Did you ever sleep with Olivia?
You must tell your wife.
I thought we were being honest here.
You must not compound the sin of infidelity with dishonesty.
There was a part of him that wanted, desperately, to confess. To do as the priest commanded, and tell his wife the truth. To lay bare the grubbiest, basest parts of himself, to finally let Kathy go. There was a part of him that wanted, desperately, to be free. Free from the lies and the guilt and the shame, free to walk in the light of truth, free to follow his heart, wherever it might lead. There was a part of him that wanted to lay this burden down, and rest.
But there was a part of him that was a Marshal. A part of him sworn to protect the ones in his care, a part of him that knew he could not dare take such a risk. For Olivia's safety, the safety of her child, he couldn't tell Kathy the truth. No matter how she begged him for it, no matter how much he longed to say it, he couldn't.
"Does it matter?" he answered her finally, sadly.
"Of course it matters -" she spluttered, furious at the very idea of him sleeping with his partner.
"No, I mean does it matter if I tell you no? Are you ever gonna believe me? I left the job and never looked back. I went four years not talking to her. I left the city. I stayed with you, raised our son with you. And no matter what I did, no matter what I said, you still…all this time…Kath, we been married our entire goddamn lives and you're telling me you never trusted me at all."
What kinda marriage is that? He wondered. His wife was supposed to be his partner, and she didn't trust him.
Can't trust your partner, Elliot, then it's time to get a new one.
"I just feel like…I feel like I've spent twenty years waiting for the other shoe to drop."
A self-fulfilling prophecy, then. Maybe Kathy had spent so long anticipating calamity she finally brought it down on both their heads. Maybe if she'd trusted him, maybe if they'd had a real, solid foundation, something besides the kids to bind them together, maybe they never would've ended up here. Then again, maybe not; the way Elliot felt about Olivia, maybe he was always gonna feel that way, no matter what.
"Has it?" he asked her softly.
"I don't know," she answered. "What are you…what are you really asking me, Elliot?"
"I'm asking if you still want to be married to me."
November 21, 2015
It was a bright clear day and really, she thought, really she should've expected this. The park was so close to the neighborhood that she walked Noah there, in the stroller he was a little too big for but she was nonetheless unwilling to part with. It was a beautiful day, and the park was close to home, and of course Paul and Riley were there, too.
The boys were delighted to see each other, immediately joining forces to clamber gleefully over the jungle gym while their parents hovered nearby, watching their children intently and trying to pretend it wasn't awkward as all hell, seeing one another for the first time since the hospital. It was hard to believe that was only Tuesday; it felt like a lifetime ago.
Would Paul mention it, she wondered; would he ask about the hospital, about Gabe's injuries, about the policy? What must he think of her? It had been days; she'd been avoiding him, and he must have noticed. What stories had he invented for himself, and what role did he think she'd played in her son's wounding? Would he be circumspect now, do the courteous thing and pretend he didn't know that someone had abused her child in his infancy, or would he demand answers from her?
Whatever he thought it seemed he could not bear the silence, as he broke it almost immediately.
"Is everything ok, Lindsey?" he asked her quietly, worriedly.
"Everything is fine," she lied. "They sent me home with an inhaler for Gabe, and he had a checkup with his pediatrician. They think it's asthma, I'm just keeping an eye on him for now."
That wasn't what Paul was asking about, though, and she knew it. Paul was asking about the cops, and Gabe's broken ribs.
"Lindsey-"
"I explained everything to the police," she said shortly. "He's not in any danger. That was…that's an old injury. It was a long time ago."
It was actually Jackie who'd explained things to the police, Jackie who'd somehow ended the investigation before it ever began. Those Marshals' badges really came in handy.
"I don't understand," Paul said slowly. "How could…his ribs, Lindsey? How could that happen?"
The truth was she didn't know. She didn't know when it had happened, or who had done it, did not know how or why. But she knew that the person responsible for hurting Noah, whoever that might have been, would never set hands on her son again. She'd given up everything to make sure that he would be safe, and he was. And really, it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever seen. Whatever happened to Noah, he'd recovered from it, and she'd spent so many years defending children who didn't recover at all. On the scale of horror this was high, but not that high, not in her estimation. The thing was, though, that Paul had an entirely different frame of reference for horror, and he had no idea who she was, the things she'd seen. He was never gonna know her history; he was never gonna know her.
