Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The shrill buzz of his phone tore through the dark, yanking Elliot from a half-dream. He squinted against the glow of the screen. Kathleen’s name.

His stomach clenched. The kids rarely called outside their scheduled times since moving to Europe. They liked predictability—he did too. At this hour, something had to be wrong.

“Hey, Kathleen,” he rasped, his voice thick with sleep. “What’s going on? You okay?”

His mind already started running laps. He worried about Kathleen most. She’d been stable when they left, but stability always felt fragile. He’d grown up watching his mother swing on the pendulum of bipolar disorder, and he knew how quickly things could unravel.

“I’m fine,” she said. The pause that followed was long enough to make his heart pound harder. “It’s not about me. It’s about Olivia.”

The name landed like a blow. Olivia.

His chest tightened in response. The one person he trusted without hesitation. The one he left without a word.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to will her out of his thoughts. How many years had he spent trying to forget her face? Too many. And it didn’t matter. Even with an ocean between them, those dark eyes haunted him. The pull never eased, and the simple mention of her name ripped his heart straight from his chest.

Elliot swung his legs out of bed, robe hanging off one shoulder. He glanced back at Kathy, still asleep, her breathing slow and steady. Since moving overseas, their marriage had found smoother waters, but he knew—God, he knew—that even hearing Olivia’s name could drag them right back into the storm.

“You there?” Kathleen pressed.

“Yeah,” he said, lowering his voice. He pulled the door shut behind him and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Cold tile stung his feet. The house was hushed, the kind of silence that pressed against the eardrums. Oppressive. Like the weight sitting on his chest.

The kitchen felt unfamiliar in the half-light, shadows stretching long across the floor. The hum of the refrigerator was loud, too loud, and the glass-fronted cabinets reflected his image back at him, distorted and ghostly. For a moment he thought he saw her there—in the reflection, in the corner of his eye—Olivia standing behind him the way she used to after late-night cases. He blinked hard, but the phantom lingered. His worst nightmare had come to life, and his mind refused to separate memory from reality.

“What’s going on with Olivia?” The name cracked on his tongue. It had been years since he’d let it pass his lips—at least consciously. God only knew how many times he’d woken in the night with her name on his breath.

Kathleen hesitated. “The others told me to leave it alone. Said you and Mom are doing great and that telling you would only make things harder. But, Dad… you should know.”

He gripped the counter, knuckles white. Of all his kids, Kathleen was the one he felt closest to—the one who could see through him. Sometimes he wondered if she knew. Knew how much he still thought about Olivia. How much he still…

He cut the thought short.

“Katie,” his voice sharpened, “what happened?”

“I don’t even know where to start. Maybe we should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t see the point. You couldn’t have done anything. You would’ve dropped everything and come home.” She was rambling, her voice pitched high, like she was holding something heavy in her chest.

“Kate—” his voice broke, rough with something close to pleading. “Tell me.”

The silence stretched so long he could hear the refrigerator hum. Then, finally:

“About six months ago… Olivia was taken.” Kathleen’s voice dropped to a whisper, like she could barely say it. “By a rapist who slipped prosecution because of some sort of technicality.”

The words slammed into him. The oppressive weight pressed harder into his chest until he couldn’t get air into his lungs.

“You there?” Kathleen asked nervously.

He swallowed, but the tightness in his throat didn’t ease. “Yeah,” he rasped.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I hate this. I wish it wasn’t me telling you, but it was bad. She… she was with him for four days.” Kathleen exhaled shakily. “He tortured her. While he held her captive, he raped another woman. Killed two people.”

Elliot’s pulse roared in his ears. His stomach clenched. He gripped the counter so hard the laminate bit into his palm. Rage climbed his spine, white-hot, suffocating. The walls felt like they were closing in, and he was powerless.

“Dad.” Kathleen’s voice was urgent, trembling. “Please. Calm down. She’s alive. She’s okay. But the trial started yesterday. It’s not going well. He’s representing himself, and… I don’t know. Part of me thinks she needs you.”

Elliot shut his eyes, trying to breathe through the thunder in his chest. He hadn’t spoken to Olivia since the day he walked away from the job. Would she even want him there? Or would he only make things worse? The last thing she needed was a ghost from her past.

“I don’t know, Kathleen. I didn’t leave in a good way. She probably doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

Her silence was heavier this time. Finally, she said softly, “Dad, she was your partner for thirteen years. She was your best friend. She was family. If I were her, I’d want my best friend there—even if we weren’t speaking.”

The words cut straight through him. Mostly because she was right.

“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” he said at last. “And Kathleen?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m coming. Not Mom. Not the others. I don’t know how this will go, and I don’t… you know.” She knew what he meant. If Kathy found out he dropped everything to return to New York for Olivia… there would be hell.

“I won’t,” she promised.

“Thank you. I’ll call once I’ve got things lined up. I’ll probably need a ride from the airport.”

“Okay, Dad… just call me when you get here.” She paused. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Katie.”

The line went dead. Elliot stood in the kitchen, phone heavy in his hand. He didn’t know what to tell Kathy. He didn’t know what he would say to Olivia. He only knew one thing: he couldn’t stay here while she was fighting this battle alone. He’d already missed too much. Maybe—just maybe—she could forgive the silence.

By morning, he had managed to find a last-minute cancellation on a flight. He packed haphazardly, shirts and slacks shoved into a carry-on, and let Kathy drive him to the airport. She accepted his flimsy excuse about “work meetings in the city” without pressing. Guilt twisted deep in his gut. He hated lying to her, but he’d long ago accepted that much of their marriage was built on illusion.

The drive was quiet. Outside the car windows, dawn painted the horizon gray-blue. Kathy hummed along to the radio, and Elliot stared straight ahead, praying she wouldn’t notice how distant he’d become. She couldn’t know his mind and his heart had always been an ocean away.

At the terminal, he joined the tide of travelers moving beneath fluorescent lights. Everything smelled faintly of burnt coffee and recycled air. The announcements overhead blurred together, a constant drone. He found his gate and sat heavily in a plastic chair, the kind that made his back ache instantly.

He checked the time. Then he checked it again. The minutes dripped like honey—slow, sticky, messy, like the feelings brewing in his gut.

Families herded children into seats, backpacks spilling open with toys and snacks. A baby wailed somewhere behind him. Snippets of conversation floated past—complaints about delays, laughter too loud. Each sound grated against his nerves, amplifying the chaos already inside him.

He opened his laptop carefully, casting a glance around to make sure no one was watching. Then, with a hesitation that felt like dragging his hand across broken glass, he typed her name. Olivia Benson.

He braced himself, but the screen still made him sick. Article after article. National headlines.

How had he missed this?

One image stopped him cold: Olivia, leaving a beach house, flanked by fellow detectives. Her posture rigid, her head bowed. Even from the grainy distance, bruises shadowed her skin. Burns along her arm.

Nausea rose fast, a hand clamped over his mouth to stifle it.

A memory blindsided him: a perp’s fist landing square on her face. The first time he felt that guilt—that failure. She was his partner, and he hadn’t protected her. Her face had been swollen for weeks. That guilt had nearly drowned him then. Now, it was nothing compared to the tidal wave crashing through him with every paragraph he read.

His stomach churned violently. Fury bubbled until he wanted to punch through the terminal glass. No sentence, no prison, could ever be punishment enough.

He slammed the laptop shut and shoved it into his bag. The wait for the flight stretched out like a punishment of its own. He needed more than headlines. He needed the truth.

Scrolling through his phone, he paused on Fin’s number, then kept going. Too volatile. Instead, he tapped Captain Cragen.

The line clicked. “Cragen.”

“Hey, Don. It’s Elliot.”

A beat of silence. Then, dry humor: “Well, look who it is. The prodigal son. Haven’t heard from you in a while. How’s the family?”

Elliot rubbed his temple. “They’re fine. Listen—I just heard about Olivia. Kathleen told me. I had no idea.” His words came out raw, a mix of anger and shame.

Cragen didn’t coddle him. “That’s what happens when you disappear. You miss things.”

His mind flared with images: Sister Peg bleeding on the floor. Jenna’s face when the bullet pierced her body—a bullet from his gun, meant to save his best friend. A bullet that ruined him.

The guilt pressed hard. “I know. I wish—” He stopped himself, swallowed. “I need to know what really happened. The internet’s noise. I need the truth.”

A pause. “Elliot, it’s not my place. That’s something she should tell you.”

“I don’t know if she’ll even talk to me,” Elliot admitted, the words bitter in his mouth.

“You’re right about that,” Cragen shot back. “You screwed up big time. You didn’t even tell her you were leaving. You left me holding the bag.”

“I know,” Elliot said quickly, almost desperate. “It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

Cragen didn’t soften. “Yeah. It was.”

“Can you at least send me the case files?” Elliot asked. His voice dipped lower. “Please.”

“You know I can’t. Not mid-trial. Not to anyone outside the NYPD.”

“You can,” Elliot countered. “I’ve been working with an international task force. I’ve got clearance. Check it.”

Overhead, the boarding call echoed through the speakers.

Cragen sighed, long and heavy. “Fine. I’ll send them. But you’re not going to like what you see. And Elliot—punching walls won’t fix this.”

“I know,” Elliot said, though the urge to break something crawled under his skin.

“And listen to me,” Cragen added, his voice firm, almost paternal. “She went through hell. The worst kind. The only people who know the full truth are her and that monster. If you show up, don’t you dare add to her pain. Understood?”

The words hit harder than expected. His absence had already scarred her more than he’d ever guessed.

“Understood,” Elliot said quietly.

“I’ll get the files to you now.”

“Thanks, Don.”

“It was good to hear your voice again,” Cragen said, softer now.

“You too.” Elliot ended the call and sat back, the noise of the terminal pressing in on him.

The flight would board soon. In just a few hours, he’d be back in New York. Back where everything had unraveled. Back where she was.

Chapter Text

Elliot received the files right after boarding the plane. Luckily it wasn’t a full flight, and the seat beside him stayed empty. He thanked God for the space. The last thing he wanted was a stranger’s curious glance at photos that would be burned into his brain forever. Images this personal belonged to him now, and to him alone.

The cabin filled with the usual chaos of takeoff—seatbelts clicking, overhead bins slamming, a child whining three rows up. Elliot sat rigid, the unopened laptop a weight on his tray table. His fingers hovered over the case. He knew that once he powered it on, his life wouldn’t be the same. Maybe he didn’t want it to be.

When the pilot announced passengers could use electronics, he drew a steadying breath and flipped the laptop open. Eight hours in the air. Eight hours to catch up, to force himself to know everything before he landed.

The first files were scanned reports. Officer statements, procedural notes. Ordinary on the surface—yet every line twisted his gut. Each detail felt like a bruise forming inside him.

Then he found Olivia’s statement. His throat closed. Tears stung his eyes before he could stop them.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, swiping a hand over his face. He didn’t care what the passengers around him thought, but he shielded the screen anyway. She deserved that much privacy.

