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She pulls open the heavy glass doors to 1PP and sighs. Even though she has to come here often, she hates it, especially since this is the third time this week
She’d gotten a call from the interim chief. “We need your squad to work a case, but it’s not just an SVU case. Please report to 1PP at 9 am tomorrow." So here she is, lugging her heavy bag that holds her laptop, notebook, what she guesses are probably just short of a million pens, at least 3 pairs of sunglasses, a few reading glasses, and only god knows what else floating at the bottom. She distracts herself by trying to remember the last time she cleaned it out but is instantly brought back to the present when she sees him. He’s crossing the massive lobby, an average height, slender blond woman to his right. She can’t see her face because their backs are to her, but it stops her in her tracks because the similarities from behind are so goddamn eerie that she blinks hard twice to make sure she isn’t hallucinating.
She takes a beat, watching as they chat away - about what exactly she won’t dare let herself assume - and they seem friendly. Too friendly, actually. As they proceed through security, he lightly touches the woman’s back with his hand, urging her to step in front of him.
And she doesn’t like that. She doesn’t like that at all.
When she finally loses sight of them, she starts to make her way towards security. She stops, though, to smooth her hair, taking the sunglasses off her head and throwing them into her abyss of a bag. She rubs her lips together, straightens her blouse, and stands tall, ultimately clearing her throat as the final act of getting her shit together.
She doesn’t even acknowledge the two officers as she passes through the metal detector.
***
“This is going to be a coordinated effort between three departments - narcotics, organized crime, and special victims,” the interim chief says. “It’s big, people. I need you cooperating with each other. I don’t want to hear about pissing matches, turf wars, or any such antics,” he warns after he’s briefed them all on the key points of the case.
“Captain Benson, you and your squad’ll run point on the trafficking. We think there may be upwards of 100 victims at this point, mostly girls 12-17. Sargent Bell, your team will handle investigating the ties with the LaCostra Network-“
“LaCostra?” Elliot interrupts. “Didn’t they go down during that bust in 2011?”
“Detective Stabler,” the interim chief says, clearly irritated by the interruption. Ayanna looks at Elliot, she too annoyed at her detective’s inability to keep his mouth shut, then at Olivia, who just rubs her chin, mouth tight, as if to say “He’s your problem.”
“Good to know you’ve studied up on New York mafia history. You are correct but try as we might, we often only cut off the arm of the beast. All of it is in your briefing packet, which I know you’ll promptly read.”
Elliot doesn’t respond to that, just leans over and whispers something to the still unnamed blond sitting to his right.
And Olivia's annoyance turns to anger.
Narcotics gets the high level overview of their role, and the group is dismissed. Fin and Curry were included in the invite, and she’s glad to have them there as her de facto posse.
“What's the next move, Captain?” Curry asks, but before Olivia has a chance to answer, she’s interrupted by Ayanna. Standing next to her are Elliot, who nods with a “Liv,” and the unnamed blond, who promptly reaches out her hand.
“Captain Benson, it’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Olivia takes her hand, smiling as pleasantly as possible, and turns to Elliot, who susses out the who is hell is this? left unsaid.
“Liv, this is Detective Strater. She’s new to OCCB. And,” he says, and no one but her notices the trepidation in his voice, “my new partner.”
Olivia has to take a second. She’s keeping her poker face, but it’s fucking hard. Now that she’s looking at this woman full-on, she sees she doesn’t resemble Kathy at all. But she’s attractive. Slender, yes, but toned and nicely shaped. Her hair is sunflower blond and it hangs just below her shoulders in barely there waves. Her eyes are hazel, leaning more on the side of green, and she has a slightly sloped nose and a pretty smile. Olivia tries to clock her age - 31, 32, maybe? My god, she’s just a child.
She unsettles Olivia way more than she should.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective. This is quite the first case to have. And apologies that you’ve been paired with Detective Stabler.” She’s trying to keep it casual, deflecting with a sorry excuse for humor.
