Of Tethers And Time: Absence (Ch 3)
A/N: As always, Elliot to Liv is bold italics, and Liv to Elliot is plain italics. The last section is Elliot POV.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wednesday Night, 10pm…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can’t just talk to me in the middle of the day like that. I was in a meeting with McGrath.
But I had a question.
She rolls her eyes, bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, like he can see her.
We have to have some rules. Clearly.
I don’t like rules.
I’m well aware.
Olivia adjusts her comforter, folding it down a few more inches; if someone had told her a week ago that she’d be having a conversation across her mating bond—
I can tell you’re not actually mad, you know. I feel it.
You feel what?
You. You feel all…warm and happy. Sleepy, I think. Not mad.
You feel like a pain in my ass.
She’s grinning now, in spite of herself; it’s mutual, that warmth flowing both ways down the bond, lulling and soothing. He’s been away for five days—not that she’s counting—and it’s been…interesting. The bond has been taut off and on; sometimes she’s pulling and sometimes he is, most often it’s him. A quick, soothing reminder, a tug or two, is usually enough to relax it, but it’s still happening. She can’t tell if she’s getting used to it, or if he’s learning to control it better, but it’s not as distracting. It does feel urgent; she’s still not quite ready to admit to herself that she misses him, needs him, but that’s what this is.
She misses him. They’ve barely seen each other with any kind of regularity in the past two years, but five days apart and she misses him. She misses her mate; it’s primal, the way she wants him near her. Combined with the fact that he’s on a job, that he might be providing backup in the field at any given moment, and it’s enough to tilt her axis a little, the worry of it all.
It still doesn’t feel real; even when his deep, warm voice is echoing down the bond and into her ears, it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel real that she has somebody, that the universe picked someone for her, and it feels even less real that it’s Elliot. It doesn’t feel like they should’ve settled into this so easily, that they’ve just accepted this twist of fate. But, over the course of processing it, she’s realized it doesn’t feel strange because…they’ve been here before. Twelve years ago, they’d nearly been in this place; they’d been able to finish each other’s sentences, and spend fourteen hour days together. They’d been so in sync, known every detail, big and small; but they’d never taken that last step. She’d trusted him with her life, still trusts him with it, but there were parts of her that were always off limits; the part of her that craved physical contact, and comfort, the part of her that wanted that from him. There’d always been a part of her that wanted that with him, and couldn’t have it—intimacy.
That’s what they’re developing now, intimacy; whispers and murmurs and contact.
They have permission, now, and it’s like they’ve been waiting for it, poised to jump at the first nudge.
You didn’t answer my question .
Because I didn’t understand it. What do you mean, what should you call me?
Exactly what it sounds like. What should I call you now?
Olivia? Liv?
Feel like I should get to call you something else. A new nickname.
Like what?
Darlin’?
Seriously?
Livvie?
Absolutely not.
Puddin’?
She laughs out loud, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.
Are you trying to ask me how I feel about pet names?
He doesn’t answer for a moment, but she feels him there, thinking.
They might slip out. I kinda…I like doing that. With my…person.
He’s testing, being careful with her, afraid to do anything that might make her reconsider—anything that might make her run from this.
Your person, huh?
My people. All of you.
A part of him is still standing in her kitchen, listening to her whisper that she still isn’t ready for him, for them; she’d seen it all over his face that night, the sinking feeling that he’d pushed her too far and ruined them, forever. Maybe, she realizes, that’s why the universe had finally chosen to intervene.
Alright, well, if something slips out, and I don’t like it, I’ll let you know. Otherwise...feel free.
The way she feels his smile, takes her breath away; like a warm breeze on a perfect summer day.
Okay.
He’s quiet for a little while after that, and she gets up to wash her face, to dab on moisturizer and serum. Just as she’s climbing back into bed with a glass of water, he speaks again.
This is nice. Just talking. I missed it.
She smiles a little, settling.
Yeah. Me too.
Ask me something.
Like what?
I dunno. Something you wanna know. Something you wouldn’t have asked me before last week.