The words leapt at him like shrapnel. Knocked out. Burns. Booze. Pills.

His stomach lurched. He forced himself to keep reading, each line a knife edge. He thought he could handle it—until he reached the photographs.

Her apartment: torn apart. Keys left on the stove. Duct tape stuck to the floor. Strands of brown hair pulled out at the root. He clenched his jaw and clicked on.

Then her body. Bruises mottling her skin. Burns etched into flesh he knew as well as his own hands. His eyes tracked lower, scanning details he didn’t want to see—until something stopped him cold.

Clipped to her firearm, visible even in the grainy photo, was the mini badge he’d once mailed her. He’d sent it as a kind of vow, a way of saying I’m with you even if I can’t be there. His note had been simple, Semper fi. Always faithful.

The words mocked him now. Faithfulness had been an illusion. She had carried that token like a lifeline, a reminder of him, even as he abandoned her without a word.

Elliot’s chest seized. That tiny piece of him had stayed by her side through every hour of terror, while he himself had been oceans away. She had wanted him there, needed him there, and he had failed her in the worst way.

He bolted upright, heart pounding, and barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting.

When he returned to his seat, the plane had settled into the muffled hush of mid-flight. Overhead lights glowed dim. Most passengers slept or stared blankly at movies flickering on tiny screens. The ordinariness of it all made him want to scream.

Six hours in, his head throbbed. He wanted to press forward, to memorize every detail, but his vision blurred each time he tried. His eyes kept snagging on the dates stamped into the corners of the photos.

He ransacked his memory, desperate to remember where he’d been that week. Nothing surfaced. No urgent case. No mission-critical assignment. Nothing that mattered.

For all he knew, he’d been sipping cappuccinos on a Roman street while she was being dragged through hell.

The thought hollowed him out.

He dropped into his seat and stared at the laptop. He wanted to hurl it into the aisle, smash it until the truth vanished with the shards. But the truth was already carved into her body, into her mind. He couldn’t look away. He didn’t deserve to.

He forced himself to pick the computer back up. No one had saved her from her pain—why should he be spared his? A dark voice whispered the truth he already knew—all of this was his fault.

Guilt raked through him. Thirteen years he had sworn to protect her. And when she needed him most, he was gone.

He closed his eyes. He prayed she could forgive him, though he knew forgiveness was more than he deserved. His person, his partner, his best friend—if he was honest, the woman he loved—had been tortured, assaulted, nearly killed. And he had abandoned her without a word.

His gaze drifted to the oval window. Outside, the Atlantic stretched black and endless, the sky tinged purple where dawn was breaking. The water looked like an abyss waiting to swallow him whole. For a fleeting second, he wished it would.

He’d be in New York soon. He only hoped he’d have the courage to look her in the eye.

Kathleen’s words echoed, steadying him in the dark.

Dad, I’d want my best friend.

He only prayed Olivia felt the same.

—000—

By the time the plane landed, Elliot felt wrung out and hollow. His eyes burned—dry and aching not just from hours staring at the screen but from the weight of what he had seen. What he couldn’t unsee.

As the cabin taxied, he pulled out his phone and thumbed Kathleen’s contact.

Just landed. I’ll meet you at baggage claim.

Her reply came quick: a simple thumbs-up emoji. The captain’s voice followed, announcing the time—7:08 a.m. in New York.

The courthouse would already be stirring. The thought made his chest tighten. He wanted to flee the suffocating tin can of an airplane, to leave the laptop on the seat behind him, pretend the past eight hours had been nothing but a bad dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was a waking nightmare. And he wouldn’t breathe easy until he saw her with his own eyes. Until he knew, beyond words on a page, that she had survived.

Kathleen was waiting when he stepped into baggage claim. He only carried a small overnight bag. In his rush, he hadn’t thought to pack more, and he was grateful for the oversight. No carousel delays. No waiting. Every second already felt stolen.

She tried to convince him to rest, but he shook his head. The pounding in his chest, the twisting in his gut—they wouldn’t relent until he saw her.

They drove in silence, the cityscape pressing close around them. At the courthouse just after nine, Kathleen pulled to the curb. She promised to take his bag to her place, made him swear to call with any news. He agreed, quick and distracted. He loved her, but her voice felt like static against the roar of his thoughts.

He waved as she pulled away, then turned to face the looming building. People streamed up the stairs around him, shoulders bumping his without acknowledgment. He felt like a fish caught in a rushing school, faceless, anonymous.

The city had once been home. Now it made him ache. So much had changed, yet the rhythm of it all felt hauntingly familiar. He closed his eyes, drew a breath, squared his shoulders.

One step forward.

Elliot climbed the courthouse stairs, nostalgia twisting sharp in his chest. This place had been his life once. He admitted to himself—he missed it.

Following the swarm of reporters, he found the right courtroom. He slipped inside, pausing for one final breath.

Here we go, he thought, pressing his back to the wall.

—000—

She wanted to be anywhere but here. Literally anywhere.

Olivia clasped her hands in her lap. Calm. Collected. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—let him see her rattled. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

So she sat calm and collected. At least, that was how she forced herself to appear. Even as her thoughts spiraled into the darkest corners of memory.

She had testified hundreds of times. Hundreds. This should have been no different.

But it was.

This was no ordinary perp. If he walked free, he would take more. Terror. Lives. Whatever was left of her own peace of mind. The thought alone made bile creep into her throat.

The hum of the fluorescent lights above buzzed in her ears, too loud. Someone coughed in the gallery. A chair leg scraped the floor. Every small sound jarred her nerves, pulling her in and out of the present. She blinked hard and forced herself to focus on Barba’s face. Warm, brown, reassuring. Her case was in the best hands, but even he couldn’t guarantee a win. His questions were steady, anchoring, but each time Lewis objected, the rasp of his voice yanked her backward—back to the beach house, back to the certainty of dying there.

Her stomach roiled. Her pulse stuttered. The wood grain of the witness stand blurred under her palms.

“Liv.” Barba’s voice dropped so low only she could hear. A quiet tether. A nod.

She straightened. She could do this. She had to do this.

Barba angled his body toward her, a deliberate shield between her and the man at the defendant’s table. Still, the sound of Lewis’ chair scraping back was enough. The squeal echoed through her body like a hook dragging her under the tide.

“Benson,” Barba prompted gently, snapping her back. “Do you need a break?”

And extend this torture? Hell no.

“No. Continue.” Her voice steadied, though her knuckles blanched white. Stay here. Only a little longer. Stay here.

She forced her tone even as she described the four-day nightmare that still woke her gasping at night. The smell of salt air. The sound of waves crashing too far away for help to ever come. The weight of duct tape biting into her wrists.

She wished her squad could be here. She wished—God help her—he was here. His presence had always steadied her, made her feel safe. Seen. More than anything she wanted him there. But she knew that was impossible.

Her answers came crisp, as practiced. Until her gaze drifted, skimming the courtroom, and snagged—

Blue.

Ice blue eyes in the back row. Steady. Familiar.

Her chest seized. She blinked hard. Stress. Exhaustion. A hallucination. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be.

She forced her eyes back to Barba, reciting the moment she fought back, metal bar in her hands. Her voice stayed flat, but her thoughts screamed the words she would never say aloud: I beat him because my partner wasn’t there to do it for me.

Barba finished, offered a quiet thank-you, and sat. His dark eyes held hers in reassurance before she had to face the devil himself.

Olivia braced as Lewis rose. His smile was a blade, his gaze a hand on her throat. She kept herself still, every muscle rigid, even as nausea rolled through her.

And then—surprise. He declined to cross. Two defense witnesses shuffled forward instead, pawns in his larger game.

Relief, confusion, dread—they tangled, sharp as barbed wire.

She kept her eyes on the faded linoleum floor as she left the stand, anywhere but him. Her heels clicked too loud against the floor, every step echoing like a hammer in her skull.

And that’s when it happened again.

Across the blur of reporters and strangers, she saw them. The same eyes. Blue as memory. Fixed on her.

Her breath hitched. Her pulse skipped.

It wasn’t possible.

She closed her eyes. Opened them again. Still there. Still watching. Still burning into her like the memory of touch she hadn’t felt in years.

The judge called a recess. Benches scraped. Voices rose. The room stirred around her.

But Olivia sat frozen, her heartbeat a drum in her ears. Those eyes lingered in her vision, steady, familiar, impossible.

She forced herself to look again, to prove she was imagining things. The spot was empty. Just another stranger brushing past, camera slung over his shoulder.

Her pulse thudded in her throat. She curled her nails into her palm until it hurt, grounding herself in the sting.

She wasn’t seeing him. She was just chasing ghosts.

Chapter Text

Cragen’s hand brushed her arm. “Good work.”

“I just want it over,” Olivia muttered. Her voice sounded flat, even to her own ears.

Barba stepped in, steady as ever. “It’s a delay tactic. It won’t work. We’ve got the facts.”

She nodded absently. The words slid over her like water. Her bones felt heavy, marrow-deep exhaustion pulling at her.

Brian’s touch came next, grounding, warm on her arm. “Let’s go. I’ll cook tonight.”

She turned to answer, lips parting—then froze.

He was there.

At first, she thought her mind was betraying her again. Stress-induced hallucination. Another ghost conjured by frayed nerves. But then the blur sharpened into the man himself.

He leaned against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched the way she remembered from stakeouts at 3 a.m. Two years gone, and yet he looked the same. Too much the same.

Her breath stuttered. Butterflies tore through her stomach, a sensation so at odds with the courtroom behind her that she almost laughed. Relief and fury tangled sharp in her chest. She wanted to scream, to weep, to run, to stay.

Her feet carried her forward before she made a decision. His eyes never left hers.

“Elliot,” she whispered, the name breaking on her tongue like it hadn’t been spoken in years—because it hadn’t.

He stepped toward her, closing the distance, and then his arms were around her.

She should have pushed him away. Should have demanded answers. Should have slapped him across the face for vanishing without a word. Her mind screamed all those things, a chorus of anger and betrayal.

But another part of her—quieter, older, more primal—overrode it. He was here. For her.

And so she sank.

Her body betrayed her anger, leaning into the warmth, the safety she hadn’t felt in so long. Tears slipped down her cheeks before she even realized, and when his thumb brushed them away, the tenderness cut deeper than the pain ever had.

He held her tighter, as though he could make up for two years in one embrace.

“Shit,” Rollins breathed, her voice carrying from down the hall. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy answered, unsettled, his throat tight.

“Elliot Stabler.” Fin gave a low whistle. “Didn’t think we’d see him again.”

Cragen didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the pair. “Careful, Elliot,” he muttered under his breath.

—

Liv felt like she was floating, weightless, her senses blurred. His arms around her, his breath warm against her hair. He was here. Real. Flesh and blood.

“Liv,” he whispered into her hair, his voice rough, catching. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know if he meant for leaving or for not saving her. Probably both.

He pulled back just enough to search her face. “Can we… go somewhere? I need—I want—” Words failed him, choked at the root.

She didn’t need a reason. “Yeah. Let me tell Brian and the squad.”

