Chapter Text
Serena dies on a Sunday. Olivia plans the funeral for Thursday. She doesn't want to drag it out. Just wants the whole thing to be done.
Her phone rings on Tuesday while she’s going through Serena’s closet. The light purple skirt and matching top? No, Serena thought that one made her look too frumpy. The golden yellow dress and cardigan? No, it had been strongly suggested to avoid yellow for concern of it bringing out the jaundiced undertones of Serena’s skin - brought to you courtesy of years of vodka.
“Benson.”
“Hey, Liv. I just wanted to check in. See if you needed anything?”
“I just need this to be over, Elliot.” She lets out a sigh. “I’m trying to figure out what they should put her in, but nothing seems right. She hated the lavender, but they told me not to do yellow. I can’t go with black. Can I? That would be too on the nose, right? Fuck, I don’t know.”
She’s spiraling, and he isn’t sure how to help. “Where are you?”
“Her apartment. Why?”
“What’s the address?”
She relays the address, and makes an excuse to get off the phone. She has to figure this out.
Thirty minutes later she thinks she’s made a decision - the emerald green pantsuit with a black shirt underneath - when she hears a knock on the door. Peering through the peephole she sees her partner. She unlocks the door and pulls it open, stepping to the side.
“Elliot, what are you doing here?”
He steps past her into the entryway and shrugs his shoulders. “Ah, got out early, and it sounded like you might could use some company.”
“Thanks, El, but surely you’ve got somewhere else you should be.” She can’t help but notice that he’s wearing a t-shirt with Maureen’s soccer team’s logo across the front.
“Nah, I’m where I need to be.” He reaches out and places his hand on the back of her neck, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
She gives him a small smile in return, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Then, her face crumples, and the tears begin to fall. “She’s really gone, El.”
He pulls her to him and wraps her in a tight embrace, resting his cheek against her temple. He doesn’t say anything, just holds her while she cries. After all, what could he say? Nothing will fix her pain. The pain of a child who had to grow up too fast. An adult who now has to come to terms with the fact that there will be no reconciliation, no apology from the parent who was neglectful at best, abusive at worst. He’s been in her shoes. So, he just holds her.