mutual restraint had kept them both in the road, and it hadn't been easy, exactly, but it wasn't hard to keep his distance, to keep his hands to himself and his desires in check. Out here under the endless expanse of the blue Nebraska sky that restraint was in short supply; he itched for her, always. Wondered about where she was, what she was doing; sometimes the memory of Paul's face drifted through his mind and he thought about Paul's hands on her and felt a sudden urge to break something. That cornfed motherfucker didn't deserve her, Elliot thought ruefully. None of the men who'd crossed her path did, but it used to be easier, to let it go, to let her go, to go home where he belonged and not wonder what kind of sounds she made when those sons of bitches touched her.

It wasn't easy, anymore. Something had changed. Maybe it was the time they'd spent apart; maybe it was just that they weren't on the job together, weren't partners, didn't have that professional liability forcing them to toe the line. Only there was, still, a professional element to their relationship; he was absolutely not allowed to become entangled with one of his witnesses. Crossing the line now would cost him his job, same as it would have back in New York, but that didn't seem like a good enough reason for him to turn his back on her. Maybe it was just that he didn't care about this job, not really. Didn't want it, not half so much as he wanted her.

"Hello? Earth to Elliot?" Kathy's voice was sharp, exasperated, and he snapped back into the present, and realized that somewhere along the way he'd got distracted. Frozen with his hands on his tie, and not heard a word she'd said.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice serious and just this side of scared.

"It's nothing, baby," he lied. "Just a long day at work. What were you saying?"

"Howdy, neighbor," Paul called softly over the fence, and when Olivia looked she saw him, standing on one of his lawn chairs, his head poking over the fence, a bottle of what was almost certainly cheap and shitty wine clutched in his hand, two plastic cups fitted over the top of it.

"Nightcap?" he asked, holding up the bottle.

"Why not?" she called back. He grinned at her and then disappeared, and she listened to the sound of his feet crunching over the dried leaves as he traversed his own backyard, making his way around to her gate.

It was a Friday night, and Noah was fast asleep, and Olivia had been sitting outside, smoking a cigarette. Just one, because she didn't actually like them very much. It wasn't something she really did, back in New York; once or twice when the shakes got bad and she fell asleep with the vision of Lewis leering at her from the shadows of her bedroom she'd gone out and bought herself a pack, smoked one or two on the roof of the precinct just to prove she could, just to prove that she could smell the tar and the nicotine and not succumb to the fear he'd instilled in her. Exposure therapy, or something like that. She hadn't done it much out here, either, had only bought the one pack and maybe only smoked two or three of them, but it was late, and she was alone, and there wasn't really anything else to do.

And she knew that Paul could smell it, if he stepped outside his back door. Knew that if he smelled it he would call out to her, and knew that when he did she wouldn't have to be alone anymore, at least not for a while. It was stupid, maybe; if she wanted company she could've just gone and knocked on his door. Texted him, even, she had his number now. But she didn't want to go to him; she wanted him to come to her.

And he did.

Really, she thought as she watched him marching across the backyard toward her, really he was a good-looking guy. Handsome, and kind. A good dad, by all accounts; she'd seen him with his son, and he was only ever soft-spoken and gentle with the boy, only ever smiled at Noah. The neighbors said he was nice. He was divorced, and his ex-wife was out of the picture, but he was close with his parents, and they'd taken Riley for the weekend, and that meant he was all alone tonight, too, and why not? Why shouldn't she spend some time with a nice man?

If Paul's voice was too gentle, if his hands were too soft, if he wasn't the one she wanted, not really, what did it matter? She wasn't even sure what she did want; that moment with Elliot in the kitchen on Monday, with his hands on her body and his eyes boring into hers, she'd almost thought she wanted him to kiss her, but that was…fucking stupid, was what that was, because Elliot couldn't ever be hers, not really. He had a family of his own and he kept walking away from her, and it would be pathetic, she thought, to turn down the chance for something nice with Paul in favor of remaining alone and hoping that one day, maybe, Elliot might look at her again. Sitting, waiting by the front door like a goddamn puppy, desperate for his affection.

She was, desperate for it, desperate for him, but she didn't have to act like it. Elliot would bring her nothing but trouble, and he'd never touch her, and she wouldn't let him, anyway. Elliot was so complicated, but Paul couldn't have been simpler.

"It's a screw top," Paul said, pulling out one of the empty chairs and preparing himself to drop into it. "So we don't need a corkscrew."

"You know what?" she said, reaching out to wrap her hand gently around his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. "It's cold tonight. Why don't we take it inside?"

She'd never done that before, never invited Paul to share a drink with her alone after dark, and he looked surprised by the offer. Surprised, but not displeased.

"If you're sure," he said carefully.

Inviting him in was more than just a change of venue from the plastic lawn chairs in the backyard to the sofa in her living room; it would change everything. There was an intimacy about it, inviting a man into her home, a possibility for something more implied, and that possibility was precisely why she'd asked. There wasn't much chance of them getting closer out here in the lawnchairs; inside, they could be as close as they wanted, and no one around to see.

"I'm sure," she said.

"Let's go, then," Paul answered.

And they did.

Kathy was fast asleep, but Elliot's mind was racing, his eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, cursing himself. It wasn't fair, really, wasn't fair to Kathy or to Liv or anybody, the way his heart longed for a woman who was not his wife, but he just couldn't seem to stop it. Couldn't stop thinking about Liv, how strong she was, how proud; even now, when she was trying so hard to be someone she wasn't, to be someone else, she was still so proudly herself.

You'd know. No matter how far you run, you're still Elliot.

Was that what he'd been doing? Liv always did seem to see him, better than he saw himself. Until she'd said it had never occurred to him that he'd been running, too, but he could see the truth of it now. He'd run, after Jenna; left Elliot Stabler, the Elliot he'd been, far behind, and tried to be someone else. Tried to be a better husband, a better father, turned his back on Olivia and the job. He'd physically run, taken the private security work and traveled all over, never spent enough time with Kathy and the kids for them to see the cracks in his heart. He'd run all the way to Nebraska, but he kept catching up with himself.

Kathy was angry with him now, as angry as she'd been when he was still on the job, angry because he was distant, because he wasn't talking to her. And he wasn't talking to her because he couldn't, because the regs said he had to keep his secret, and he knew that this secret would break her heart, if he ever shared it.

But did it matter, really, did it make a difference if he never told her? Every night he laid down beside her, knowing Liv was close and not telling Kathy; wasn't that lying? Wasn't it hurting her, whether she knew the truth or not? Would it be better just to be honest, and let her go? What was the point of that, of blowing up his marriage and shattering his family, when Liv was still so pissed at him?

Whatever he did, whatever choice he made, it seemed he was destined to lose, and no great revelation came for him in the darkness, no peace or clarity. He just thought about Kathy, and Liv, and Paul the fucking banker with his hands all over her, and felt his belly churn, with greed and guilt and shame. It was a long, long time before he fell asleep.