His brow ticked at the mention of Brian Cassidy, but he said nothing.

Olivia turned back to her team. Their eyes were heavy on her, watching every move. “Elliot wants to catch up,” she managed. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was enough.

Brian’s gaze locked with hers, raw discomfort flickering across his face. “I’ll be home soon, okay?” she added, kissing his cheek softly, gratitude threaded into the gesture. He nodded, restrained but not happy, and she could feel the tension radiating off him.

And then she was moving again, back toward the ghost made flesh, the man she hadn’t been able to stop missing.

—

The squad watched her go, the silence so thick it buzzed in the air.

Finally, Fin broke it. “Anyone hungry?”

“I could eat,” Amanda said quickly. Amaro and Cragen nodded.

“Cassidy?” Amanda prompted.

“Rain check,” he muttered. “I’ll just… head home.”

“And wait for Liv?” Fin teased. “You’ll go crazy.”

“Come on,” Amanda pressed. “Food’s better than sitting in a quiet apartment.”

Brian hesitated, then gave in, falling into step with the others. His discomfort was plain in every motion. A bitter thought clung to him like smoke: Had he ever really been enough for her? Or had he just been the placeholder she allowed herself while waiting for a ghost to come home?

-000-

They walked the two blocks in silence. Not the easy silence Elliot remembered from long nights on the job, but the heavy kind — full of everything unsaid. Every step echoed with memories and long-forgotten ghosts. He hated how something that had once been effortless now felt fraught. Things between them had never been simple, but the camaraderie — that feeling of being with someone your soul knew — had always been easy.

Nothing felt easy anymore.

He couldn’t stop replaying it. The way she’d said his name, low and rough, like it scraped her throat to give it air. The way her body had fit against his for a heartbeat before she pulled back. Relief coursed through him so sharp it nearly doubled him over—relief that she was here, alive, close enough to touch. And underneath it all, guilt coiled like barbed wire. He didn’t deserve the mercy of that moment, not after the wreckage he’d left her with.

He tried not to stare at her walking beside him, their footsteps naturally falling in sync. She hadn’t changed much. Her hair was different, but she had always been restless with it, shifting styles on a whim.

She didn’t look broken. Olivia Benson didn’t break. But there was an edge to her now, a quiet weight that hadn’t been there before. As if the world had shifted beneath her feet and she hadn’t stopped moving long enough to find her balance again.

And he hated knowing that his actions had been the first tremor in a series that spiraled beyond his control.

They passed a shuttered bodega, its metal grate rattling as a late-night gust of wind pushed through. A siren wailed in the distance, fading into the thrum of traffic. The air carried the sour tang of wet asphalt, mixing with the faint sweetness of roasted nuts from a street vendor packing up for the night. The city was alive in the way only New York could be, but all Elliot could feel was the drag of time between them.

Her head turned and he dropped his gaze to the sidewalk. The city looked gray, a sharp contrast to the cobbled streets of Rome. The blare of horns, the splash of tires through puddles, the rush of people — once the soundtrack of his life — now felt strangely foreign, half-forgotten.

The bell over the café door jingled as they stepped inside, the bitter edge of coffee chasing away the chill from the street. But he still carried the ghost of her weight in his arms, the faint scent of her shampoo clinging closer than the city air. Afraid if he breathed too deep, it might vanish. Afraid she might too.

For a heartbeat it almost felt normal. Then she shrugged off her coat, and he caught the shadows in her eyes — shadows he didn’t recognize. Demons he hadn’t been there to stop.

“What?” Her tone was questioning, wary. God, that smile. He’d missed it.

Elliot shrugged, his throat tight. “I really missed you, Liv.”

Her face faltered for only a second before she covered it with a familiar mask. Anyone else would’ve missed it. Not him. He used to know every glance, every flicker. That tiny fracture made his heart sink. He had hurt her, shattered a trust built over more than a decade. Now he wondered if he’d ever have the chance to gain it back.

They chose a quiet table in the corner. The shop was warm, dimly lit by hanging bulbs that hummed faintly overhead. A couple of college kids hunched over laptops near the window; a man at the counter laughed too loudly at something on his phone. The hiss and churn of the espresso machine punctuated their silence, grounding them in a world that moved on easily while they sat stuck in the past.

Her fingers worried at a straw wrapper, eyes fixed on the faux wood of the table. Elliot tried to read her, but the silence stretched until he couldn’t bear it.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

Her expression tensed. “We don’t…” Her eyes lifted to his. “Let’s not do this now.” She forced a smile. “I just…” She cleared her throat. “I guess I just want to know what you’ve been up to, you know…” a pause, “since you, uh—” another hesitation “—since you left.”

Elliot rubbed the back of his neck, heat crawling up his collar. What was he supposed to say? While she was forced through hell, he had been sipping espresso on a balcony in Rome. The thought made his stomach turn. He had ruined everything, and nothing he said could fix it.

The waitress arrived with their coffees, setting the cups down. Steam curled upward, fogging briefly in the glow of the overhead light. He wrapped his fingers around the heated porcelain, letting the burn anchor him, as if he could hold onto something solid.

“We’re living in Rome now.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “Rome? How’d that happen?”

He sketched out the story — the task force, the move, Eli growing fast, Dickie’s new job, the girls finding their way. He skimmed over Kathy, kept it light, but even to his own ears it sounded like his life had expanded, blossomed, while hers had splintered. His fingers tightened on the mug. His abandonment had been meant to make her life easier, and all it had done was break it to pieces.

She listened quietly, nodding at the right moments, sipping her coffee. The mug looked heavy in her hands, and he caught the subtle tremor in her grip. She blinked slowly, lashes lowering like she was hiding more than just exhaustion. When he finished, he forced himself to ask: “How are you? How are things?”

They both knew what he really meant. Are you okay? Are you surviving this?

She swallowed, eyes dropping to the dark liquid in her cup. “Things, uh… it’s okay. I’m okay.” Her smile was tense, practiced.

He wanted to call her out. Her answer was bullshit, and they both knew it. Once, he might have been able to push, but not now. He’d forfeited that right the first time he let one of her calls go unanswered.

“So. Cassidy?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Liv shifted, the shadows beneath her eyes deepening. “Yeah… we reconnected after a case.”

Elliot nodded, chest burning. He wanted to ask more, but he had no right to interrogate her choices.

She lifted her mug, took a sip.

His eyes drifted to the window. A light drizzle had begun to streak the glass. Raindrops caught the glow of the streetlamps outside, scattering the light into fragments — broken pieces sliding down the pane. He couldn’t help but see himself in it.

“Is it serious?” he asked, aiming for casual — but even he could hear the strain in his voice.

She let out a breathy laugh, strained and thin. “I don’t know. Kind of? We’re living together, so… it’s something.”

The conversation tilted, sharp with edges. Elliot forced himself to nod again, to look supportive, though his stomach knotted with jealousy. Years apart hadn’t dulled that instinct. He had no right, no claim, but the bite of jealousy still clawed through him.

He managed a strained smile. “I’m glad you have someone.”

They both knew he was lying.

Silence settled again, this one sharper. A spoon clattered against a saucer somewhere across the room. The scrape of chair legs, the rise and fall of voices, the squeak of shoes on tile — everything seemed amplified, too loud in the space between them.

Finally, Elliot asked softly, “Are you going to be okay tomorrow?” It sounded patronizing even to his own ears. Of course she wouldn’t be okay. Nothing had been okay since the moment that monster ambushed her in her apartment.

Liv sighed, gaze dropping again. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” She forced another smile, a shrug. “I’ve lived through worse with him. I’ll be fine.”

Elliot felt his insides screaming.

“It’s just…” Her voice trailed, hesitation etched in the way her teeth worried her lower lip.

His head snapped up. “Just what?” His voice gentled, sincere.

“I don’t know.” She swallowed the words, shook her head. “Never mind.”

It knocked the breath out of him. Once, they could tell each other anything. Now she kept it locked away, and he had no right to pry. He had broken them, and he would have to live with the consequences.

He glanced at his watch, though time was the last thing on his mind. “I should get you home. You need some sleep before tomorrow.” He didn’t want to let her go, but tomorrow would be hell. The last thing he wanted was to make it worse.

She shook her head, muttering something about never sleeping anymore.

The words cut him, but she was already rising. He swallowed the comfort he wanted to offer and followed her to the glass doors.

Outside, the night air was cold, smelling faintly of rain and exhaust. Elliot raised his arm to hail a cab. Headlights swept across her face, catching the shine in her eyes.

They stood close, neither ready to step back. Olivia opened the cab door, his hand hovering at her lower back, aching to touch her but knowing he couldn’t.

She turned before sliding into the back seat, her voice barely steady. “I’m glad you’re here, El. It means a lot.”

His chest ached. “I wish I was here sooner.”

And he knew she wished the same.

She nodded, a small, wordless agreement, then slipped inside, the door closing between them. The taxi pulled away, taillights vanishing into the crush of traffic. Elliot shoved his hands into his pockets, every word of their conversation swirling through him.

The city pressed in, damp and suffocating. One thing was certain — tomorrow would break them both open in ways he still couldn’t imagine.

Chapter Text

The clatter of silverware hadn’t faded before Amanda broke the silence.

“So… Stabler?” Her tone was light, but her eyes were sharp.

Amaro groaned and shot her a glare across the table.

“What?” Amanda demanded, shrugging like the obvious needed saying. “Come on, we’re all thinking it.”

Amaro leaned back in his chair, jaw tight. “Anyone know where he’s been?”

“Europe,” Cragen muttered, still scanning the dessert menu like it might save him from the conversation. He looked up a beat later to find every eye fixed on him. “What? He called me a couple days ago. Wanted to know how Liv was holding up.”

Cassidy shifted in his chair, muttering something under his breath.

Fin’s gaze flicked his way before landing back on Cragen. “Didn’t think he was talking to anyone in the squad. Figured if he did, it’d be Liv.”

Cragen’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ve spoken to him a few times since he left.”

The table went still. Even Amanda didn’t jump on that right away. It was Amaro who finally asked, “So what’s he doing?”

“NYPD terrorism task force in Rome,” Cragen answered.

Amanda’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s not exactly a desk job.”

“How’d he even land that after the way he walked out?” Amaro pressed.

Cassidy made another low noise, just loud enough to grate.

Amanda slammed her fork down. “God, Cassidy, spit it out. The brooding’s getting old.”

Brian’s eyes flashed as he finally spoke, voice edged. “Fine. Isn’t anyone worried what his sudden reappearance is going to do to Liv? She’s already carrying this trial on her back, and now him? He’ll jerk her around, same as before, and we’ll be the ones left to pick up the pieces.”

Amanda stabbed her salad, unbothered. “Maybe it’ll help. Maybe she needs it. Closure or something.”

“Closure?” Cassidy’s laugh was humorless, bitter. He jabbed his fork into his plate hard enough to rattle the china. “Doubt it.”

