December 5, 2015

For a minute or two he stayed right where he was, lingered behind the wheel of his car staring up at the house where his family was sleeping.

He'd kept his promise to Kathy; he hadn't gotten drunk, and he hadn't done anything stupid, and he was home before Eli woke up. At least, he thought he was; it was just after 6:00, and the sun hadn't risen yet. There was time, still. Time for him to go inside, to shower, to make coffee, to assume the persona of the devoted father and dutiful husband he was meant to be inside that house, the man he had not been for all the long hours of the night.

He could still smell her on his fingers, though. Olivia. Could still taste her on his tongue, feel her moving against him, could still see her in the darkness every time he closed his eyes. Olivia, the dearest desire of his heart, the one who made him whole, the one his heart longed for. It had been a nice night; a good night, even. Going though the evidence with her, planning their investigation, tumbling into bed together, passing a few hours sleeping soundly with her nestled in his arms; hell, it'd been a great night, and he wasn't ready for it to end. Wasn't ready to walk inside that house, and face his wife.

The thing about Kathy was, she liked to think about things. She wasn't as reactionary as he was; when he wronged her she'd stew on it for days, weeks, years, even, and then unload on him when he least expected it, when the burden of her grievances grew too heavy to bear. When he told her the truth last night, told her that he was sleeping with someone else, she hadn't lashed out at him. Hadn't screamed at him, or damned him for a betrayer. She'd been cold, and calm, and resigned, almost. Knowing about his infidelities didn't change their circumstances, not when she'd already decided to leave him, but he knew her well enough to know that it would change her heart. She'd been too tired, too shell-shocked, maybe, to be angry with him last night, but in the wan light of day he figured she'd probably be furious. Figured she'd have all sort of accusations to make, and she wouldn't be wrong, not really, so he was resolved to just let it happen, to let her say her piece, let her be angry with him, let her curse him, let her hit him, if that's what she wanted, whatever it took to make her feel better. She deserved the chance to vent, and he deserved whatever ire was coming his way.

Can't stay here forever, he told himself, and stepped at last out of the car.

There was an honest-to-God paperboy who tossed the newspaper on - or really, near - the stoop early every morning, so Elliot paused on the grass to pick it up.

How different things might have been if only he hadn't stopped, if only he hadn't spent so long in the car. If only.

"Nice house!" a voice called out sharply behind him, and Elliot whirled around, horror rising in his belly as he watched Paul marching towards him. There was a truck parked on the street that Elliot recognized as Paul's; had the bastard followed him here? Seen him at Lindsey's, and waited until he left, and followed him to his goddamn house? What the hell did he want?

"What the hell do you want?" Elliot fired back.

Paul stopped a few feet away from him, shoes planted firmly on the grass of Elliot's front lawn. It was early enough, and a Saturday besides, and no one was around to bear witness to the coming confrontation, but that was scant comfort to Elliot, whose family was tucked up safe inside the house behind him. The family that Paul wasn't supposed to know about, and Paul himself a likely murderer. Paul couldn't find out about his family; Elliot couldn't let that happen. Work and home were supposed to be separate; he'd tried so goddamn hard to keep them separate.

"Thought we could talk," Paul said. "Man to man."

No, Elliot thought, that wasn't right; Paul wanted to threaten him. Paul wanted Elliot to know how easily he'd been found. Paul wanted him scared.

Paul didn't know who the fuck he was dealing with.

"I got nothing to say to you," Elliot said, turning away. He had every intention of leaving Paul alone on the grass, and if the bastard wouldn't leave Elliot would call the cops himself. He couldn't risk drawing attention, couldn't risk waking Kathy or Eli, couldn't risk Paul seeing who waited in the house behind him. Getting drawn into a shouting match with Paul now could have disastrous consequences.

"What did she tell you?" Paul demanded. "I know that whore's been running her mouth."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

All thoughts of leaving Paul alone vanished in an instant, replaced with a towering inferno of rage. It was as if Elliot's limbs were not his own; he swung back around towards Paul on instinct, already taking a step forward, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. How dare this smug prick call her a whore. Elliot had decked men for less, had never been able to abide anyone disrespecting Olivia in his hearing, especially not a man who'd fucked her, a man who claimed to care about her.

"She's been asking questions about shit that's not her business, and I wanna know what she's told you."

"You got five seconds to get the hell off my lawn -"

"Or what?" Paul asked, stepping up closer with murder in his eyes. "What are you gonna do, big man? You gonna hit me?"

There was nothing Elliot wanted more than to knock the bastard's teeth out. But if he did, he might lose everything; if he got caught brawling now the Marshals might let him go. If they found out he'd fought with Liv's neighbor, her future in Omaha might be in jeopardy. He couldn't rise to the bait. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself, though; he hated Paul. Hated the man for the things he'd done to Liv - and the things he'd tried to do - hated him for what he'd done to his wife, hated him for the vile words that came out of his mouth, hated the very sight of him.

