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I’m so sorry, honey. I’m just so sorry.
Your beautiful bride.
How was Olivia’s funeral?
Elliot sits with his mama’s words rattling around in his head for days.
It’s smoke filling his lungs, and a thousand-pound weight resting heavy on his chest. It’s feeling like he can’t breathe in too deep for fear he won’t feel her there anymore. Even though he knows logically that she’s okay. She’s fine. But his heart isn’t satisfied with such an asinine attempt to soothe the chill of what-ifs that leaves gooseflesh inching its way up his spine. It’s knowing exactly what her loss would do if he ever had to bury her six feet in the cold, dark earth. It’s realizing that if she ever left him for good, he’d fall apart and then crawl home to her. It’s coming to terms with how fucked up that is despite how true it’s always been. An irrefutable truth that’s lived in the depths of his soul from the moment she walked into his life. Like some vital part of him knew from the very beginning just how important she’d be to him. That she’d settle inside him never to be removed again.
It doesn’t help that he hasn’t actually laid eyes on Liv in over three months. Or that the last time he did see her was through the little window of an ER examination room after someone ran her off the road. After she’d almost been taken from him right under his nose.
Elliot sent a single text message to her, letting her know he’d be out of pocket for a while and not to worry. Then he cut himself off from her, afraid that his continued contact with her would only place her in more danger. And he knows Liv is no doubt pissed at him for the necessary distance, but it’s better than the alternative because he refuses to risk her more than he already foolishly – recklessly, needlessly – has. Liv has a son. She’s a mother. And he won’t be the reason she doesn’t go home to that sweet little boy.
But the self-imposed isolation doesn’t keep him from aching to know how she’s doing. Elliot never let himself ask after her. He’d left the hospital before she woke up, but after he knew for sure she’d be okay, needing to let off some steam, afraid he’d put his fist through drywall instead of a punching bag. And instead of finding his way back to her, he’d forced himself to stay away – something that was becoming too much of a bad habit – knowing that she didn’t need his rage or the minefield that was his head right now.
It hurt too fucking much to know, but not be there for her in the way she needed him to be. Even though he’s sure nothing is tearing them apart more than his own poor choices. It seems even when he’s protecting her, he’s hurting her. But it feels like just about everything in his life is fucked up, and he won’t drag her into that any more than he already has. Even when Fin called or when Bell had suggested he tell Liv about the undercover job, Elliot had dug in his heels and remained adamant about keeping her out of it. Keeping her safe.
Fourteen weeks later – not that he’s counting – and missing her has become a tangible thing coiling itself around his heart like a vise. A reminder that he’s a half a person without her at his side. He’s dealing with it just fine until his mama mutters those cursed words in her confused state, and it derails him completely.
Suddenly, it’s all he can think about.
How was Olivia’s funeral?
Olivia and funeral don’t fucking belong in the same sentence. They don’t fucking belong anywhere near each other. Not ever. Not in the same fucking universe of possibility. Even the thought of it makes him bristle with the desire to destroy, to break apart anything that isn’t his heart when that’s all it wants to do. Punch something until his knuckles are bloody. Until the bleeding on the outside matches the hemorrhaging internally.
Elliot makes it nearly 48 hours of restless nights staring up at the ceiling of Eddie Wagner’s crappy Winnebago and battling with his hair trigger temper and wrestling with demons that come for him in the dark when he decides that he has to see her. Even if it’s just for a moment. For one night.
It’s nearly one in the morning on a Saturday, and she’s probably asleep but he has to try because every time he closes his eyes, he sees crushed red roses on a black casket in the middle of the pouring rain. The last nightmare had him dry heaving into the terrible excuse of a toilet, and he needs to see her, or he fears that he may never sleep again.
So, in a moment of insomnia induced weakness, he shoots her a text from the encrypted phone Jet had provided him with, one of many because he’s had to switch out every few days for added precautions. He doesn’t have her number saved, but he’s considered reaching out so often that the digits are engraved in his mind.
A simple – Liv, u awake?
He’s texting from an unknown number so she’s unlikely to answer, but somehow barely a minute later the phone is vibrating on the table and it’s her. Elliot reaches out and fumbles with the small touchscreen in his too large hands before managing to swipe up.
“El?”