She swallows, thinking; never, in all the time they’ve known each other, has she been free to ask him whatever she wants. They’d been open with each other in some ways, but completely closed off in others. There are things she wants to know, things she's wondered, laying in bed in the dark, when she'd been at her softest and most vulnerable, mind wandering into places it really shouldn't have. But now, they're entwined as closely as two people can be; he's literally in her head, and one day, he'll probably be laying here beside her, in her bed, and nothing is off limits anymore.
Do you…do you like to kiss?
Oh .
Her face heats, and she backtracks.
Sorry. I didn’t mean to—we don’t have to talk about that—
—no I just, that isn’t what I expected you to ask.
He tugs gently on the bond, which she realizes has become their way of reassuring each other—that they’re there, or that what they’ve said isn’t offensive—this time, it feels like the equivalent of a shoulder squeeze, warm and close.
Doesn’t everybody?
Not really. Some men I’ve dated didn’t. Or didn’t want to unless it was, y’know, going somewhere.
Huh. What kinda kiss are we talking about here?
She squeezes her eyes closed for a second, forcing herself to be vulnerable, to swallow against the nerves in her belly.
Any kind.
Yeah. I like to kiss. Doesn’t have to lead to anything. I mean…I’m gonna wanna kiss you good morning. Kiss goodbye. Make out when the movie’s boring. Whenever. I like doing that, being close. Is that okay?
She can’t even begin to wrap her brain around the actual kissing of it all, because the way he phrases it, like he has plans, makes her heart skip. She takes a deep breath and feels for that bond, lets herself trust it. He has plans because they’re going to do this, and it’s going to be…solid, and safe. It’s going to be what it was always meant to.
Yeah, it’s okay. I—I like that, too.
Now you have to let me ask you something.
She holds her breath.
Okay.
Relax. I’m just an old Catholic white guy. I can feel you being nervous.
She laughs a little.
I’m not nervous. This is just—this is new for us.
I know. And you are nervous, but, that’s okay.
Are you gonna ask me a question, or psychoanalyze me all night, Stabler?
I’m getting there. Tell me…something that you like. Not during, y’know, that’s—we’ll—never mind. Just, not that. Something else that you like. When you’re in a relationship.
Now it’s her turn to wrap her mind around the bond and soothe, smiling at the way he stumbles through his question even though he’s been the cool and confident one.
Just, generally having someone there I gues—
—no, no c’mon. Something specific. You asked me about kissing.
You said something outside of that.
Still in that realm. Something I’d never know about you, unless we—
He pauses, and she can feel him struggling to express himself, feeling that little bit of frustration pull against the bond.
I just wanna know you, Olivia.
Her chest aches at that; it’s all he’d wanted their entire partnership, and since he’s been back. He’s so used to not asking, they both are, that now they struggle with it, the vulnerability of it. But sometimes when they're together she can see it in his eyes, the way he looks almost earnest, hanging on her words like he’s trying to drink them in.
She takes a breath.
Okay. Umm. I like it when—god, this is going to sound stupid.
Whatever it is, it’s not.
I like my back rubbed while I’m falling asleep. Which is silly. Not every night. But just, sometimes. If I can’t sleep, or I had a shitty day.
There’s a pause, and then a kind of cozy warmth that makes her shiver.
Liv, that isn’t silly at all.
It floods in then, the want that makes her restless and short of breath, and the bond goes taut between them, like he's reaching, reaching, reaching...
Hey. Right here.
I know. S'just...need to be touching you. This is torture.
I know. This weekend, right?
Yeah. I made it clear it’s non-negotiable. This is—I gotta…
He pulls, and it really does knock the breath out of her; it flares, hot and fast, for a few seconds. She gets a little dizzy with it, and she slides a hand up to cover her breast, rubbing to soothe the ache that's settled there.
I’ll be on the last flight Friday night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thursday Morning, 10am…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“—anyway, I can’t get a fried egg because Phoebe’s got me on this stupid new eating plan, and I gotta get these egg white cupcake things, from Starbucks, and you know I hate goin’ in there—Liv? Earth to Benson.”
