Set somewhere between Organized Crime 3x16 and 3x17
These last two cases were rough, to say the least. How many triggering situations could he encounter in a matter of weeks? He needed therapy. Who was he kidding? He always needed therapy.
But as much as he needed therapy, he wanted Liv more. He typed out several texts but couldn't bring himself to send them. She had her own problems, her own troubling cases. He didn't need to add to that.
Plus, he had firmly put the ball in her court, and so far she really hadn't done more than putter around with it. She'd texted him a few times, and they met for lunch once, but she remained hesitant as ever, and he didn't know how to remedy any of it.
He dropped on to the couch, letting his phone drop onto the coffee table next to it. Maybe he needed a drink. Or two. But drinking alone was just…sad.
When did he talk to his kids last? Eli was coming home for a visit next week. That would be nice. He was tired of this apartment being so damn quiet. Maybe he should just go to bed. He lifted his watch. 6pm. Definitely to early for that. He couldn't just sit here anymore. He needed a run, one that could clear his head of this tangled mess of memories and thoughts.
He pulled himself from the couch and dug out some joggers and a black long sleeve. Cardio and weights have become a staple in the evening. More than usual. He needed the constant burn off of the tension plaguing both his job and almost non-existent person life.
While lacing up his shoes, a knock on the door startled him. He obviously wasn't expecting anyone. He finished tying his shoes before making his way to the door.
To his surprise, Olivia stood on the other side of the door. His brain took a minute to catch up because he hadn't heard a word from her in a little more than a week,
After a weird moment of silence, she asked, "Can I come in or do I need to stay out here?"
Even her voice was a balm to his weary soul. "Yeah sorry," he apologized. "You just surprised me."
"Planning a run?" He felt her gaze roam the entire length of his body. Even the act of hee looking him over made him melt a little.
"Yeah," he folllowed her into the kitchen. "Gotta do something to fill the time."
She nodded and he could feel her appraising gaze once more. She dropped her bag to the counter. "Ayanna called."
Ah. A well-being check. Ayanna had Jack tonight so she couldn't check up on him herself. "I'm fine." He tried to shrug off her concern. He felt disappointed that she wasn't here on her own, rather her presence was due to someone else's due diligence. He stepped away from the counter to find refuge on his couch.
Those eyes. Those chocolate brown eyes bore into his and he knew she could read his every thought. Damn her. He just wanted to let this day fall away, and he knew she wouldn't be letting this go. Knowing her stubborn will rivaled his own he dropped to the couch and waited for her to follow suit.
As expected, she followed. She situated herself next to him. She slid one leg under the other and dropped her arm comfortably on the back of his couch."Elliot," her voice registered somewhere between concern and consternation. She wanted him to talk. Whether he wanted to or not.
"Okay,fine," he acquiesced, keeping his tone flat and neutral. "The last two cases have been," he swallowed, "hard."
"That's what I heard." Why was her voice so soothing. The stabbing anxiety already began to ebb. He knew that tone came from constantly working with people on the worst day of their lives, but when she talked to him it always held an added quality. He hoped he labeled it right, but he always thought it felt like affection.
He shifted uncomfortably, and tried to remind himself that this is what he wanted. Her. Here. And if he needed to bare a little of his soul for this privilege, he would do it. "A few weeks ago we had a case come up. Biker gang. Involved a buddy from the service. He uh," he rubbed at the back of his head nervously, "he saved my life, you know, back then." He tried to explain further. "His activities of late weren't exactly legal. I don't know. Maybe I made it more complicated than I'm needed to be, but I struggled with the balance of working along side of him, but also in opposition to him."
He lifted his eyes to find Olivia's reaction, and as always it was filled with everlasting empathy and understanding."I'm sorry," she let out a long slow breath, "that's tough."
"It was," he agreed. He watched Olivia glance down and back up, like she wanted to say something more, but was stopping herself. "What?" He prodded.
She impulsively took his hand that had settled on the couch back near hers. "Want to know the best and worst thing about you Elliot?" His eyes lifted to hers, curious about where she was going with this. Her gaze dropped to their clasped hands. "Your loyalty. It's imperative in our line of work, but that pull, the weight it places on you destroys you when your loyalties conflict."
He tried to process her words, but then she asked, "What happened with your current case?"
It felt strange, having her here, asking questions. Pushing him. Trying to understand who he was now, compared to he was thirteen years ago. Be open, he thought. While he knew this wasn't a test or anything, she needed to know that he could share hard things. He could be present, for her and himself. "Yeah, uh, a potential councilman out of Chinatown, uh," this is where it got personal, "we thought he was the target, but his wife took the bullet." He swallowed, hating the parallels to his life, "Turns out she was the intended target all along."
Olivia immediately understood the painful parallels. "God, El." Her hand gripped higher up his forearm. "I'm not sure I believe you when you say you're fine. Actually, I know you're not fine."
He chuckled darkly in an attempt to quell the attack of uncomfortable emotion. "Um." He felt powerless to the tears beginning to gather in his eyes. "Yeah. Seeing him, uh," he knew he was stammering, but Liv was here and she was here for him. "Watching him cry over his wife who laid in a hospital bed due to a bullet he thought was meant for him," he coughed back a rising son, "God, sorry, I,"
At some point during his confessional, she had scooted closer to him and her hand had slid up further to his bicep. "Elliot. This is hard. I was there. I watched you go through the same thing. I felt helpless because it was something I could fix for you."
"Yeah. I just understood the feeling of helplessness and I was back to that place, and I haven't been there in a long time." He lifted his eyes to hers, "I've been in a pretty good place, but this threw me back."
Her fingers now slid up and down his arm in comforting patterns. "Trauma has a way of doing that." He realized she had shifted so close to him their knees now touched. "I feel the same way. A lot. Years pass and I think I'm okay, and then something happens and I'm right back there, and it feels like no time passed at all. It feels raw and painful, and I'm terrified it will consume me." Her eyes gripped his and she bit her lip nervously. He realized she was opening up to him. Giving him something in exchange for his truth. "Healing is never linear, Elliot."
He nodded, knowing that was the truth. Healing was a winding path. He faced her again. Those eyes. He hoped they could walk their winding trails of healing together. "Thanks for being here."
Her hand reached for his face and his whole body buzzed with her touch. "I want to be here." Her face was close to his and he didn't move, didn't breathe. Terrified to break the potential of this moment. He closed his eyes and her perfect lips were on his, and he didn't know what he did to deserve this. Deserve her. But here she was, lips on his, and for the first time ever, he felt whole.