“Cassidy.” Fin leaned back in his chair, his voice steady but edged with amusement, like he was already tired of the drama. “Liv isn’t as fragile as you think. Give her some credit.” His eyes flicked across the table, reminding them all he knew her better than most. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Brian shook his head, stabbing at another vegetable like it was guilty of something. “I don’t worry about her. I worry about him.”

Amanda smirked. “Jealous much?”

“You don’t know him.” Cassidy’s voice sharpened. “And last I checked, he’s still married.”

Amanda waved a hand. “What does that matter? They were partners. It’s not like they were sleeping together.”

“Not that we know of,” Cassidy shot back.

The tension knotted, stretching tight until Cragen snapped. “Enough. Let them work it out. The rest of us can stay the hell out of it.”

The table fell quiet. Silverware scraped against plates, too loud in the silence.

Amanda, never one to sit on her tongue, muttered, “I mean, I’d get it if she did sleep with him.”

Fin groaned, shaking his head. “For the love of God, Amanda.” His tone carried the edge of a warning, but there was a flicker of dry amusement in it too. He’d seen this dance for years, knew better than anyone that the attraction had always been there. “Drop it before you dig yourself deeper.”

Amanda only smirked, stabbing at her salad like she’d won anyway. “Just saying.”

-000-

Brian shoved his key into the deadbolt harder than he meant to. Dinner had been a disaster. He knew better than to go—should’ve stayed home with a beer and his own silence instead of letting the squad chew on Elliot while he sat there absorbing every word. All it had done was sour his stomach and sharpen the edge of his anger.

He twisted the lock tight, listening for the click. Habit. He always made sure, though he knew Liv would still check it twice before bed.

A couple lights glowed in the kitchen, throwing soft pools of yellow across the apartment. For a moment, he thought she’d beaten him home. Relief stirred in his chest—until he found her on the couch.

Still in her court clothes. Shoes kicked off haphazardly. Her cheek pressed to the cushion, her hair a tangled curtain. And faint, silvery tracks of tears cut down her skin.

His jaw tightened. Anger flared, hot and helpless. So much for his presence being a good thing, he muttered under his breath.

He crouched beside her, brushing the back of his hand over her cheek. Her skin was warm, slack with exhaustion. “Liv, babe,” he whispered, gentle despite the bitterness simmering inside him. “Let’s get you in bed.”

She stirred but didn’t open her eyes. Her voice was rough with sleep. “I want to stay here. Too tired.”

He hesitated, torn between pressing and letting her be. In the end, exhaustion won. She needed rest more than she needed him to play caretaker. “Alright,” he murmured.

He padded to the linen closet, pulled out a spare comforter, and shook it loose. The fabric whispered as he draped it over her shoulders, tucking it close against her chin. He brushed her hair back, let his fingers linger just a second too long, then bent to press a kiss to her forehead.

“’Night, Liv.”

She mumbled something unintelligible, already drifting deeper into sleep.

Brian straightened, staring down at her. She looked small like this, fragile in a way she never allowed herself to be awake. And all he could think was that another man’s shadow had reduced her to this.

He tried to shake it off, retreating to the bedroom to change and lie down. The apartment was quiet but not peaceful. Even in the silence, tension clung to the air, heavy as smoke. He tossed for what felt like hours, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the glow from the kitchen lights spilling faintly down the hall.

And then—

“El—Elliot!”

The scream ripped through the apartment, raw and broken. Brian bolted upright, his pulse spiking.

“No—please—don’t—” Her voice cracked, strangled with terror.

He was already moving, bare feet pounding down the hall, back to the living room where she thrashed against invisible restraints. Sweat slicked her skin, her face twisted in panic.

“Liv,” Brian urged, crouching beside her, shaking her shoulder with careful urgency. “Liv, hey. I’m here. It’s me.”

Her eyes snapped open, wide and wild before they focused on him. She flung herself into his arms, clutching him like she was drowning. He held her tight, rocking slightly, murmuring nonsense just to fill the space until the tremors in her body eased.

When she finally pulled back, pale and damp, her gaze flickered over his face—and something in it gutted him. Disappointment.

Like she’d expected someone else.

Like she’d expected him.

The bitterness stung, but beneath it, guilt twisted deeper. He hadn’t been there when she needed him either—not really. He hadn’t noticed her absence until it was too late. He should have known, should have seen the danger coming. He hadn’t. And where Elliot’s disappearance earned forgiveness, his failure sat between them like a stone, heavy and unmoving.

Brian swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. “Come on. Let’s get back to bed.”

She nodded faintly, still pale, still far away. He guided her beneath the quilt, slid in beside her, and wrapped his arms around her when she pressed into his chest.

But the bitterness stuck. He’d been the one here, through every nightmare, every therapy appointment, every sleepless night. He’d been steady, he’d stayed. And still, in her darkest moments, she called for Elliot.

And nothing he did could change that.

-000-

Olivia climbed the courthouse steps, each one heavier than the last. Her stomach rolled, sour and raw; she’d already been sick twice that morning, but the nausea clung, a constant reminder of what waited inside. The air felt too sharp in her lungs, metallic, edged with nerves.

She hated Lewis for this. Hated that even from a cell, he still reached her. That he had stolen her sense of self, carved out her security, left her hollowed and raw. That he had turned her into someone she barely recognized. Someone who doubted her own strength. Someone who woke up every day fighting not just him, but herself.

A hand pressed against her back. She didn’t have to look to know it was Brian.

“You okay?”

No. Nothing was okay. Not her body, not her mind, not the trial looming like a storm cloud. Nothing.

“Yeah,” she said, voice flat. “I just want this over.”

The words didn’t match the war in her chest, but they were the only ones she had.

She kept her eyes forward as the courthouse doors swung open, swallowing her whole.

-000-

Elliot made sure to get to the courthouse early, slipping into a seat where she couldn’t miss him. He wanted her to see him, to know he was here. He wasn’t running this time.

The room was nearly empty when he sat, the faint scent of varnish and old paper hanging heavy in the air. A pat on his shoulder drew him out of his thoughts.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Cragen slid into the seat beside him. They didn’t bother with small talk; there was nothing light to say. Silence stretched between them until Elliot finally asked, voice low, “She gonna be okay?” His throat thickened, eyes burning as guilt crawled up his chest like it always did.

“You know Liv.” Cragen’s expression was steady, unreadable. “She’s a survivor.”

Elliot nodded, but the words didn’t touch the hollow ache inside him. He’d been through hell at her side more times than he could count, but this was different. This was worse. He’d left her to fight the darkest hours alone, and no matter how many times he showed up now, he couldn’t erase that.

The click of a side door snapped his attention to the front. Fury surged like fire in his gut when Lewis entered. The bastard walked with a limp, scars pulling across his face — and for a flicker, Elliot felt grim satisfaction. Liv had left her mark. But the smirk that twisted Lewis’s mouth made his blood boil all over again. He wanted nothing more than to rip it off him.

The room filled quickly, the air tightening with the shuffle of bodies, the scrape of chairs, the rustle of papers. The jury filed in, twelve pairs of eyes that Elliot prayed were sharp enough to see Lewis for the predator he was.

Then Olivia walked in. She climbed the witness stand with her shoulders squared, her chin lifted, but he saw the tremor beneath the steel. His palms dampened instantly. They’d both testified hundreds of times, but this wasn’t another case. This was her life, her pain, dissected in front of strangers.

Lewis wasted no time. His voice oozed cruelty, his questions sharp enough to flay. Elliot’s stomach lurched. How could the judge let this continue, let him weaponize her own past, her private life, as a blade?

He glanced at the jury, searching their faces. They couldn’t possibly believe this garbage. They had to see it for what it was.

Liv’s voice was clear, steady, her story unwavering no matter how many times Lewis circled back. But Elliot saw it — the sheen in her eyes, the effort it took to hold her ground. His elbows braced against his knees, his whole body pitched forward, like leaning closer could somehow absorb part of the weight she carried.

Lewis pushed harder, his words sliding filth across the courtroom: fantasies, desire, claims twisted into accusations. Each sentence made bile rise in Elliot’s throat. His fists clenched until his knuckles ached, rage pounding through him like a drumbeat.

One move. One lunge. He could end it.

“Easy, Elliot.” Cragen’s voice was quiet steel at his side.

Elliot forced his hands open, fingers trembling as he dragged in a breath. He couldn’t. One outburst and everything she was fighting for could shatter. He wouldn’t be the reason.

It felt like purgatory, watching her suffer for sins that weren’t hers. She met every scream, every accusation with the same unshakable certainty. Grace under fire. It had always been that way — his fire, her calm. God, he’d missed that balance. Missed her.

At last, mercifully, the questioning ended.

Olivia was excused. She stood quickly, her composure cracking as she fled the room.

And Elliot was already on his feet, following before the gavel’s echo faded.

Chapter Text

““Liv, wait!” Elliot’s voice chased her down the corridor, ragged.

“Not now, Elliot.” She kept moving, her steps quick, tears spilling unchecked down her cheeks.

He caught her hand. “Please—talk to me.”

Her voice rose, slicing through the hum of the hallway. A couple of lawyers slowed their pace, pretending not to look. A clerk fixed her gaze on the bulletin board, though her ears strained toward the shouting.

Liv caught the looks, shame flaring hot alongside fury, but she couldn’t stop. “You weren’t here, Elliot! You left me, and he—” Her words fractured under their own weight.

Elliot’s stomach knotted at the eyes turning their way. This wasn’t for public consumption. Not her pain. Not their wreckage. He closed a hand around her arm. “Come with me.”

“Don’t—” She jerked back, but his grip tightened, guiding without hurting.

“Liv, please,” he muttered, pulling her around the corner.

An empty office waited, lights dim, blinds half-drawn. He nudged her inside, shut the door behind them, cutting off the hallway and its watching eyes.

Once alone, he caught her hand again. “Please—talk to me.”

“I can’t!” The word tore out of her, jagged. “You have no idea.” She shook, anger spilling over panic. “You have no idea what hell I went through, how it touches every part of my life. And now”—her hand cut the air—“he wants the world to think I asked for it!”

She paced, her boots striking the tile like gunfire.

Elliot stepped in, gripping her elbow. “No one believes that. Look at you. Look at him. The jury’s not stupid.”

She laughed, bitter, broken. “Juries are stupid. And he’s believable. People want to believe cops abuse their power. It’s easier than believing the truth.” Her eyes blazed at him. “You weren’t here. You don’t know.”

“I don’t know because you won’t talk to me!” His voice cracked, louder now. “I can’t know unless you let me in!”

Her gaze snapped to his, fury and tears colliding. “Let you in? Why the hell would I trust you with anything?” Her voice shook, sharp with betrayal. “You left, Elliot. No explanation. No call. One day you were my partner—my family—and the next you were gone. Like I didn’t exist.” Her chest heaved. “And now you want me to hand you the pieces I barely have left?”

The words speared through him.

“And if you had been here—” Her voice cracked, then rose again. “If you had been here, maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all!”