It’s her voice and his old nickname slipping off her tongue like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Something he hasn’t heard in over a decade, but for some reason she must feel the need to say it as bad as he needs to hear it. Just the sound of it has his body sinking further into the too small couch cushion and gripping the phone with everything in him.
Releasing the breath that’s been stuck in his chest, he can hear the too fast staccato of his heartbeat swooshing in his ears. The tiny cabin’s stale air causing beads of sweat to gather in little patches on his forearms and along the back of his neck. The white tank top he’s in is growing damp from his increased body heat.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he whispers finally, and his voice feels sharp like swallowing gravel, and he wonders if it grates on her the same way it does him. The heel of his hand reaches up to rub at his eye before it drags down to his mouth and settles there.
“Is everything okay?”
Liv hasn’t heard from him in months and her first thought is still to check and make sure he’s alright. Always putting him first. For some reason it makes moisture build behind his eyes, and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip in an effort to hold himself together, but the fear of losing her has made him brittle and quaking with a need like no other.
Elliot releases a heavy sigh and drops his head back, unsure how to voice what he really wants. So sure that she’s going to deny him the relief he so desperately craves and feeling too vulnerable at the prospect of revealing his reason for calling in the first place. Shame clogs his vocal cords, and he very nearly hangs up, but he knows she’d only wake his whole damn squad if he did that. Call in the cavalry just to make sure he was okay.
“Elliot, talk to me. What do you need?” Liv murmurs, tone soft and gentling, and it’s fucking déjà vu, and the similarities threaten to gut him wide open.
Because. Fuck. He’d lost his wife. His wife. And all he could think about even then was how much he needed Olivia. He needed the woman who had always been a balm to his soul. The one he couldn’t fucking live without.
“I need you,” he breathes, his own voice cracking and trembling over words that have always needed to be said, but they’ve never been truer than right now.
“Okay,” she says, still calm and still soothing, and he can hear the rustling of bedsheets. “What can I do? Are you hurt? Did something happen? Are you safe?” It’s the cop in her checking off all the boxes, making sure first and foremost that there’s no immediate danger. But underneath the surface, he knows she’s scared for him, and he doesn’t want her to be afraid.
“I’m not hurt. Nothing happened. I just-” He doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind when he can’t see her face and he can’t touch her. When he can’t catch his breath because all he wants to do is hold her.
Liv waits and the sound of her breath in his ear has his heart rate regulating, and he knows that she owes him nothing, but he wonders if she has any idea that she’s his everything.
“Can I see you?” Elliot finally forces out the question that’s been burning on his tongue since the moment he sent her that text. “I know it’s late and your son is there. It’s probably not a good idea, but I just really need to see you. I don’t know what to fucking do-”
“Whoa, hey,” she cuts him off gently, sensing an escalation in his voice. “El, it’s alright. Noah is at a sleepover. You can come over.” Liv pauses like she’s considering her next words. “We’re not going to make a habit of these late-night visits though, okay? And I don’t want you thinking I’m not pissed at you for ghosting me. Again. Because I am and we’re going to talk about this nasty habit of yours soon, but not tonight. I’ll text you my address.”
Elliot slams his eyes shut in relief. “Okay.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” she says softly, and there’s a moment of hesitation where neither of them seemingly wants the line to go dead.
There’s a laundry list of things that need to be discussed, but he’s glad she seems to understand that he doesn’t have the emotional energy to endeavor those subjects tonight. She can tell that something is wrong, but he’s not sure if she has figured out that it has everything to do with her. She’ll find out soon enough though.
…
Liv’s doorman gives him an assessing and rather reproachful look and makes him sign in after he enters the lobby but doesn’t otherwise hinder him from going up the elevator to her floor.
Elliot gives two firm but not overly loud knocks on the door, aware that this is still the middle of the night and Liv has neighbors. He hopes that she hasn’t fallen asleep in the time it took him to drive over, especially since he took some detours along way, making sure he didn’t have anyone following him. It was perhaps paranoid, but he isn’t taking risks, knowing that him even showing up at her apartment like this is more than enough of one by itself, but he’s here with her now, and nothing is going to touch her because he won’t let it. She’s safe with him.