Elliot plays along. “Yeah, she drew the short straw,” he says with a shrug.
“Oh,” Margaret says. “Yeah, this would be a heck of a first case, but luckily it’s not my first.”
“So, you’ve worked organized crime before?” Olivia asks, curious to know more about this Margaret Strater.
“Well, no. What I mean is it’s not my first case with OCCB. It’s my third, actually.”
Olivia quickly does the math. Three cases? That must be - what - at the very least a few months? But she doesn’t get a chance to ask, because Ayanna’s hand is on her shoulder then.
“Hate to break up the introductions, Captain, but we’re headed to your station house. Muñoz and the rest of narcotics are already on their way.”
She nods, smiling at Margaret but practically dismissing Elliot outright.
“See you in 20,” she says to Ayanna.
As she’s walking away, she swears she hears Elliot refer to Margaret as “Maggie” - and she can’t get out of there fast enough.
***
They’ve been at it 17 straight hours, and everyone’s fuses are short. There’re raised voices and charred, cold coffee - and 10 minutes ago, they ran out of toilet paper.
“Will someone PLEASE make a phone call so I don’t have to wipe my ass with paper towels?” she hears someone yell.
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath, and she can’t take it anymore. She’s on her feet and practically flying to her office, shutting the door loudly behind her. Just as she’s sitting down to send Noah a text he’ll see when he wakes up, there’s a soft knock at her door.
“Gimme a minute,” she calls, but her voice is completely spent from too much talking and not enough water so another knock comes swiftly.
“I said-” she tries a second time, but it’s too late. He’s already inside, shutting the door behind him.
“You doin’ okay?” he asks, and she feels herself soften at the question and its delivery. She looks up at him, rubbing her eyes, and he can see the way she’s running on fumes.
“I’m fine, Elliot.”
“Checking on Noah?” Despite the innocent way he asks the question, she finds herself snapping at him.
“No. Texting my boyfriend,” she quips, and it’s so juvenile and ridiculous that she’s immediately ashamed. “I’m - that was uncalled for. Yes, texting Noah so he at least knows I’m alive when he wakes up.”
Elliot shakes his head knowingly, the advanced 5 o’clock shadow on his face making him look even more brooding than usual.
“May be a good time to grow out that beard again,” she laughs weakly, and he smiles.
“Yeah, yeah maybe.”
“What do you want, Elliot?” There is no discernible malice in her voice. Just pure exhaustion.
He doesn’t answer the question though. “It’s so quiet in here. It’s nice. You ever sleep on that sofa? Quite the upgrade, Liv.”
“Better than those lumpy mattresses in the bullpen.”
“I bet,” he agrees, hesitating for a split second before saying, “Sorry I didn’t tell you about my new - about Maggie. We haven’t - uh - talked in a while and I wanted to tell you in-“
“It’s fine, Elliot. You don’t owe me any explanations.” She’s trying to sound unbothered, nonplussed, but he knows her. Too well.
“I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, Liv. And you’ll like Maggie. She actually reminds me a little of…”
The way her mouth practically hangs open stops him mid sentence.
“No, c’mon, Elliot. Finish the sentence,” she challenges.
“It’s - never mind. Forget it.”
“Maggie?” Olivia says, one eyebrow arched to the heavens. “And how old is Maggie? Fresh out of the Academy?”
He chuckles at that because that’s what he does now in his old age. And it pisses her off because of the way he dares reduce her line of questioning to - to - some…well whatever the hell he’s made up in his mind.
“She’s 34,” he answers, his voice level and steady. “Transferred from Criminal Intelligence in San Diego.”
“Ah, so she’s new to New York?”
“Grew up in Queens, actually. Her folks moved to San Diego when she was 16.”
“Oh well, that’s nice,” and she knows the way she just said nice was fucked up. But she can’t stop herself. “You seem to know a lot about her.”
