Forever Hold Your Peace

Hopeful

The plane ride home was from D.C. was painful. Olivia didn't say a word to me.

When they got her to the hospital she let them stitch the wound in her leg but she wouldn't stay for observation, she made me take her back to the hotel so we could pack and leave almost immediately.

I thought if I just got her home she would start to feel safer but it didn't seem to make a difference. She's been so closed off and quiet. If I didn't know an better I'd think she was mad at me. But she just... Isn't talking. She jumps out of her skin every time I touch her without warning and she cries herself to sleep every night. And every night she wakes up screaming.

We've been back home in New York for almost two months and things aren't getting better. She's thrown herself into work, but for the first time since we've  been back we don't have any cases. We've been home for a day and I can feel her willing the phone to ring.

I'm worried about her but I'm also worried about the baby. She hasn't been sleeping well and I can't get her to eat. She missed the appointment we had set up last week for our first ultrasound. She seems so detached from her pregnancy. Like if she tries hard enough, she can ignore it, and will it away.

I watch her as she starts to take her makeup off. She glances back at me but she doesn't say anything.

"Liv. come on. Talk to me..." I say taking a step towards her. She looks up at me and for a second I think she's going to cry. The flash of sadness I saw in her eyes is gone and it's replaced with a stony look I can't quite read.

"What's there to talk about, Elliot?" She asks flatly.

"Liv, it's been months. Of you not talking to me, of you crying yourself to sleep." I say.

She looks embarrassed, almost like she thought I didn't know.

"I think it's time for you to talk to someone." I say gently.

"I don't need to talk to anyone, Elliot." She says, "I'm fine."

"Yes. I know." I say, "Olivia, you're always fine."

She crosses her arms and stares at me.

"I'm your husband." I say, "I know that you're not okay. You don't have to lie to me, Olivia. It's not doing anyone any good. You don't have to talk to me but we can't keep doing this."

I go to hold her hand and she flinches.

She pulls back and I sigh.

"Olivia, you have PTSD." I say, again reaching for her hand. "And it's painful, it's like your back there again, like it's happening all over again. You need some help."

"I don't need to see anyone, I just need time." She says.

She doesn't pull her hand away but she won't look at me either.

"Look, Olivia, I'm not the only one who's noticed. And I'm not asking." I say, "George gave me the number for a great therapist, someone he trusts, and I made an appointment for you."

She looks up at me and I see the rage starting to bubble up. She pulls away from me and I take a deep breath, waiting for whatever's coming.

"I'm not a child, you're not my parent, Elliot." She says angrily, "You don't get to make decisions like that for me. I'm fully capable of asking for help when I need it, and I'm telling you what I need is time."

"I'm not trying to be your parent, Olivia." I say, frustrated, "Cragen gave me a choice, get you into therapy or he was going to put you on leave. We can all see that you're not yourself. I was trying to buy you some time."