Liv must have checked the peephole because the door swings open all the way, and then she’s standing before him in an old t-shirt and sleep shorts, hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. Her face is makeup free and she’s so fucking beautiful, it takes his breath away. Elliot is struck dumb with it, and his fingers itch to tuck that one strand of hair that’s fallen across her forehead, but he somehow manages to keep his hands to himself. For now.
He can tell from her expression that she’s taking in his own attire. The beard is new and that’s what keeps her gaze the longest before moving on to the worn jeans and tank he never changed out of and the zip up hoodie he’d thrown on last minute as he was going out the door.
The gun he’d tucked into the back of his pants is still cool against his skin, and the familiar weight of it calming to his nerves. It was subconscious habit to grab it because lately he doesn’t go anywhere without being armed, it’s too dangerous not to these days. Even though he knows he doesn’t need it, he’s safe with her here too.
“Elliot,” she says, stepping back so he can walk by her.
She shuts and locks the door behind him while he lingers in the foyer, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Feeling out of place in an apartment he’s never stepped foot in before. There’s evidence of her son all around. Proof of her motherhood. A perfect fit. A perfect role he’d always known she’d be great at. The best. It makes him ache for what he walked away from. What he missed out on because of his own stupid fucking mistakes. He’s got no one to blame but himself, and it reminds him of just how much he doesn’t deserve anything from her.
Not a single fucking thing.
Her hand is on his sleeved arm. “Do you want something to drink?”
Elliot shakes his head negatively, gaze still on her living room, and he has no idea why he’s making this so awkward for them both right now. She’s being so gentle with him that he doesn’t know how to take her kindness without falling apart.
God, this undercover job is so not good for his mental health. Lately, he feels like he’s either about to crawl out of his own skin because he hardly recognizes himself in the mirror or he’s indulging in the life of a criminal that is not his own. Either way, he’s barely holding it together, and what his mother unknowingly said pushed him to the edge.
Before he forgets to remove it and because he knows it's not needed here, he takes the gun butt first out of his waistband, checks that the chamber is empty and then takes the clip out and makes sure the safety is firmly on. Then he holds out both to Liv in silent request.
"I'll put it with mine in the safe." Her fingers brush and linger on his as the gun and clip passes to her and she turns, quickly disappearing into her bedroom.
“Let’s sit down,” Liv suggests once she returns, making her way to the sofa. Elliot follows her, sitting down in the chair across from her, not knowing if she’d want him any closer when all he wants to do is crawl inside her and never leave.
He’s having trouble meeting her gaze and the extended silence is making him twitchy for some reason. Elliot is starting to think this wasn’t a good idea because now he’ll have to actually explain himself fully and he’s never been good at that. Talking has never been his strong suit. Elliot wonders if he could just ask to sit with her and not say anything at all, if she’d let him or demand answers that he’s not ready to give.
It’s late and she should be in bed, but she seems determined to wait him out.
Swallowing hard, Eliot glances down at his hands as they rest on his thighs, and he fights the urge to pick at a strand of fabric on the end of his jacket. “I saw my mother the other day,” he starts off, eyes still downcast. “She’d been picked up by some unis after an incident in the park and they brought her to OCCB. Bell called to let me know she was there and that she was asking for me.”
Liv frowns, brows pinching together. “Is your mother alright?”
He gives a jerky nod, waving off her concern. “She’s fine. Just a misunderstanding that Bell got sorted out.” Elliot cracks a small, disheartened smile. “But, um, she got confused. Had some memories mixed up in her head.” He pauses here and prolongs the moment by scratching at his ear and clearing his throat. “She remembered that Kathy died and apologized for missing the funeral,” he mumbles, his hands giving in and beginning to fidget.
“Oh, Elliot,” Liv replies, hand going to cover her mouth and when he looks up her dark eyes are pools of warm empathy. She has no idea that’s not even what has him so upset.
His hands move to the arms of the chair and clutch tightly, nails digging into the fabric. It’s not until he opens his mouth again that she seems to realize he isn’t done. He has her full, undivided attention and so, the words drag out of him, cutting sharper than razor blades because he can’t stand the idea of even muttering them aloud. “Mama asked how your funeral went.” It’s barely a whisper because he won’t dare say them loud enough for fate to hear.