Elliot doesn’t bite. He answers all of her questions, and every single response he gives her is perfectly reasonable. “Not much more that you’d find out having lunch with someone a few times.”
And she has nothing more to say, so she doesn’t. She looks down at her phone again, pretending to reread the text she’s sent to Noah. He doesn’t budge, and she just wishes he would take a damn hint and get out, leave her to stew in peace.
“Liv, I-“
It's all too much for her just then, and she gets to her feet. “Let’s get back out there. We have a lot of work to do.”
She leaves him standing alone in her office, and she doesn’t bother to see if he’s following.
***
It’s day 4. She’s been home a few times, kissed her kid twice, and slept a full 7 hours the night before - in her own bed. So she’s feeling decent for a change.
When she walks into the precinct at 11 am, she’s accosted by the smell of too many bodies that haven’t taken enough showers, day old sandwiches sitting in trash cans, and agitation. It immediately threatens to sour her mood, but she charges through it. She heads for the break room and finds Margaret filling her Stanley with coffee.
And of course she fucking has a Stanley.
“Morning, Detective,” she says casually, immediately wanting to inquire about Elliot’s whereabouts but stopping short. “Hope you were finally able to get some rest.”
“Good morning, Captain Benson,” Margaret says. “I did, thank you. It’s been a rough few days. And hey, sorry about overrunning your place. It’s really starting to kinda smell in here, isn’t it?”
Olivia stands at the counter, pouring hot water into her NYPD mug. “Are you kidding? It’s a full-on locker room out there.”
Margaret laughs at that, a genuine belly laugh that makes it impossible not to like her. “Ripe,” she adds.
Olivia laughs with her, and Elliot was right. She does like her. What’s not to like? “So Margaret, Elliot tells me you relocated from San Diego, but you’re originally from here. What brought you back?”
“Oh, Captain, please call me Maggie. And it was a relationship.” Maggie looks a little embarrassed at the disclosure, but she doesn’t hold back. “that since has crashed and burned.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Olivia says, genuinely, and Maggie’s ”single” status does not escape her notice.
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you know how it is. It can be hard to date someone who works all the time - and all hours.”
And boy, does she.
“Anyway, it’s probably for the best that it happened early. I can’t really focus on a relationship right now. Elliot’s been great. He’s taken me under his wing and -“
Olivia immediately feels a kinship with this woman, wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and tell her how fast life passes you by and that she doesn’t want to wake up one day and realize how much she’s sacrificed for the job. Just as she takes a step towards Margaret to say it in a way that doesn’t overstep too much, she hears “Cap?”
She turns to find Bruno at the entryway.
“We found the warehouse.”
She smiles apologetically at Maggie, and leaves her steaming cup of tea on the counter.
It’s been three full weeks of non-stop hell for every one of them, and they all deserve a vacation at NYPD’s expense. They won’t get it of course - this is the job they all willingly agreed to - so they make due with rotating 2-3 days off, where they’re not to show their faces in their respective squad rooms. The department’s careful about this now. Overworked and exhausted people are dangerous in the field and there is too much scrutiny, too many cameras recording their every move. So she takes the time without much argument, and the afternoon she finally walks into her apartment - the necessary paperwork filed and signed and in the hands of the powers that be - she lies down on her sofa and immediately falls asleep. It’s nearly dusk by the time the incessant buzzing of her phone wakes her from what feels like near death.
He’s called four times. And sent a text.
I’m heading over.
And shit. She’s a rumpled mess, her belt unbuckled, satin white shirt wrinkled to hell, and her hair sticking out every which way.
She looks at the time. It’s 6:41 pm. She can’t remember the last time she ate a damn thing or even had a drink of water. Rubbing her eyes, she reaches up to touch her hair, removing the tie struggling for dear life to hold her ponytail, and does her best to gather her tresses, smooth them with her fingers, and collect them up into a low bun.
Standing at her fridge and reaching for a bottle of water, she tries to remember the last thing she said to him.
All irrational behavior is driven by our emotions, Elliot.