His gut twisted, anger and guilt colliding. “Don’t you think I know that?” His voice broke, hoarse. “Don’t you think I hate myself every second for not being here? If I’d been here, he wouldn’t have gotten within ten feet of you. I wouldn’t have left you alone for a day. You know that.” His chest heaved. “I screwed it up. I left. And I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life for that.”

Her eyes narrowed, venom sharp through her tears. “You’re right. If you hadn’t left, everything would be different.”

The words gutted him. He staggered back a step, breath torn out of his chest.

Her fury bled into fresh sobs. She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling. “You can’t know what it was like.”

“No,” he said, voice thick. “But I know what it’s like to imagine it. Every day. To picture what he did, and know I wasn’t there to stop it.” His hand twitched like it wanted to reach for her, then dropped. “I should’ve been. I wasn’t. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Her lip quivered. She tried to hold steady, but the fight went out of her in a sob. “You were the only family I had, El. Then you were gone. I had nothing. No one.”

That shattered the last of his restraint. He hauled her against him, clinging like he could weld her back together with the strength of his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped into her hair. “I didn’t want to go. I didn’t have a choice. God, Liv, I didn’t want to leave.”

Her tears soaked his shirt. Silence stretched until she whispered, hollow: “But you did.”

Her voice broke again. “One day you were here, and the next it was like you never existed. I had to pack up your desk. Do you have any idea how hard that was?”

He swallowed, throat raw. “You think I wanted to walk away from my life?” His voice cracked, almost breaking. “From you?”

Her next words came smaller, broken. “You were the only family I had. Then you were gone. I had nothing.” She motioned toward the courtroom like it was a wound that wouldn’t close. “Then this happened. I thought I was going to die, and the only person I wanted to see again was you. Even after you left me. Even after it hurt. I still wanted you. And the worst part?” She gulped. “I wasn’t as important to you as you were to me.”

It hit him like a blade to the ribs. He moved without thought, pulling her tighter into his chest. She shook against him, the sound of it tearing him open.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair, broken. “I wish I could take it all back. I wish—” Words failed. He held her impossibly tighter. “What you said—that you weren’t important to me—it’s not true.”

Her eyes lifted, wet and searching. “What?”

“You,” he said, voice rough. “You were too important. More than you should’ve been. That was the problem. I thought I had to choose—wreck my family or walk away. I chose wrong. Running was wrong. I was wrong.”

Her gaze begged for something he couldn’t name, and he felt the plea move through both of them—ten years of almost, a decade of held breath. He couldn’t hold it back anymore.

He kissed her.

It was careful at first, almost tentative—a question pressed against her mouth. But she answered like drowning answers air, a sob catching in her throat as her lips crushed back into his. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, yanking him closer like she could stitch him back into her life with sheer force.

The kiss deepened fast, heat rising sharp and urgent, steeped in grief and relief. Every unsent message, every patrol car confession they’d never dared to voice, every brush of hands over takeout containers or late-night coffees poured through the seam of their mouths.

He should stop. He knew it. Knew it the way he knew his own badge number. The way he knew hers. But when she opened to him—when her tongue slid against his, when she made that sound low in her throat—sense blew out like a candle in wind. A groan rumbled from him before he could catch it. He lifted her easily, her body molding to his as her back hit the wall with a soft thud.

She hooked a knee around his hip instinctively, and he steadied her, greedy for the weight of her. His hands mapped her shape with the ease of memory: down the strong line of her back, around the familiar curve of her waist, until his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt and met bare heat. The soft plane of her stomach burned under his palms, alive, real, fragile. It was a dangerous game, but he wanted the scorch of it. To be consumed by her, to let the sin purify like fire—because in her arms, even damnation felt like grace.

His palms slid lower, mapping every inch of her, greedy for more—he needed to stop, but he felt powerless- finally giving into something they denied for so long.

“Liv—” It came out a prayer and a warning, his forehead pressed to hers, but her mouth was already on his again, harder.

Her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, breath coming in stuttered gasps between kisses. The press of her lips was bruising, frantic, the kind of hunger born of terror and survival. She wasn’t asking for passion—she was asking for silence, for the one thing that might drown out the echo of Lewis’s voice.

And he gave it, because he would give her anything.

His mouth trailed along her jaw, the salt of tears mixing with the taste of her skin. Her fingers clawed at his close cropped hair, pulling him back to her mouth, her desperation unraveling his last thread of control.

A thought sliced through the fire, sharp and unwelcome. Not like this. Not here. She deserves more than this.

He pulled back, their breathing heavy, hearts pounding. He braced his forehead against hers, chest heaving, trying to summon sense. “Not like this,” he whispered, voice breaking.

Her breath hitched, tears trembling on her lashes. “Please.”

The single word undid him. Desperate, raw, begging—he couldn’t refuse her. He never could.

A sound tore from his throat as he claimed her mouth again, harsher now, driven by need. His hands slid lower, gripping her ass and lifting her against him completely. She gasped, wrapping around him, clinging like a lifeline.

He pressed her tighter to the wall, his body anchoring hers. His lips left hers only to trail lower—over the salt-slick of her jaw, down the column of her throat, finding the hollow at her collarbone. She arched beneath him, shuddering, a sharp cry escaping as his mouth landed just above the neckline of her V-neck.

“Elliot—” Her voice cracked on his name, half a sob, half a plea. She dragged his lips back to hers, kissing him with all the frantic energy of survival, her hands fisting his partially buttoned shirt, his hair, anywhere she could hold on.

He answered with everything he had, his palms skating down her sides, greedy for the proof she was here, alive, his.

The jolt of her sidearm stopped him cold. Metal against his skin, sharp as judgment. The badge. The job. The vows. The line he’d already crossed and the one that loomed even sharper. Guilt poured through him like ice water, quenching the fire he’d welcomed seconds before. If her body had felt like salvation, the gun was penance.

He faltered. The hesitation was enough.

Her eyes snapped open, clarity cutting through the haze. She pressed both hands to his chest and shook her head, tears spilling. “We can’t,” she whispered, the words breaking on a sob.

The air between them shifted, thick with everything they couldn’t say. He stepped back a half pace, breath still ragged, guilt pressing heavy in his chest.

He caught her hands, threading his fingers through hers like he could anchor her. “I know.” His voice was raw, nearly breaking. The truth burned in his chest—he was here, yes, but nothing had changed. A ring still circled his finger, heavy as a shackle. Rome still waited, distant as ever. And none of it erased the years she had survived without him.

He pulled her back into his arms anyway, this time gentler, just holding. She cried against his chest, her tears soaking into him, and he hated himself for every version of pain he had given her—then, and now.

When her sobs finally quieted, he cupped her face, thumbs brushing damp trails from her cheeks. “You’re so—” His throat closed on the word beautiful; it felt shallow, unworthy. “You’re… everything.”

Her eyes closed, fresh tears spilling.

In another life—some kinder universe—they wouldn’t be standing in a borrowed office, shaking from grief and want. They would’ve simply chosen each other.

Instead they clung to the fragile truce of silence, neither ready to let go.

Finally, Olivia eased back, scrubbing her face with the back of her hand. “I need to get out of here.”

She reached for the door. He followed.

“Liv, wait—” He caught her sleeve.

“No, Elliot.” Panic threaded through her voice. “I can’t be here.”

He let her go, stepping into the hall close behind—

—and almost collided with Brian.

Cassidy took one look at Liv’s red-rimmed eyes, the smeared mascara, then grabbed a fistful of Elliot’s shirt and slammed him into the wall.

Chapter Text

He let her go but followed close behind. They nearly collided with Cassidy, planted in the hall like he’d been waiting.

Cassidy’s eyes went straight to Liv—her red-rimmed eyes, mascara streaked down her cheeks. Fury snapped across his face as he turned on Elliot. “What the hell did you do?”

Before Elliot could answer, Cassidy grabbed a fistful of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. “You should’ve never come back!”

Elliot’s shoulder hit plaster, his temper sparking white-hot. He shoved back hard, throwing a fist that cracked against Cassidy’s jaw. “I’ll leave if she asks me to leave!” he barked. He drove Cassidy a step backward, rage rolling off him. “And you and I both know she isn’t going to.”

Cassidy spat blood, sneering. “You think this is about what she wants? She’s been clawing her way through hell while you were sipping wine in Rome.” His voice dripped acid. “Where were you when she couldn’t sleep in her own apartment? When she woke up shaking, screaming for you, begging for someone who never came?”

Elliot froze for a fraction of a second, chest heaving.

Cassidy pressed the advantage, shoving him back into the wall again. “You don’t get to waltz back in here and play savior. You left her to clean up your mess. You left her wide open for men like Lewis. You made her vulnerable.”

The accusation split Elliot open like a blade. He knew Cassidy didn’t have the whole picture, but the words hit too close to the truth he already carried. Rage detonated inside him. He ripped free of Cassidy’s hold and slammed a fist into his cheek hard enough to send him staggering into a bench.

“You think I don’t know what I did?” Elliot roared. He shoved Cassidy hard against the opposite wall, fist bunching in his shirt. “You think I don’t hate myself for every second I wasn’t here? You don’t get to throw that at me—I live with it every damn day.”

Cassidy fought against the grip, eyes burning. His voice cracked like glass.

“It probably kills you, doesn’t it?” he hissed. “That she still screams your name. That even in her nightmares, it’s you she’s begging for. And every time you’re not there—” his lip curled, defiant, “—it breaks her.”

The words echoed down the hall like gunfire. Elliot’s vision went red. He slammed Cassidy harder into the plaster, close enough to taste his breath.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled. “Don’t you dare pretend you know what’s between us.” His jaw locked, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll never understand it. That’s what eats you alive.”

By now, the hallway buzzed with gawkers—attorneys, clerks, even a few jurors clustering with wide eyes, murmuring. Someone shouted to get security; another whispered Liv’s name like she was the center of some scandal playing out live. A phone hovered in the air, screen glowing, capturing every second.

Cassidy’s fist connected again, snapping Elliot’s head to the side. The copper tang of blood filled his mouth. He swung back, landing another blow square on Cassidy’s jaw.

It was chaos, two men locked in years of resentment and jealousy, every punch carrying the weight of what Olivia meant to them both.

Before either could land another, Fin barreled in, Cragen right behind him. They each grabbed a shoulder, yanking them apart with force.

“Enough!” Cragen bellowed, his face thunderous.

Elliot’s chest heaved, eyes blazing as he locked on Cassidy. For a moment, it looked like he’d go right through Cragen to finish it. But then he tore free of the captain’s grip, cast one last defiant glare at the crowd, and shoved his way out of the circle without another word.

-000-

Liv barely registered Elliot’s roar or the thud of fists behind her. Cassidy’s words clung tighter than any bruise: You left her wide open. You made her vulnerable. She screams for you and you never came.

They rang like verdicts in her ears, so loud she didn’t hear the crowd or Cragen shouting until the bathroom door swung shut behind her. The noise dulled instantly, but the echoes inside her head didn’t.