Liv’s spine straightens and her face loses all color, and he knows she heard him. A tiny gasp escapes through her slackened mouth and her hand goes to press over her heart. “My funeral?” Her voice cracks along the question, and he suddenly can’t stand to be even five feet away from her any longer.
In the blink of an eye, Elliot is on his feet and taking the two large steps it takes to be right in front of her and then he’s sinking to his knees. His hands brace against the sofa on either side of her, and her eyes track his movements, but she doesn’t flinch or try to get away. She lets him crowd her with the caging of his arms and the press of his stomach against her legs.
His chin won’t quit fucking trembling, and he’s biting his tongue to keep from telling her that he loves her and that he’ll cease to exist if anything ever happened to her. She must see it in his eyes though because she reaches for him, tugging at his shoulders until he’s falling into the shelter of her body. His face presses into the soft cotton of her shirt and she’s got one hand on the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing circles along his upper back.
Of course, he should have guessed that she’d know exactly what he needed without him having to voice it. His arms wind tightly around her middle, and he inhales deep, taking in the familiar, soothing scent that is Olivia, and clinging with everything in him. He turns his head so he can feel and hear the rhythmic thumping of her heartbeat in his ear.
After what feels like forever, his body begins to protest the prolonged hunched position, and he knows it’s probably not comfortable for her either. But when he tries to pull up and out of her space, she catches one of his hands as it leaves her side and tangles their fingers together, keeping him from getting too far away. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask what she’s doing or maybe suggest that they call it a night. That he just needed to see her and that the mind sometimes plays nasty tricks, but her next words stop him.
“Come on, the bed is more comfortable,” she murmurs, getting up.
“Liv, you sure?” The last thing he wants is to have her regret anything in the morning.
“It’s just to sleep, Stabler. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Elliot still hesitates, even as he thinks about what it’d be like to fall asleep in her arms. To be surrounded by her. It’s something that once he has, he’ll never want to be without. He hopes that she knows that.
The hand not holding his reaches up to run along his jaw. “I think we both need this,” she explains, and he knows exactly what she means.
After they enter the bedroom, Liv gestures for him to lose the jeans, jacket and shoes, and despite the fresh intimacy of it, he strips down and wordlessly climbs into the bed beside her. It isn’t until she moves to rest her head on his chest and throws a leg over one of his that he takes the first, real deep breath he’s had in days. His eyes slip shut when he feels her soft, warm lips against his collarbone.
He winces when he feels her pinch his side. “Don’t ghost me again, Stabler, or I swear to God, I’ll make you regret it,” she whisper threatens into his heated skin. “We need each other.”
Elliot can’t keep from smiling into her hair. “I won’t,” he swears, unable to stop himself from tangling his fingers in a few of the longer strands that have fallen down her back now that she’s pulled her hair free of the ponytail.
“My mom mentioned your funeral and I couldn’t fucking breathe.” It’s perhaps a confession he never meant to utter, but it’s the truth. He would be lost without her.
Her fingertips dig into his ribcage. “I’m here, El. Okay? I’m right here.” She turns her face so she can bury her nose in his neck. Her weight is a comforting blanket draped over him, and he allows himself the opportunity to pull her impossibly closer.
And then because he can’t help but say it. “I love you, Olivia.”
He’s always had piss poor timing, but he hopes this is better than in the middle of an intervention with every single one of his kids in earshot. It was true then and it’s true now. It’s always been his truth, even when he didn’t have a name for it. When the only label he could put on her was best friend when she’s always been the love of his life.
Elliot doesn’t expect her to say it back right now, not while he’s still living a stranger’s life, but he knows she loves him too. He feels it in the way she holds him together and never lets go.
His fingers trail up and bury deeper into her thick locks, reveling in the sensation of her melting further against him. Sleep warm and heavy, he finally lets himself relax too. This was exactly what he needed to drown out macabre thoughts of death and of her leaving him forever.
Putting his lips to the top of her head, he whispers so low that it’s almost silent. “Please don’t ever leave me, baby.”
If she were awake, she’d kill him for that pet name slip, but considering what she means to him, he’ll take the risk.
But, of course, she takes him by surprise when several long moments later, he feels her lips kissing the underside of his jaw and her raspy answer. “Never.”
In the morning light, he’ll have to leave, but for now simply holding her in his arms is more than enough.
~fin~