They’d been working the case, but when she’d said that - she knew by the way he looked at her then that she wasn’t just talking about the case.
And now, what? He’ll be at her place in 20 minutes if she’s lucky.
She could just turn him away, tell him to go home. That she’s tired and not up for whatever this is right now. But she won’t. She knows she won’t.
She decides to at least hop in the shower. That’ll wake her up and hopefully restore some sense of self-control, which she knows she sorely lacks at the moment She has just enough time to wash up, throw on some leggings and a t-shirt, and run a brush through her wet hair when she hears the three knocks on her door.
“Fuck,” she breaths out, setting down the brush and taking short steps towards her foyer.
***
They’ve ordered food at her suggestion, actually. It was a thing to do, a routine decision to make together, and the two of them are good at this type of problem-solving. Easy things, like deciding what to eat.
“So,” he says, “starting to feel human again?” He’s eying her in comfy clothes and damp hair pulled up into a clip, pleased to see her out of work clothes and work mode. He realizes that’s almost always the only time he sees her these days.
“Ask me next week,” she quips, and he smiles.
“You mean, when you’re in the thick of another case?”
She reaches for her glass of water, takes a sip, and sets it back down. “It never stops,” she says silently, her eyes focused on one of the pictures on her wall.
“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees.
Setting her plate down on the coffee table, she stretches a little, closing her eyes and leaning back on the sofa.
“What is it, Liv?” he urges gently.
She opens her eyes and looks at him, shaking her head and chuckling in a very defeated way. “I don’t know, El, I - I guess it's like you said, there will always be another case…”
Her voice drops and he knows there’s more she wants to say. He wishes so badly it was easier for her to just talk to him, to be more unguarded, but they haven’t had that for a long time now. When there’s a crisis, they know how to talk. She knows what to say and how to settle him, and he lets her. Most of the time, anyway. And if he’s being honest with himself, it’s not just her. He wishes he could be unguarded, too. Just say what he’s thinking or what feels organic, but instead always finds himself second-guessing what words he should use, what topics he should bring up, questioning what right he has to comment about anything when it comes to her.
He’s always waiting for the you know what, Elliot?
So for the time being he just sits with her in silence, their dinner barely consumed as her apartment becomes a museum of their shadows and everything left unsaid.
“How’s the family?” she finally asks, when the reticence gets to be a little too much for either of them to bear.
“They’re okay, I guess,” he tells her, and she smiles at that, her head completely still against the backrest.
“You guess?”
“Yeah, I mean, you know. Mama’s - well, it’s difficult some days, but everyone’s pitching in. And there’s a new baby on the way, so we're all preparing for that.”
At that, Olivia sits up, leaning forward and resting her chin on her fist. There’s a slight upward tilt to the corners of her mouth, and her eyes are shining - and he loves it when she looks at him like that. He snorts out a little laugh and looks back at her like he too can barely believe his youngest is about to be a father. “I know,” he says, even though she hasn’t said anything, and everything just feels so surreal to the both of them at that moment. “It’s -“
“It’s beautiful, Elliot,” she finishes for him, and he nods.
“Yeah, yeah it is.”
Elliot clears his throat, this time the one reaching for his water glass, and asks her about Noah. Not where he is (that’s been covered) but how he is, and he sees it immediately, the way she initially tenses then forces herself to relax her body. It’s scary to him sometimes how well he can read her, how he knows when she’s struggling to decide how much to share.
“This past month has been tough,” she admits, and he thinks that’s a good start. “I haven’t been around much - barely at all, actually. And Elliot, I looked at him a couple of days ago, and I swear he looked different to me. Which - which is weird because we aren’t really supposed to notice those kinds of things, right? I mean, as parents. It’s other people that are supposed to tell us how much our kids have grown or changed and it’s because they usually haven’t seen them in a while, and kids change so fast and…”
She looks like she’s about to cry, and he wants so badly to go over to her and sit down next to her and pull her into him. But he just nods and rubs his chin.