Olivia startles, refocusing on her sergeant—her friend—and takes a sip of her iced coffee. “Sorry, Fin. Phoebe has you on a diet?”
Fin stares at her for a few seconds, analyzing, and she shifts under his watchful expression; she’s distracted, she’s been distracted for nearly a week, and it was only a matter of time before he noticed.
She could tell him, but she hasn’t had that discussion with Elliot yet, the are-we-talking-about-this discussion, so she tips her head in faux curiosity, pretending she wasn’t just staring off into space for the past few minutes.
“Somethin’s going on with you,” he says knowingly, peering at her over his sunglasses, “You don’t have to tell me, but—“
“It’s Elliot,” she blurts out, closing her eyes for a second.
And suddenly she's just going to tell him, because it's bursting out of her, and it's so much that she needs to talk about it.
Fin’s face changes, going serious. “What’d he do now?”
His reaction doesn’t surprise her; Fin’s always been protective of her, but in the wake of Elliot leaving, their relationship had blossomed into a fierce friendship she’d never expected.
“Nothing,” she says quickly, swallowing hard, “Nothing. He—listen, if I tell you something, it’s in confidence, right?”
Fin shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Obviously.”
Before she can change her mind, she barrels forward. “We just found out that we—we’re mates.”
His jaw drops in shock, and he stares for a second, then two; then, slowly, his face splits into a grin, and he starts to laugh.
And laugh.
“It’s not funny,” she breathes, eyes widening.
Fin nods, still laughing. “Oh, it’s hilarious.”
He whips off his sunglasses, and presses the side of his hand into his eyes, shoulders shaking with laughter; after a moment, she can’t help but chuckle along, because from the outside, it probably does seem ridiculous.
It is ridiculous.
She’s still giggling as she tells him. “We also have a telepathic bond.”
“What?!” he crows, planting both feet on the ground, leaning forward, “No shit.”
“No,” she laughs, shaking her head, “Swear on my badge.”
“You two,” he starts, gesturing with his palm down, “Have been so goddamn twisted, for so long—we should’ve all guessed it. You need to call Cragen right now. Today.”
“Fin, we haven’t told anybody. We found out last week.”
“No wonder you’ve been a space cadet,” he teases, flipping his sunglasses back on after wiping his eyes one final time, “I needed a good laugh, thanks for that.”
She rolls her eyes, and their laughter trails off into companionable silence; she can feel him staring at her, deciding what to say next.
“So…”
Olivia sighs, nodding slowly. “Yeah.”
“That’s…pretty heavy,” he muses, in that calm, measured way he has, “You, and him, and the partners thing, and the multiple decades thing.”
“Yep,” she agrees, sipping her coffee.
“How’re you handling it?”
He’s serious now, genuine, and he’s probably the one person she trusts enough, aside from Elliot, to process this out loud with.
“It’s…a lot,” she admits, dipping her finger into the puddle of condensation her coffee’s made on the table, “But, at the same time, it’s a relief. Because all those years, everything we felt…it was real, y’know?”
Fin hums in understanding, giving her the space to keeping talking, if she wants to.
“We’re just taking it one step at a time. He had a job lined up, so, he’s back and forth between here and Pennsylvania all summer. Then, I guess, when he settles back in—“
She breaks off to groan a little, rubbing her face.
“—I guess we’re gonna, date each other? I don’t even know, it’s very overwhelming.”
Finn is quiet for a few seconds, and then—
“Y’all are so annoying. Still.”
Her lips part in amusement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Date each other?” he enunciates, leaning forward as he imitates her, “Liv, everybody knows how this ends except for the two of you. Just do it. Move in together. Get married. Whatever you’re gonna do, just do it. We’re not getting any younger.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy,” she sighs, shaking her head.
Fin raises his eyebrows. “Then make it that easy.”
Silence stretches for a few seconds, and then her phone rings: another case.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Friday Morning, 3am…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elliot wakes up to thick, black smoke clouding his vision.
Fire.
He’s on fire.