"Please, just drop it -"
"I can't just drop it," Paul fired back. There were other parents standing around, some of their faces familiar to Olivia, some of them people she'd seen around the neighborhood, and Paul was careful not to let his voice carry, not to draw attention to their heated conversation. If she'd been back in New York, back in her own skin, if she'd still been herself, she'd have picked up her son and left. Put an end to this conversation right here, showed Paul that she didn't owe him a damn thing, that if he wouldn't listen to her, wouldn't back down when she told him to, then she wasn't gonna put up with him, but she wasn't in New York. She wasn't Olivia, anymore, and as much as it frustrated her, his dogged refusal to ignore the awful things he'd heard, it also comforted her, a little. It was comforting, to know that someone cared. To know that someone saw her, saw her hurt and her grief, and did not want to leave her to stew in it alone.
But how could she possibly dissuade him? It wasn't like she could tell him the truth; officially, Lindsey Duncan had given birth to Gabe. There was no history of foster care in his records, and inventing some explanation for why she'd lost custody of her son, however briefly, would only invite more questions.
"It was your husband, wasn't it?" Paul asked, and then she turned to look at him sharply.
Maybe Paul had just provided her with all the explanation she needed. He already thought her husband was abusive. She'd sworn to him that her husband wasn't the one who burned her, had said he'd never hurt me, but she was pretty sure he didn't believe her. It would be so easy, to let him think she was a victim.
Maybe I am, she thought. Just not the way he thinks.
"You never talk about him," Paul continued. "You never talk about your life back in LA."
That was because Olivia had been to LA exactly once in her entire life, and she didn't want to make up elaborate lies about a place she wasn't actually familiar with. It was easier not to say anything at all. That was what Jackie told her to do, told her to speak only when she had to, and then to keep it simple. But Paul wouldn't let her silence go unquestioned. Maybe this whole thing would've been easier if she just cut him out completely. She wouldn't have to scramble for answers to his questions if she never spoke to him at all.
But Christ, he was the only friend she had in this entire godforsaken city. Just him, and Elliot, and right now Elliot scared the shit out of her. Talking about leaving Kathy, crafting fairytales for their future that Olivia believed in the darkness but doubted in the daylight. There was something rotten about them, she thought, something dangerous about a love that only thrived in darkness. Elliot only came to her at night, after the rest of the world had gone to sleep when there was no one else around to see him; Elliot could not stand beside her in the park on a sunny Saturday without care or remorse.
But Paul could. Elliot could give her only stolen hours in the dead of night, but Paul could give her everything, if she let him.
Maybe that was the real reason she didn't want to walk away from Paul. Maybe a part of her knew this thing with Elliot was destined to end in disaster, and maybe part of her wasn't ready to sacrifice her one chance at making a real life for herself in exchange for a few hours of bliss and a terrible heartbreak.
"I want…all that's behind me now," she said. "I don't…I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to go back to that place."
She didn't want to go back to dark days after she first found Noah, the nightmares and the wine and the brooding silences. She didn't want to remember that loneliness, less complete than the one she felt now but sharper, still. She didn't want to remember what it was like when Elliot was lost to her.
"Well, you don't have to," Paul said, tucking his hands in his pockets. "You're safe here, Lindsey. Both of you. I hope you know that."
"I do know that," she said. "I feel safe. I feel…I feel safe with you."
It wasn't that she felt like Paul could protect her from a bullet, or anything. She wasn't sure he'd win in a fistfight with a mugger, let alone hold his ground against the men who meant to kill her. No, physically Paul didn't make her feel safe at all. But he was safe, still. The safe choice. There was no chance, she thought, that Paul could break her heart; he didn't hold enough of it in his hands to shatter it. Paul wasn't going to make her cry. The smallest, most delicate pieces of herself were safe with him, because he would never see them, not really.
Not like Elliot. There was nothing safe about Elliot, about what he wanted from her, what he offered her. Elliot was risk, and danger, and she burned for him. Elliot would protect her from any threat, except the one he posed to her heart.
"I just think you've been so…unlucky," Paul said. "It seems like…these guys keep taking advantage of you. You keep getting hurt. I think you need someone to take care of you."
"You gonna take care of me?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him, wondering. Wondering if he even could, if she'd ever let him.
"You're damn right I'm gonna," he said. "Look, it's Thanksgiving next week. You don't know anybody out here. Come to dinner at my parents'."
"Oh, I don't think that's a good idea -"
"Come to dinner," Paul answered. "Let me show you what a real family looks like."
Hadn't she been thinking about this just the other night; hadn't she just wished on Tuesday night that Paul would just make the decision for her, just take what he wanted instead of asking? It was a refreshing change of pace, his firm insistence. It reminded her of Elliot.
And it wasn't like she had anywhere to be on Thanksgiving.
"Ok, then," she said. "It's a date."