"You need to leave -"

"Look you can have her, man. I've never been into sluts. I don't want your sloppy seconds -"

It was inevitable, really. Paul knew he was goading Marshall, had to have known he was pushing every button Marshall had. He didn't know why Marshall cared so much, but he was angling fight, and he fucking got one.

Elliot's fist collided with Paul's face before he finished his sentence. The stupid asshole didn't even try to block the punch; he must have seen it coming but he was either too stupid or too slow to defend himself, and the first strike set him reeling. The second knocked him flat on his ass, but he wasn't done yet; Elliot turned to walk away, determined to get into this house, to put this shit behind him before it got any worse, but Paul kicked his leg out from underneath him and sent Elliot sprawling on the grass, and in the next second they were on one another, all knees and elbows, wrangling together in a desperate, near silent struggle to demolish one another.

After a minute Elliot got the upperhand and swung once more into Paul's face, but the guy kneed him in the balls and knocked the wind out of him, and managed to roll on top of him. Elliot was quicker, though, and used Paul's own momentum against him, and tumbled after him once more, landing a solid punch to his liver that made him cry out in pain.

"Elliot!" Kathy's voice echoed sharply, shrilly through the morning air. He jerked his head up to look at her and got decked in the face the moment he let his guard down.

"Shit," he grunted.

"Who the fuck is that?" Paul asked.

"Go inside!" Elliot called to his wife. She looked absolutely petrified, but did as he asked, and slipped back inside the house as quickly as she could. She was getting around better on that walking cast, could manage the stairs herself if she went real, real slow, but he cursed her recovery, then. It wasn't her fault she'd called his name - she'd had no reason not to - but now Paul had heard it, and there was no telling what he'd do with that information, no way to know if it even registered with him.

"The bitches must really love you -"

He hit Paul one last time, broke his nose and sent the fucker crawling away from him, blood staining the grass as he went.

"Don't you ever come back here," Elliot barked at him. Paul threw up his middle finger and then dragged himself to his feet, rushed off back to his truck with his hand pressed to his face.

What a fucking mess.

"Who was that?" Kathy asked him as she dabbed gingerly at his battered temple with a wet paper towel.

"Nobody, baby," Elliot answered moodily.

Christ, he felt like a kid, sitting at the kitchen table icing his knuckles while Kathy washed the blood from his face. She hadn't called the cops and he was grateful for that, even if he didn't entirely understand why she hadn't. What made her hesitate? Maybe she wanted him to suffer, just a little. Maybe she thought he deserved it. Maybe he did.

"Don't call me baby," Kathy hissed at him. "You're fighting with strangers in the front yard, you're out all night screwing some woman -"

There it is, he thought. It was about time.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"It's work," Elliot said. "That guy, it's work. He's pissed off because we're investigating him. I don't know how he found me but I'm gonna call it in. He won't come back, Kath."

Actually, Elliot hadn't decided whether he was going to call it in or not. If he made an official report, his superiors were gonna want to know why Paul was so angry, and if he told them the truth he'd be fucked. He'd already kinda decided not to stay with the Marshalls too much longer, but he wasn't ready to give up his badge yet, not until he'd seen Paul put away for murder.

"He better not."

She went quiet, cleaning him up, focused on the movement of her hands, but he could feel the tension in her, the anger, could see the sorrow in her eyes.

You did this to her, he taught. You brought all this trouble to her door.

"You were with her last night, weren't you?" she asked when she was done, sitting down with a heavy sigh in the chair across from him.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this right now -"

"Tell the truth, Elliot."

"Yes."

She nodded, looked away, began to twist her hands together in her lap.

"Tell me you didn't throw our marriage away for a stranger, Elliot. Tell me you aren't breaking up our family for her."

"I'm not," he said earnestly, immediately. He wasn't; yeah, things with Kath had started to go downhill the moment he saw Olivia's face, but he wasn't walking away from Kathy - wasn't letting her walk away from him - because of Olivia. Their marriage was already half over the day they moved to Omaha. Liv just gave him the courage to be honest about it. If he hadn't seen her face he might have held on for a few more years, for Eli's sake, but he couldn't help but think they were always headed for disaster, him and Kathy. They were always headed for an ending.

"You haven't been happy for a long time," he said. "It's just…it's time."

"I just can't believe you," she said sadly. "You…you slept with someone else, Elliot. Was she…is she pretty?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me," she said, lifting her chin with a grim sort of expression on her face.

"Sure, she's pretty, but that's not why -"

"Then why, Elliot? Why…why wasn't I enough for you?"

"I wasn't enough for you," he said. "That's the truth. I couldn't make you happy, and I couldn't make you trust me."

"I'm not sure you ever tried."

"You gotta know that I did, Kath. I did the best I could."

"Your best wasn't good enough," she said darkly, and then she rose slowly to her feet, and hobbled out of the kitchen.

He let her go, and buried his face in his hands.