The whole room is on fire, and he’s burning; it’s scorching his skin, making him sweat through the bedding. He’s suffocating as all the air is sucked from the room, and he gasps, pulling at the blankets; maybe the blankets are on fire, something’s on fire because he can’t fucking see, it’s all black, endless black swirling smoke.
And then he shoots up in bed, panting.
Blinking wildly, he looks around; ugly hotel carpet, blinking alarm clock, dusty curtains.
No fire.
Nothing’s on fire, except him.
He shoves the damp bedding away; he’s only wearing boxer briefs but they’re soaked, his chest is clammy, his hands are clammy, there’s sweat beading his forehead, and what the actual fuck is going on—
A wave of pure, raw panic slams into him, and his heart is racing, pounding out of his chest.
A panic attack.
It’s a panic attack.
He tries to breathe, gives his head a shake to clear it—but, it’s different. Something’s different, something’s wrong.
All at once, he knows; he realizes he’s not panicking, she’s panicking.
Another wave of it hits him, so powerful it takes his air away and he has to take big, gulping breaths, bracing himself on the bed.
Olivia’s panicking, he can feel it now, the way it’s blowing down the bond like a hurricane. She’s panicking in the middle of the night, and the thought makes him roil with nausea, because she could be on a case, and something could be very, very wrong—
Liv. Liv, talk to me. Olivia?
He waits, but her reply doesn’t come; the panic does though, relentless in the way it slams into him, chasing him around the room as he gets up and starts to pace. He almost starts to panic too, the first hints of hyperventilation creeping in, as he rubs his forehead, restless, asking for her over and over; and then he realizes he might be able to push back, that he should try to help her calm down.
Crossing back over to the bed, he forces himself to sit down, focusing through deep breaths; he’s never tried to send a feeling before, not like this, not pushing up against something so strong on her end. It’s still hitting him in big waves, nearly making him gag, but he closes his eyes and takes a few mental steps onto that bridge, wrapping his hands, his arms around their connection. Then, he brings up every calm thought and memory he can, letting the images, and sounds, and smells fill him up, spinning them into his own cyclone; babies sleeping on his chest, middle of the night stakeouts with her beside him, sunrises in Italy, and long evening runs through Central Park. Slowly, inch by inch, he’s able to push the panic away; he’s not getting through to her, he doesn’t think, but he’s pushed it far enough away from himself that he’s able to think more clearly.
A nightmare.
It dawns on him all at once, the time of night, and the chaotic swirl of it. Olivia doesn’t panic on the job, not like this; she’s having a nightmare. His relief is palpable, and it floods the bond without much effort, pushing and pushing at the awful mess until his path is nearly clear.
Wake her. All he can think then, is that he has to wake her, because she’s panicking, and hurting, and the thought of it makes him insane. He snatches his phone off the nightstand and starts to call her, over and over when she doesn’t answer; it’s making him feel sick, knowing this is something that happens to her, that’s she’s going to wake up gasping and afraid.
He’s never tried to yell down the bond before, but he tries to push his voice higher, louder.
Liv. C’mon, Liv.
It’s not working, he’s not yelling, and she’s still sending him rush after rush of pain and fear; she’s not answering her phone, caught in the throes of whatever this is, and if it doesn’t stop soon he thinks he might actually vomit, or do something crazy like get in his car and start driving back to the city.
Screw the flight he’s supposed to board in seventeen hours, he needs to get to her now.
Squeezing his eyes closed, he rages, lets it pour out of him.
OLIVIA. LIV.
It works.
When it stops, it’s a candle being snuffed out; everything stills, and fades away in wisps, curling slowly. He realizes he’s panting, shaky hands braced against his knees, and his body is buzzing with the remnants of her dream, of whatever’s been tormenting her for the past ten minutes. Then, it’s cold, and that devastates him, because he knows that chilly breeze is her loneliness; she’s awake now, trying to catch her breath, and she’s alone in the dark. He cradles the bond and pulls with a gentle, steady pressure, trying to comfort her in the only way he can.
Liv, I’m awake. I’m here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Thank you for reading!