She staggered to the wall, slid down until she hit cold tile, and folded in on herself. Knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight, she pressed her forehead against her folded arms as if she could hold herself together through sheer force. Her breath came ragged, uneven, each inhale catching on the sobs she couldn’t swallow back.

Her mind refused to quiet. Images crashed in her skull, jagged and relentless.

Lewis’s smug grin as he twisted her testimony. Elliot’s hands gripping her shoulders in that office. His ring flashing when he reached for her.

And then the kiss.

God, the kiss.

It burned through her like fire and absolution all at once. A moment where she didn’t feel like prey, where she wasn’t just a victim in someone else’s story. His mouth on hers had felt like a reminder that she was still alive, still wanted, still her. For those breathless seconds, it hadn’t been about pain—it had been about something else. Something older. Something that had been waiting for years.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Because it had meant everything. In the best way and the worst way. The part of her that longed for him clung to it like oxygen. But the part of her that knew better—the part that had rebuilt herself from dust—wanted to tear it out of her chest before it hollowed her again.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her sternum, as though she could smother the memory before it consumed her. But the truth whispered anyway: if it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t hurt this much.

The door creaked again, soft footsteps crossing the tile.

“You okay?”

Rollins.

Liv didn’t answer, but she felt Amanda slide down the wall beside her, settling shoulder to shoulder. Amanda didn’t crowd her, didn’t fill the air with false comfort. She just sat, steady, her hand brushing against Liv’s knee like a quiet anchor.

“Of course you’re not okay,” Amanda said gently.

Liv let out a shaky laugh that broke on the edges. “Understatement of the year.” Shame prickled at her skin. She swiped at her face, only smearing the mascara further. “God, I must look like a wreck.”

Amanda gave her a small smile. “We’ve all been there. And anyone who says otherwise is lying.”

Liv shook her head, curls brushing her arms. “Not like this. Not me. I don’t… I don’t lose it.” Her voice dropped. “I can’t.”

Amanda’s hand found her shoulder, warm and grounding. “You’re human, Liv. You can’t be strong every second of every day. Nobody can.”

But Liv pressed harder into herself, voice tight. “That’s all I’ve ever been. Strong. Controlled. It’s who I am. And now? I don’t even know anymore. I hate that he took that from me.”

Amanda stayed quiet, letting the words hang heavy before she said softly, “Life changes us. People change us. For better, for worse. You’re still you.”

For a moment, silence. Then Liv’s chest heaved with another sob. “He was the only constant in my life. And then he disappeared.”

Amanda didn’t have the history, but she didn’t interrupt. She let Liv say it.

“I didn’t know who I was without him. And then Lewis—” Her throat closed. She forced herself to swallow. “And now he’s back. He’s here again. This phantom who leaves and returns whenever he wants. And he’s saying these things—apologies, explanations—and I…” She shook her head. “And then he kissed me.”

Amanda’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, only squeezed her arm.

Liv’s voice broke again. “None of it matters. Nothing changes. He’s still married. He’ll go back to her. He always does.” Her eyes lifted, raw. “And this—whatever this is—it won’t mean anything.”

Amanda exhaled slowly, searching her face. “If he kissed you, it has to mean something. Men don’t—”

“You don’t understand.” Liv’s voice sharpened, bitter. “You weren’t here. You saw what it did to me the last time. He left me without a word, Amanda. One day he was my partner, my family, and the next he was gone. And I survived that. I built something out of nothing. And if I let this mean anything, if I let him back in… he’ll leave again. He’ll go back to her. He always goes back to her.”

The words tasted like ash, but they were true. And they gutted her more than Lewis’  hate ever could.

Amanda’s brows furrowed, her voice gentler than before. “I can’t pretend to know what it’s like. But I know what it’s like to want someone you can’t have. And I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough. That’s a hell of a weight to carry.”

Liv swallowed hard, fresh tears spilling. She hated how much it meant to hear another woman say it out loud—that she wasn’t crazy, that the ache was real.

“I don’t want to be the woman who wrecks a family,” Liv whispered. “I can’t destroy him like that. Even if part of me wants to be selfish. Even if part of me wants to burn for it.”

Amanda nodded, no judgment in her eyes. “Wanting doesn’t make you that woman. Choices do. And you’ve already made yours—you’re not her. You never were.”

Liv leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closing, breath shaky but a little steadier. Amanda’s words didn’t fix it. Nothing could. But they softened the jagged edges of the shame.

For a while they sat in silence, just breathing side by side. When Liv finally pushed herself up, Amanda stood too, tugging tissues from the counter and pressing them into her hand before fishing mascara from her purse.

Liv dabbed at her face, catching sight of herself in the mirror. “Hot mess.”

Amanda smirked softly. “Please. Let’s not pretend I don’t look like this half the time. Life beats us down, and then we get back up.”

Liv let out a soft, watery laugh. She reached for Amanda’s hand, squeezing. “Thank you.”

Amanda squeezed back, then tipped her head with a sly grin. “So… was it at least a good kiss?”

Liv groaned, covering her face with one hand. “Amanda.”

“What?” Amanda said, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying—if you’re gonna lose mascara over a guy, it better be worth it.”

Despite herself, Liv laughed, a shaky sound but real. Almost worth it, she thought, though she’d never say it aloud.

Amanda gave her a look of triumph, then looped her arm through Liv’s. “Come on. Let’s face whatever’s left out there together.”

Chapter Text

The door buzzed, metal against metal, and the corrections officer pushed it open. Elliot stepped in. The room smelled like disinfectant and stale coffee. One table, two chairs. Chains clinked as Lewis shifted, orange jumpsuit bright under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“Elliot Stabler.” Lewis grinned like they were old friends. “Didn’t think we’d ever actually meet.”

Elliot didn’t answer. He tipped his head at the officer, who nodded once and slipped out, leaving the door to lock behind him.

Lewis leaned forward, cuffs rattling against the tabletop. “She talked about you, you know. During our little… outing.” His smile widened. “After she disarmed me, she went on and on about her former partner. Said you’d know what to do. Wouldn’t hesitate.” He laughed low. “I checked your record. Looks like hesitation’s never been your problem. Excessive force, now that’s another story.”

Elliot sat, arms folded, face blank.

“And then, when she was good and dosed?” Lewis’s voice dropped to a mock whisper. “She called for you. Thought her boyfriend’s name was Brian, but apparently you left a bigger impression than that guy ever did.”

Elliot’s jaw locked. He forced himself not to move. Not to give him the satisfaction.

Lewis cocked his head. “Married though, aren’t you?” He chuckled when Elliot’s shoulders tensed. “I get it. A nice piece of ass like hers—” he sighed theatrically—“how could anyone resist? I mean… can you really blame me?”

The last thread snapped. Elliot’s hand shot out, fisting Lewis’s hair, and he slammed his face into the table. The crack echoed. Blood blossomed across the surface.

“If the jury’s stupid enough to let you off,” Elliot growled, pressing harder, “I will kill you. You can count on that.”

Lewis laughed through the pain, muffled against metal. “There it is. The legendary Stabler temper. What’s next? Gonna give me a beatdown like she did?”

Elliot yanked his head up, nostrils flaring. “Best thing she ever did.”

Lewis licked blood from his lip, still smiling. “No. Best thing for me. She’ll never forget it. That’s the beauty of it. I’m in her head forever. Left my mark in places no one else can touch. Anytime someone gets close, they’ll know I was there first.”

The room went red. Elliot slammed him again, harder this time. Cartilage gave with a wet crunch. Blood poured from Lewis’s nose, spattering across the tabletop. Elliot pulled him back up by the hair, eyes burning.

“If you ever touch her again—” his voice shook with rage—“you won’t just die. You’ll beg to.”

Lewis coughed, spit red across the table, and still smiled through the wreckage of his face. “Understood.”

Elliot shoved him down, chair scraping as he stood. He couldn’t breathe in here anymore. Couldn’t look at the monster grinning through broken teeth.

He tapped the door. The lock buzzed, the CO stepping in. Elliot didn’t break stride. “Sorry about the mess. He freaked out—started banging his head.”

The officer gave a flat shrug. “Happens.”

Elliot walked out, fists still trembling. He thought pounding the bastard would ease something inside him. Instead, he felt hollowed out, chilled to the core.

The lock clanged shut behind him, sealing Lewis back in, but the sound did nothing to ease the pressure in Elliot’s chest. He strode down the corridor, boots striking concrete, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry wasps. Every breath scraped his throat, sharp with the reek of disinfectant and coppery blood.

He shoved through the outer door into weak daylight. The air hit cold against his face, but it didn’t clear the stench clinging to him. His hands still shook, faint tremors running through his fingers, so he jammed them deep into his pockets.

For a moment he leaned against the brick wall, dragging air into his lungs. He’d wanted the satisfaction of breaking Lewis. Wanted to believe it would steady something inside him. Instead he felt hollowed out, sick with it. His knuckles throbbed and the memory of cartilage crunching under his palm replayed like a sick echo.

What made him sicker was the thought that Lewis had wanted this. That grin through the blood hadn’t been defeat—it had been triumph.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part? He’d wanted to protect Liv, to prove that Lewis could be broken. But walking out now, he wondered if he was any different when rage ruled him. Wasn’t that what Lewis had taunted—that violence was the only language Elliot knew?

He pushed off the wall, forcing his legs to move. The trial was starting, and Olivia would be inside. He couldn’t lose it again. Not there. Not with her watching.

-000- 

Elliot slipped into the courthouse later than he’d meant to. The stink of disinfectant and blood still clung to him from Rikers, and his knuckles ached from where they’d connected with bone. He’d told himself the visit would help. It hadn’t.

The courtroom was already filling. He kept his head down, weaving through the rows until he found a spot near the back.

She was there.

Olivia sat with her squad—Amaro at her side, Rollins close, Fin just behind. Their presence framed her like armor, but Elliot could see through it. Shoulders hunched, head bowed slightly, exhaustion written into the lines of her body. Even from across the room, he felt the weight crushing her.

His chest tightened when Amaro leaned in, draping an arm across her shoulders. It was instinct, support—but it burned anyway. Once, that had been his role. Once, he had been the one to steady her when the ground shook. Now, he was just another face in the gallery, fists jammed in his pockets, wishing it could be different.

The judge called for closing arguments. Barba rose first, deliberate and sharp, his words slicing through the air like steel. Elliot half listened, eyes fixed on the back of Olivia’s head. Every tilt, every slow breath, every tremor.

Then Lewis’s turn.

The smug bastard stood, wearing his bruises like medals. His lawyer’s voice wrapped the lies in silk, turning every vile act into accusation, every scar on Olivia into evidence against her. Elliot’s stomach rolled. He wanted to vault the bench, drag Lewis out by his chains, finish what he’d started in that interview room.

He forced himself to look at the jury instead. Blank faces, pens scratching. Did they see what he saw? Did they hear the venom? Or were they swallowing the performance, piece by poisoned piece?