“Anyway,” she says, inhaling through her nose and running the back of her thumb along her Cupid’s bow, then scratching her neck. “He’s good, though. Really into his music now and friends, but I haven’t yet figured out how to convince him that he has to do things he doesn’t much like or that don’t interest him - like his English homework, for example.”
“English teachers do give way too much homework, Liv,” he jokes, his head cocked slightly, and shrugs when she throws out an “Elliot.”
“What, I mean I agree with the kid there. Always so much reading and writing and honestly, do you ever really learn when to correctly use ‘lie and lay’? Even after all that?”
She laughs, and she knows what he’s doing and is grateful for it. It makes her feel safe. So safe, in fact, that her next utterance even takes her by surprise.
“I feel so alone.”
It’s the second time in all their years as partners or friends or whatever the hell they are that she’s said this to him, but it’s different this time. When she’d said it many years ago, she was desperately searching for a family. Now here they are, nearly 20 years later, and so much has changed. And yet so much is exactly the same.
“I -“ she says, blinking fast and seemingly regaining her composure. “Sorry, it’s just - I guess I’m really tired.”
“You’re not alone, Olivia.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I know that, Elliot.” Olivia stands then, reaching for her plate then holding out her other hand for Elliot’s. “I’m going to take these into the kitchen. Are you finished?”
He doesn’t answer, rising from his seat instead. Her breathing is shallow and he can see it. The hand she holds out trembles slightly and she steadies herself by shifting her balance to her back foot.
“Olivia -“ he starts, but she takes a step back.
“El, just -“ she’s pleading with him with her eyes, and the tension is so overwhelming that he feels himself bawling up a fist to try and release it.
“Please,” she begs. “Just give me your plate.”
He does.
Two weeks later, she gets an invitation in the mail to Eli and Becky’s baby shower. She knew it was coming because Kathleen had texted her to keep an eye out for it, with a “Really hope you’ll make it, Olivia. We miss you!” text, followed by a red heart.
She hasn’t spoken with Elliot since that uncomfortable dinner at her place and she knows she can’t show up to the shower with that having been their last encounter. She considers briefly declining the invite and sending a really nice gift instead, but the thought of doing that is not something she can stomach. She couldn't do that to Eli, couldn't do that to Elliot.
So she decides she’s going to call him. Yes, she’ll call him. Act totally normal. They’ll have a nice, pleasant conversation, and then she can go to the baby shower and everything'lll be fine.
But later. She’ll call him later.
By the time she’s worked up the courage to dial his number, it's nearly 11 pm. She’s sitting on her sofa, on the same spot she’d occupied the last time he was in her apartment, cursing herself for waiting this late. Her eyes are focused on the part of the loveseat where he’d sat, and she finds herself tossing a throw pillow at it, full force, then pounding her head against the headrest.
She rubs her eyes, pushing on them hard with her index and middle fingers and thinking how absolutely cowardly she is being, then grabs her cell and texts him.
You up?
His response isn’t immediate, and she’s a little disappointed - even after the battle she’s just fought with herself over the past few hours. She picks up her book and reads the same page at least three times before her cell buzzes.
Still working actually. Everything okay?
She doesn’t know how to answer that, so she doesn’t. She puts down her phone, thinking maybe she’ll just try him again tomorrow, before it dawns on her that she keeps read receipts on her phone and that he’ll know she read his message and didn’t answer him. And how that will worry him. So she sighs and picks up her phone again. But before she has a chance to even begin texting, another message comes through.
Liv?
Sorry. Everything is okay. Just checking in.
She puts down her phone again because her hands are literally shaking, and she’s so mad at herself because why does it always feel like this? Why can’t she just talk to him like they’re friends? She starts wondering where he is, if he’s at the station house or home or worse - sitting in a car with his very young, attractive, single new partner - and she hates herself for even thinking it.
Heading out in about 10 min. Would love to talk to you. Or if you’re up to it, I could just stop by?
