The Road Less Traveled - [Bensler EO] ✓

ACT II

They had been on the road for hours now, finally working their way out of the city and into the darkness. Elliot had nearly had a stroke when she'd mentioned that they were going all the way towards the southern border of New Jersey, and not just slightly out of town as she had previously insinuated. Now he understood why they'd left quite a while before and not just the day of.

Soon enough, his headlights were some of the only illumination on the roads. The city was fading in their rearview mirror. Buildings turned into trees and silence had replaced honking horns and roaring engines.

He heard the distinct sound of a flicking lighter. Twisting his neck to look at her, he saw her with a cigarette hanging between her lips as she lit the end of it. An incredulous look stole his expression.

"What?" she asked, finally taking the first inhale. She blew it out the side of her lips in the cracked window, keeping eye contact with him. "It's not like I'm pregnant or anything."

"Olivia! That's not funny," he scolded, forcing his eyes back on the road.

A moment of silence fell on them before the sound of the lighter replaced the small sounds of her giggles. "It's a little funny."

"No, it's not," he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel with agitation. "I agreed to help you, but I didn't agree to the jokes about... this."

The side eye he gave her was a little unnerving, but she wasn't too perturbed by it.

Her head fell back against the seat and she rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw her brain. "It's how I cope, Elliot. Am I, a woman in deep peril, not allowed to have my humor? I'm barely allowed to have an abortion, the least I could be granted is some laughter."

He squirmed in his seat. Apparently he was only ready to laugh about things that didn't pertain to the exact reason they were in the car. "Aren't you the least bit uncomfortable with this situation, Liv?"

"Of course I am!" she replied, taking another drag from the cigarette. "You know, you men like to make this out to be something fun for us. As if we just hop on over to the clinic and then get mimosas after like nothing ever happened. Typical testosterone. It's not like changing a tampon, Elliot. I'm not having fun."

"Well, you're cracking jokes like you're on your way to Six Flags!" he argued back. "You don't seem all that upset."

"You want me to cry?" she deadpanned. "Here, hand me your rosary, I'll say my prayers and beg for absolution if it'll calm you down. It's my immortal soul we have to worry about."

That finally broke the smallest of smiles on his face. "I don't have a rosary, Olivia," he tried to say without laughing.

"You got any of them swanky candles with the saints on them? You know, the real tall ones that they sell in Spanish Harlem?" she asked, sliding back in her seat and resting her feet on the dashboard.

"No," he chuckled again. "I don't have any of those on me at the moment. My apologies for not packing those and my entire seminary for the trip."

"Damnit!" she sank back down once more, not realizing she had risen in the first place. "Well, then I guess I'm doomed, huh? At least some of those pretty sick serial killers from Dateline will be in Hell to keep me company."

He paused for a moment, all humor dropping out of him. "Do... do you really think you're going to Hell?"

"No," she answered back, not bothering to look back at him as she continued puffing the cigarette. "But you do."