Ahead of him, Olivia’s body shifted. Her hand rose briefly to her temple, her shoulders sagged. The mask she wore—the one that had gotten her through countless cases—was slipping. He couldn’t see her face, and it gutted him. He needed to read her eyes, to know how much this was cutting.

Amaro’s arm tightened. She didn’t flinch away.

Jealousy coiled low in his gut, sharp and hot. He bit it back, because she deserved every ounce of support she could get, no matter where it came from. He had forfeited his right to sit beside her the day he walked away.

When the judge dismissed the jury, murmurs rippled through the room. Olivia stood slowly, her squad folding in around her. Elliot stayed back, rooted to his seat. Cassidy wasn’t there—hadn’t been all day. Elliot’s jaw clenched. Nothing should matter more than this. Nothing.

He lingered in the hall, hands shoved deep in his pockets, leaning against the wall like he belonged to the shadows. He watched her exit, watched Rollins take her hand, whisper something that coaxed the faintest smile. Then Amanda tilted her chin in his direction.

Olivia’s eyes found him.

She looked wrecked—mascara patched, skin pale, eyes hollow with exhaustion. But she still walked toward him.

“Hey,” she murmured, gaze dropping.

“Hey.” His voice caught on the word. “Hungry?”

“Not really.” She met his eyes for a beat, then looked away.

He tried to ignore the awkward hum between them, the memory of yesterday’s kiss hanging heavy. He just wanted to give her something—anything—that didn’t ask her to pretend.

“Wanna go somewhere?”

Her eyes lifted again, shimmering with unshed tears. Vulnerable in a way that gutted him.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I can’t go home with Brian watching me like I’ll break. I can’t go out with the squad and keep acting like I’m fine. I just… I can’t.”

His voice dropped, steady and certain. “Then let’s get out of here. You don’t need to pretend with me.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I know.”

-000-

Olivia followed Elliot through the quiet hotel corridor, the carpet muffling their steps. Every nerve in her body buzzed, but not from fear. Not even from desire. From exhaustion. From the weight of pretending she was fine when every part of her was breaking.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open for her. She stepped inside first. The room smelled faintly of starch and lemon cleaner, two queen beds lined neatly against the wall. Safe. Anonymous. Ordinary.

Elliot dropped his bag on the desk, hesitated like he wanted to say something, then defaulted to the practical. “I’ve got some work to catch up on. Take a nap, shower, whatever you need.”

“Thanks, El.” Her voice cracked around the words. Gratitude, relief, and something she couldn’t name.

He nodded, setting up his laptop, spreading files across one of the beds like it was just another late night on the job. The rhythm of it—the pen tapping against paper, the low hum of him settling in—struck her harder than she expected. It felt familiar. It felt like home.

Her phone buzzed in her purse. She didn’t even look. She powered it off and shoved it deep into her bag. She couldn’t handle Brian’s texts, the squad’s check-ins, the weight of anyone else’s expectations. Tonight, she needed to exist in a place where none of that reached her.

She tugged the comforter back on the second bed and slipped beneath the sheets. They were crisp, cool, smelling faintly of bleach, and for the first time in months her body eased. Her muscles unclenched. Her chest loosened. She sighed into the pillow, letting herself melt into the quiet.

Elliot didn’t interrupt. Didn’t hover. He just worked. She opened her eyes once, drowsy, to watch him bent over his laptop, pen moving, leg bouncing with restless focus. The same picture she’d seen a thousand times from the passenger seat of a squad car. It hadn’t changed. He hadn’t changed. And the familiarity of it warmed something hollow in her chest.

Her eyes drifted shut again. She fell asleep to the sound of him—keys clicking, papers shuffling—a lullaby of old rhythms. Safe. Protected.

For the first time in too long, she slept.

Elliot looked up when her breathing evened. She was curled on her side, lashes damp, face softened by sleep. The sight wrecked him. Because she trusted him enough to rest here. Because after everything, she still came to him.

He wanted to reach across the space between them, to touch her, to promise her the kind of safety he’d failed to keep before. But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, watching her breathe, letting the weight of her trust settle over him heavier than any chain.

The kiss still burned on his lips, sharp and unforgettable. But this moment wasn’t about that. It was about her finding rest, about him holding the line. About belonging, in the quiet way they always had.

He bent his head back to the laptop, but his gaze flicked up again and again, anchored to the rise and fall of her shoulders. Only when he was sure she was truly asleep did he allow himself to whisper it into the still room, soft enough for no one but the walls to hear.

“Home.”

Chapter Text

Amanda stifled a yawn, blinking herself awake as the cursor blurred on her screen. The trial devoured their daylight hours; the rest of the job piled up here, long after most of Manhattan had gone home.

Amaro slid a coffee onto her desk.

“You’re a saint.” She shot him a tired smile before lifting it to her lips. The first sip had barely hit her tongue when the doors slammed open.

Cassidy barreled in, face pale and frantic. “Do any of you answer your goddamn phones?!”

Amanda glanced down, startled, and saw four missed calls lighting up her screen. Amaro’s brows pinched as he fished his own phone from his pocket.

“Sorry, Cassidy, we just—”

“Where’s Liv?” His voice cut him off, sharp, eyes scanning the room like he expected her to materialize.

“She’s not here.” Amaro’s tone was cautious.

The color drained from Cassidy’s face. “I got home, and she wasn’t at the apartment. I called her eight times.” He waved his phone like evidence. “No answer.”

Amanda set her coffee down slowly.

Amaro tried to stay rational. “It’s not like Lewis could get near her—we’d know. The courthouse is a fortress.” He thumbed through his messages. “How long since you heard from her?”

“This morning. I texted this afternoon. Nothing. I figured she needed space, but…” Cassidy’s jaw clenched, voice fraying. “This isn’t like her.”

Amaro already had a phone pressed to his ear. “I’ll check the ERs, just in case. Car accident, subway, something—”

Amanda’s pulse quickened for a different reason. She knew exactly where Liv was. Or rather, who she was with. The memory of Olivia’s raw voice in the courthouse bathroom still pressed at her. Elliot’s name. The kiss. The way Liv looked like the world had just cracked open beneath her.

Her chest tightened. God knew Olivia deserved privacy. And yet—what was the alternative? Let Amaro call every hospital in the borough? Let Cassidy spin into a full NYPD manhunt?

Cassidy slammed his phone down on the desk. “We should be tracking her phone. We’re wasting time.”

Amanda stood, folding her arms tight. “I think I know where she is.”

Both men turned.

“Then why the hell didn’t you say something?” Amaro’s voice was sharper than she expected.

Amanda exhaled, bracing for the fallout. “Because it’s not my business to tell. But—I talked to her before I left the courthouse. She… left with Elliot.”

The room stilled. Cassidy’s face drained white, then flushed crimson. He stabbed at his phone again, cursed when it went to voicemail, and hurled it into a chair. “Are you kidding me, Amanda? You knew?” His voice cracked high with fury.

Amaro’s gaze was steadier, but unease flickered behind it.

Amanda forced her chin up. “I knew she was safe. And she trusts him. That’s what mattered.” She cut a look at Cassidy, who was pacing like a caged animal. “She doesn’t need you kicking down doors right now. She needs space. With someone who gets it.”

Cassidy dropped into a chair, muttering under his breath. Amaro leaned against his desk, arms crossed, some of his tension finally giving way.

“So what—we just wait?” he asked finally.

“Yes,” Amanda said firmly. “We wait. She’ll check in when she’s ready.”

Her phone buzzed on the desk, Olivia’s name lighting the screen. Relief loosened something in Amanda’s chest. She thumbed out a quick message before Cassidy could lunge for it.

Just checking in. No need to tell me where you are. Just need to know you’re okay so I can reassure these idiots.

She hit send, smothering the faint smirk that tugged at her lips when Cassidy groaned and raked a hand down his face.

-000-

Olivia stretched, joints cracking as she rolled onto her back. For a moment she floated in disorientation, the air too quiet, the light too soft. Then the clean sheets and warm lamplight anchored her. Hotel. Elliot. The relief of sleep still lingered in her body, heavy and sweet.

She blinked toward the other bed. Elliot was out cold, sprawled diagonally, one arm flung across his chest, still in his shoes. A quiet laugh slipped from her. Some things never changed—the man could fall asleep anywhere.

Her phone sat on the nightstand, dark and ominous. She stared at it for a long moment before finally reaching. The screen lit and her stomach dropped. Missed calls. Voicemails. A flood of texts from Brian, another string from Amaro. The fragile peace of the last few hours threatened to unravel as dread tightened in her chest.

For years, she’d been tethered to that screen—every alert, every demand a reminder that she was never truly off duty. Even sleep had been borrowed time. But here, with him snoring like the world hadn’t ended yesterday, she’d felt something rare: quiet. No squad room chatter, no courthouse shadows, no Brian asking if she was “okay” with the answer he wanted to hear. Just Elliot. The sound of his breathing steady through the dark.

It terrified her, how much she needed that. How much she wanted to keep it. Want carried its own kind of fire, the dangerous kind—the kind that burned before you realized you were standing too close. And the spark had already been lit. The kiss was proof of that. She could still feel it, the way his mouth had claimed hers with a desperation that made the floor tilt beneath her. She’d told herself it was a mistake, but lying here now, the memory still pulsed like a bruise she couldn’t stop pressing.

Then one message cut through the noise.

Just checking in. No need to tell me where you are. Just need to know you’re okay so I can reassure these idiots.

Amanda.

Olivia smiled, tension softening a little. Of course it would be Amanda—the one person who wouldn’t demand answers, wouldn’t push. She thumbed a reply.

I’m fine. I just need some time to myself.

The response came almost instantly.

Okay. I’ll tell everyone to leave you alone.

Another ping.

By yourself or with Stabler? Kidding. You don’t have to answer.

Olivia shook her head, a laugh bubbling up despite herself.

I don’t think I’ll answer that.

Fair enough. Let me know if you need anything.

She set the phone aside, warmth creeping into her chest. Amanda wasn’t just covering for her—she was protecting her. And that meant more than she could say.

Her gaze drifted back to Elliot, still snoring softly, and she let herself breathe again. For now, the world could wait.But the kiss had already lit a fuse inside her, and she knew—no matter how hard she tried—sooner or later it would catch.

-000-

The hiss of water pulled Elliot out of sleep. He blinked blearily at the hotel ceiling before glancing at the empty bed across the room. The shower ran steady behind the closed door, steam curling from the crack at the top.

For one dangerous second his mind betrayed him—images of her bare skin under the spray, her head tipped back, water sliding over her throat. Heat surged sharp and uninvited. He groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face.

“Christ, Stabler.”

He busied himself at the desk instead, stacking files from the night before. Anything to keep his thoughts from where they wanted to wander. He flipped open his laptop, let his pen tap against the pad, but every sound from the bathroom—the squeak of pipes, the rush of water—tugged at him like a lure.

Finally, he slipped into the hallway, phone in hand. The cooler air steadied him for a moment. Then Kathy’s name lit the screen and guilt landed like a weight. He called, gave her the bare-bones update about his “work trip,” kept his voice casual, steady. He left out the part about Olivia asleep in his bed, about the way his chest had unclenched just watching her breathe.