Before she has the chance to talk herself out of it, she tells him to come by.
***
She greets him at the door in hushed tones. “Noah is asleep and voices carry in this place,” is the first thing she says. He nods, stepping into her foyer and kicking off his shoes.
He takes her up on her offer of a glass of wine and watches her as she glides across her kitchen taking great care to quietly close cabinets and drawers and carefully set their glasses on the countertop.
“He a light sleeper?” Elliot asks. “Eli sleeps like the dead.”
“Not particularly,” she responds, “but, you know. Just in case.” Handing him a glass, she adds “I got the invitation to Eli’s baby shower.”
“Good. You’re planning on being there, right?”
“Yeah, yeah of course. I wouldn’t miss it. Thanks for inviting me, by the way.”
Elliot laughs at that, and Olivia sets down her glass. “That’s funny?”
“It's funny you think I had anything to do with planning a baby shower,” he tells her. “Liv, I want you there, of course. But that was all the kids’ doing. And since when did baby showers become a couples’ thing? Isn’t that supposed to be for the ladies only?
“The ‘ladies’? Jesus, Elliot. Showers have been integrated for a while now. You sound ancient.”
“Yeah, well, I know showers are ‘integrated,” Liv," he says with what she thinks is a wink. "I was talking about baby showers. I’m already paying for it, so I’m not sure why I have to go.”
“You’re insufferable,” she tells him, shaking her head at his streak of perversion, thinking how she hears more of it since he’s been back.
“So I’ve been told. If you weren’t going as my date, I’d probably find a way to get out of it.” Olivia’s eyes go wide, but before she has a chance to protest, he gives her a very flirty smile. “Kidding, Olivia. Don’t panic.”
She shakes her head, preparing to admonish him, but she decides against it. “So, how is it working out with Maggie?”
“I don’t want to talk about Maggie, Liv.” His response is strange to her and he's not lighthearted about it. She assumes a defensive posture, iimmediately pissed off, but he soldiers on. “I’m glad you texted me, though. I was going to give you another two days to reach out, and then I was going to show up at your front door.”
“I wouldn’t have opened it,” she challenges. Because if he wants to play it like this, she’s game.
“Bullshit.”
“How do you - you don’t know.”
“I know, Olivia. And,” he continues, “you don’t have to worry about Maggie.”
“Please,” she scoffs, and even she doesn’t believe herself. “I’m not ‘worried’ about Maggie, Elliot. I’m just asking you how it’s going with your new partner.”
“Listen,” he says, softening his tone and taking a few steps towards her, then a few more until she can practically smell the wine on his breath. “You have nothing to worry about. She’s a sweet kid, smart as a whip, good at her job. And that’s it.”
“You make her sound like a child, Elliot. And, for your information, I’m not worried - or jealous - or whatever you’re making it sound like.”
He's not taking the bait, even though she seems to be gunning for an argument. Because there's only one thing he needs her to know - one thing he needs her to believe: “No one can ever be you, Olivia. No one can ever replace you.”
“God, Elliot, just - stop,” she says, holding out a hand and taking a step back. He takes the hint, circling around to the other side of the island to give her space. But he’s not done. He’s got shit he needs to say to her, and he’s going full in tonight. “Heard about that stunt you pulled a couple weeks back, by the way.”
“What? What ‘stunt?’” she asks, momentarily grateful for the reprieve from the Maggie conversation.
“Running out in front of a hail of bullets to rescue Meyers.”
“Driving. I drove through a hail of bullets to rescue Meyers. And anyhow, how’d you hear about that? Keeping tabs on me?” But she thinks she already knows.
Fin, that messy asshole.
“And no, it wasn’t Fin, if that’s what you’re thinking. Stuff like that gets around, Liv - a captain throwing herself into the line of fire for a patrol officer?”
“I did what I had to do, Elliot,” is all she offers him.
