Chapter Text
“Thank you, Elliot. Thank you for picking him up.”
“You’re family.” The words roll off his tongue so casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s been an unspoken fact between them for the last 20 years, but to hear him say it, hear him talk about it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world... it makes it feel real. Solidified.
It paints a picture of domesticity in her mind that she doesn’t know whether or not she likes, but she lets herself get lost in it. Lets herself imagine that this will become a nightly routine; her at the counter, him making coffee, both of them wondering if their lives will ever become less chaotic.
That's a reality she'd be happy living in.
No. She shakes the thoughts out of her head. She can't let herself believe in dreams. A life with Elliot, as much as she longs for it, craves it, is going to have to wait. There's things he still doesn't know about her, things that happened during the 10 years he was gone. Things that would change everything, if she told him now.
Maybe she's been unfair to him, she muses. She knows everything about him and his traumas, and yet he's barely brushed the surface of hers. He doesn't know about the scars that litter her body, the voices that plague her mind, the hands that are always touching her skin.
She can't tell him. Not yet, at least.
She takes note of the silence that has fallen over the kitchen. "What are you looking for?" she asks gently, trying to break through the haze of her self reflection.
He shakes an empty green canister, as if to clear his own thoughts. "Sugar."
"It's here," she ignores the aching in her body as she gets up. "I have some here somewhere." She rounds the kitchen island, reaching into cupboards that she knows the sugar is most definitely not in. She can hear the list of questions reeling through his mind, thinks that maybe if she can stall while she looks around, put it off until she's exhausted and he has no choice but to let her go to sleep and he'll have to interrogate her in the morning.
Her plan fails.
"Why didn't you call me?"
The question makes her freeze for a second, her fingers curled tightly around the cabinet door handle. "Because I knew that you would try to protect me." There's something about the way her voice wavers that makes her realize how pathetic she sounds. It doesn't help that the tears that prick her eyes are threatening to fall.
"And there's something wrong with that?" Her shoulders sag as she hears his voice grow softer. She can't speak. If she speaks now she'll start crying, and she can't bear to have him witness her in such a vulnerable state. Not yet; maybe not ever.
Elliot sighs, his voice resigned. "I care for you."
She doesn't reply.
He moves closer to her on instinct. "Liv, look at me." Every part of her is telling her to turn around, to look him in the eye and tell him everything that happened while he was gone. But she won't do it. She just continues looking through the cabinet, ignoring the shake in her fingers as she finally wraps them around the bag of sugar.
"Here it is." He's closer than she thought he was when she turns around again. His hands brush against hers slightly, his fingers brushing hers in a soothing gesture, almost caressing her skin. She can't help herself as she leans in.
But he knows her. Knows that she's tired, knows that she's hurt, knows that if he wants to break down her walls he'll have to go brick by brick, not just smash it with a wrecking ball and hope for the best.
He pulls back. For her. Everything for her.
"Elliot," her forehead is pressed against his now, breaths mingling with each other. "Elliot, I want to." Their arms are touching, she can feel the heat radiating off him through his shirt. It's comforting after being cold for so long. "I want to, but I can't."
I know, he wants to say. He doesn't.
"Why not?" His eyes are searching hers. Searching for an explanation he already has, the reasoning that's already ingrained into his mind. But he needs to hear it from her. Needs confirmation that he still knows her as well as he did all those years ago.
She's shaking now, her hands wrapped tightly in his. She can feel his gaze on her, can see the conflict in his eyes. "Because what if it doesn't work out?"
"And what if things work out?"
She shakes her head, moving away from him, pressing herself against the side of the refrigerator. "Elliot, I'm not ready for this." Her voice is soft. Almost pleading. She isn't sure where that word comes from. She feels helpless, overwhelmed, trapped by her own feelings that threaten to overwhelm her entire existence. "I'm not ready for this."
"I'm not ready for this." She repeats it like a mantra, over and over again. She's losing control. She can feel it, feel her pulse racing, her breath quickening and her body trembling. She closes her eyes, focusing on her breathing. Inhale for three seconds, hold, exhale for three seconds. Hold. Exhale. Repeat. "I'm not ready."
"I know, Liv, I know. Just, try to breathe, okay?" She nods, but her breathing stutters, and she can't keep it together any longer, can't stop the tears falling down her cheeks. They're hot and wet and burn her eyes, and she can't do anything about it. Can't stop them from pouring out.
Her voice cracks as she pleads, "Please don't leave again." It's barely audible, but the fear in it is unmistakable. "Please don't leave again. I don't know what I'll do without you. Please don't leave again, please stay."
Tears slip past her fingers and drop onto the white tile floor. She can barely make out the blurry outline of Elliot's silhouette as he steps towards her. The only thing that keeps her from collapsing on the ground is the hand holding tightly onto her shoulder, and she clings to it with everything that she has left.
"Elliot, I need you-"
"We both do." His mouth presses against her temple, and she feels the warmth of his kiss, the pressure of his lips, the press of his chest against hers, a sense of protection washing through her, and suddenly she doesn't feel as alone. Not anymore.
"I needed you." She murmurs, clinging to him harder as the words spill out from between her lips. "You were gone, and it took them two days to realize I was missing. If you... You would've known immediately. You would've killed him, and he wouldn't have come back, and–"
His hands give her shoulders a light squeeze. "Liv, hey, slow down, alright? You're not making any sense right now, so you gotta breathe with me for a second. Gotta get you to relax a bit." It feels as though his words are reverberating through her whole body; as though she can feel him through every inch of her body. He rubs her shoulders lightly until her breathing slows to match his and she's calmer, steadier, more stable. Slowly, the panic recedes. Until at last she can think clearly again.
"Thank you," she says quietly, resting her head against his chest, closing her eyes momentarily and taking solace in his steady heartbeat.
She opens her eyes as he cups her face in one hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the bruise on her cheek. “That doesn’t look like it’s going away.” It’s a question disguised as a statement. His subtle way of asking–no, begging–her to let him take care of her, to let him carry the weight of the world off of her shoulders and onto his own.
She gives in to his plea more easily than she’d like. “I’ve been busy with the case.”
He hums in response, finally seeing the exhaustion etched across her features, and his heart aches with a longing that he hasn’t felt for years. With every ounce of strength he possesses he fights against the urge to pull her tight against him. To wrap her in his arms and never let her go.
But instead he settles for letting his fingers linger against the skin of her arms, pulling her away from the fridge. "Go take a shower. Relax, put on something comfortable. I'll help you ice that when you're done."
His voice is softer now, gentle and understanding. "We don't have to do or talk about anything. We can watch some shitty Netflix movie and sit for 20 minutes, just 'til you're okay."
"Thank you, Elliot."