“It was reckless, Olivia.“
She faces him head on now, eyebrow raised, and shakes her head. “You don’t want to lecture me about being reckless.”
“You’re right,” he tells her, reaching for the wine bottle to refill her glass then top off his. “I don’t want to lecture you. I want to talk about it.”
“Well, I don’t,” she snaps, her voice louder than she intends. He just smiles at her.
“Careful, Olivia. You’ll wake your son.”
“Elliot, I swear to God, if you just came here to get on my nerves - “
“No, I wanted to see you, talk to you. Seems like you wanted the same.”
“Yeah, I did because the last time we saw each other, it - it had been a long month and I was really tired and I just…” Her voice trails off, and he doesn’t try to read her mind or finish her sentence or call her on her shit.
He just waits.
She takes another sip of her wine and lifts her right leg so she’s balancing on one foot. Finally she says, sadly, “Think this will ever get easier?”
“What?”
“This. You and me. When it’s not about work?”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because we keep working at it.”
“That what this is?” she asks, gesturing to the space between them with her left hand. “Us ‘working at it?’”
“I think so. And by the way, you ever gonna let me take you out?”
“Where, on a stakeout?” she laughs, deflecting.
Always deflecting.
He ignores it completely. “Anywhere you want.”
She brings her fingers to her bottom lip, scratching it absentmindedly.
“It’s time, Olivia.” He’s trying to be gentle, but there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, and he knows what he’s just said is risky. But he figures it now or never.
“You have a countdown set for this, Elliot?”
“No, not a countdown. I’m just tired of you feeling so fucking alone when I’m right here, Olivia. I’m standing right in front of you. This is not like before. This is now. You. Me. In the present. And we aren’t getting any younger.”
She reaches her for glass and he sees it again, the trembling hand. She sees it too, and grips the island with both hands instead. “El, what - what do you want me to say?”
“I want you to help me understand why you can’t just talk to me, Liv. Why you keep everything bottled up inside instead of just telling me what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t even understand what I’m thinking sometimes, Elliot.”
“Okay. So tell me anyway. You gotta help me get what you’re so terrified of, Liv. Please, I’m asking you to try.”
“I am trying, Elliot,” she says, and he sees it - her trying. “I don’t - I mean, what if you just disappear again?”
“Olivia,” he warns, and now he’s taking steps towards her again. “You don’t get to do that - not any more. I fucked up. I fucked up badly. I’ve apologized for it repeatedly. I wish I could go back in time and do things differently, make different choices, but - but I can’t. And you’re using that as a crutch now. Look at me and tell me you honestly believe I’m ever leaving you again. C’mon, if you really believe that, say it to my face.”
She can’t believe they’re having this conversation at midnight on a Wednesday. And she can’t believe that neither of them is full on shouting at this point, even though she almost wishes they were - that they could - because this controlled, quiet conversation is somehow way more unsettling. There’s now about six inches between them, and her right hand is now gripping the countertop so hard that her knuckles are blanched.
“You can’t because you know the only way I’m leaving you is in a pine box,” he finishes, reaching over and pulling the compass out from under her shirt.
She gasps, but he holds it firmly in his hand. “When did you get this back?”
“A few days after we had dinner,” she admits, looking down at his hand.
“Why’d you ask for it back?”
“Because Elliot, it’s mine. I just loaned it to her and I needed -“
She feels his fist tighten around the compass, his other hand snaking under the chain behind her neck.
Then he yanks.
She doesn’t say a word, too stunned by what’s transpired to even ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. He sets the compass down on the island and pulls her into him.
“You don’t need this to tell you where you’re going, Olivia. I’m right here. You already know”
She falls into him then, her arms wrapped fully around him. He tightens his hold of her. “Elliot,” she cries, and she’s trying to breathe and keep herself upright but she’s failing miserably at both. “If this doesn’t work, and I lose even the ability to even hope about us, I -
He releases her then and steps back so she can see his face.
“In. A. Pine. Box, Olivia.”
She finally lets him kiss her.