When he hung up, silence roared. His thumb spun the ring around and around until the skin beneath it burned. That band was a vow, one he’d made too young to understand what love would look like a decade later. Back then, Kathy had been certainty. Safety. The only woman he thought he’d ever need.

Then Olivia had walked into his life and rewritten every definition.

He’d told himself the boundaries were clear—husband, father, partner. But they had never been clear. He loved Kathy, yes. But Olivia had been home. He could pretend it was platonic all he wanted, but the truth was etched in every unsaid word, every glance that lingered too long. Keeping it unspoken hadn’t spared anyone. Kathy had still been hurt. Olivia had still been hurt. And he’d left both of them worse off.

Now here he was, two years later, standing outside a hotel room while Olivia showered on the other side of a door. The ring still on his finger. The weight of vows already broken pressing down. And the truth he couldn’t ignore humming beneath it all: this hotel room, with her, felt more like home than the house he’d abandoned.

He drew a long breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped back inside. He slumped onto the bed, remote in hand, trying to look anywhere but the locked bathroom door.

The water cut off. He rifled through his bag, yanked on sweats and a t-shirt, and dropped back down just as the door clicked open.

She stepped out in yesterday’s clothes—cardigan gone, damp hair curling at her shoulders, tank straps darkened where water still clung. She looked younger like this, stripped down and bare-faced, but also more fragile.

Elliot’s throat went dry. He forced his eyes to the TV, the meaningless chatter of late-night reruns filling the room.

The air felt thick, humid with steam, carrying the faint trace of her shampoo—lavender, sharp and clean. She crossed the room and slid onto the bed beside him, close enough the mattress dipped toward him with her weight. Their arms almost brushed.

His whole body leaned toward her without permission, drawn like metal to a magnet. One inch, maybe less, and their arms would touch. He could almost imagine the warmth of her skin seeping into his, the comfort of it, the danger.

He told himself to move, to shift away, but he stayed rooted. Every instinct screamed at him to close the distance, to claim what he’d buried for years. Every promise on his hand told him not to.

And the contradiction knifed through him—sharp enough to call up memory. The stakeout car, years ago, midnight coffee between them. The way she’d laughed at something stupid he said, and then gone quiet, her gaze holding his for one suspended second too long. He’d looked away then, just like now. Pretended it hadn’t happened. Pretended the fire didn’t already exist.

And underneath it all, the kiss haunted him. The press of her mouth still burned at the edges of his memory, raw and undeniable. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t planned it, but now—with her close enough he could breathe her in—it lived in every cell of his body.

He told himself not to go there. Not to replay the way her lips had trembled, the way she’d leaned into him like gravity itself had demanded it. But his mind betrayed him anyway, and suddenly the space between them felt thinner than air, fragile enough to break with a single breath.

Beside him, she shifted, just barely. Her arm brushed his, and for a split second her breath hitched—soft, sharp, like she’d felt the memory too.

Elliot froze, pulse hammering. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. And still, he felt branded by it.

The TV flickered, laugh track echoing false cheer. Absurd, the two of them watching sitcom reruns when the world outside was cracked wide open. Absurd, and somehow perfect.

He didn’t dare look at her, but her presence thrummed against his skin, every nerve alive with memory—the taste of her kiss, the sob in her throat, the feel of her pressed to him.

Then she sighed, long and low, and let her head rest back against the wall. For the first time in months, her body looked almost unguarded. At peace.

That sight steadied him more than anything else could.

Elliot stayed still, eyes fixed on the screen, hands gripping the remote too tightly. He was playing with fire, letting her this close, letting himself breathe in her nearness.

Let it burn, he thought. If this was the cost of giving her even a moment of safety—of belonging—he’d take the flames willingly.

Chapter Text

Elliot had been awake for a while, staring at the ceiling while the city woke beyond the hotel’s double-paned glass. He hadn’t moved, not even to ease the pins-and-needles prickling through his arm. Olivia was sprawled half across him, one knee hooked over his thigh, her cheek pressed to his chest. Her hand was fisted tight in his T-shirt, knuckles pale against the fabric, like she didn’t quite trust him not to disappear again.

He lay perfectly still, afraid to shift, afraid to break the fragile trust of the way she had folded herself into him. She smelled faintly of hotel soap and her own shampoo, and the warmth of her body seeped into his, steady and grounding. He didn’t deserve it—this trust, this closeness. He didn’t deserve to be the place she rested when she finally let go. But he couldn’t stop drinking it in.

He hadn’t seen her this unguarded in years. Not since before.

Her hair tickled his jaw when she shifted slightly in her sleep, burrowing closer, her fist tightening in the cotton of his shirt. His chest ached with it. In another life, he thought, this would be every morning.

The phone started vibrating on the nightstand, soft at first, then again, then again. He ignored it for as long as he could, unwilling to shatter the illusion of quiet. But when it buzzed a fourth, fifth, sixth time, he sighed and reached carefully across her, easing the phone free without dislodging her weight.

Seventeen missed calls. Thirty unread messages. The top one glared back, blunt and urgent.

Why aren’t you answering? The jury’s back. –Barba

He closed his eyes for a second, guilt already gnawing. Then he brushed a hand against her shoulder. “Liv.”

She made a soft sound, reluctant, like she wanted five more minutes in this cocoon. His throat tightened at the thought. But he said it again, firmer this time.

“Jury’s back.”

The words snapped through whatever dream was left. Olivia was upright in a blink, hair wild, breath already coming fast. “What—time?”

“Seven-thirty.” Elliot was already moving, calm in the way he only got when there wasn’t any time for anything else. He handed her the phone so she could see the barrage for herself, then set it facedown on the nightstand like a live wire. “Okay. Shoes, brush, anything you need—tell me.”

She shoved both hands through her hair and made a face at the mirror across from the beds. “I need a different life,” she muttered, then swallowed. “And clean clothes.”

“Right.” He cracked the suitcase like it was a crime scene—shirts, chargers, an ancient shaving kit, and the chaos of a grown daughter’s laundry. “Kathleen threw half her dresser in here when I left.” He held up a half-folded concert tee. “Not exactly court chic.” Toss. “One earring.” He blinked at it. “Why do I even have—” Toss. “Socks. None of them match. That tracks.”

Despite the clock pounding in her head, Liv huffed a laugh that steadied her for half a second. “You’ve got quite the boutique, Stabler.”

“Welcome to Stabler & Daughter: curated chaos.” He kept digging, then—“Aha.” He lifted a soft black tank, a simple cream blouse, and a light navy jacket that bordered on respectable. “We might be in business.”

“Bless your messy child,” Liv said, taking the stack and backing toward the bathroom. She paused, eyes flicking to his. “Brush?”

He had it ready. “And—” he rummaged in the toiletry bag, “—elastic.” He offered the hair tie like a surgeon passing an instrument.

She disappeared behind the door. The faucet hissed. Elliot moved through the room like muscle memory—tugging the bedspread straight to find her other shoe, checking his pockets: keys, wallet, badge, phone. He poured the last of last night’s coffee into a paper cup and grimaced, then decided even terrible coffee was better than none. He set it by the sink for her anyway.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand again—Barba—then Amaro, then Brian. Elliot’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t touch it. Not his to manage. He grabbed his own cell, thumb hovering over Kathleen’s name, then flipped it face-down too. One disaster at a time.

The bathroom door opened. Liv stepped out in the black tank under the cream blouse, Kathleen’s jacket softening the edges. Her hair was twisted into a clip; she’d swiped on mascara and the kind of neutral lipstick that read as armor rather than vanity. Her blouse was still creased from his suitcase.

“Hold up,” he said, already crossing to the tiny iron bolted to the shelf. He snapped it open, hit steam, and ran it fast over the worst wrinkles while she watched, half embarrassed, half grateful. “You’re good,” he told her, handing it back.

She tugged the hem straight. “You have a future in wardrobe.”

“Don’t threaten me,” he deadpanned. “Shoes?”

She stepped into her flats, wobbling long enough for him to put a steadying hand at her elbow. “I’m fine,” she said automatically, but didn’t pull away until the wobble passed.

“Phone, badge, ID.” He ticked the list, quiet and practical.

She patted her purse, then stilled. “Badge.” Panic flared, hot and immediate. She looked at the chair, the nightstand, the bedspread like it might materialize if she stared hard enough.

“Jacket pocket,” he said, already reaching. He’d hung it on the back of the desk chair last night after she crashed. He slid a hand into the inner lining and came up with the leather. “You trusted me with it when you fell asleep.” He didn’t say you fell asleep on me because there wasn’t space for that now.

She took it, relief softening the lines around her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Protein bar?” he offered, because he knew her tells—her stomach would be a knot and she wouldn’t think of food until she hit a wall. He found one at the bottom of his bag and held it out. “Two bites, minimum. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I’ve seen some things.”

She rolled her eyes and took it, tearing it open and chewing like it was punishment, washing it down with the bad coffee. “God, that’s awful.”

“Yeah.”

The room hummed with what they weren’t saying. We slept tangled. We’re walking into the end of something. None of this is simple.

She reached for her phone at last. Her thumb hovered over Brian’s name, then slid to Amanda instead.

—I’m okay. Don’t rally the troops.—

A reply popped immediately.

—Copy. I’ve got the idiots on a leash.—

A second bubble appeared.

—You with him? (I know, none of my business.)—

Liv glanced up; Elliot wasn’t watching her screen, just slipping his wallet into his jacket, giving her the illusion of privacy he knew she needed. She typed back:

—See you at court.—

She slid the phone into her purse and blew out a breath. “Ready?”

“Always.” He said it lightly and it still landed heavy between them.

They moved in tandem through the motions—he held the door, she checked the lock twice on instinct, he palmed the keycard, she slung the purse strap across her body like a bandolier. The hallway smelled like over-bleached carpet and someone else’s cologne. A housekeeper’s cart blocked most of the passage and they squeezed past, muttering apologies, Liv’s shoulder brushing his chest in a flash of contact that buzzed for a beat longer than it should.

Elevator doors opened on a mirror that gave her too much of herself. She fixed a flyaway, tugged her jacket straight. Elliot stood behind her shoulder in the reflection—solid, steady, impassive in the way he’d learned to be when everything inside him burned.

A pair of tourists got on at the next floor, murmuring about brunch. Liv pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep from laughing. The absurdity of it—the world going soft-boiled and normal while hers balanced on a knife edge—nearly undid her.

In the lobby, the desk clerk’s smile snagged on recognition, then smoothed again. Elliot didn’t slow. He held the door; the cold air outside slapped color into Liv’s cheeks and cleared the bleach-scent from her head.

“Cab or walk?” he asked.

“Cab. If I hear my name shouted one more time before we even hit the steps—” She shook her head.

He lifted a hand; a yellow car veered over like it had been waiting for him all morning. He opened the back door and stood until she was in, then slid in after her, shoulder to shoulder but not touching. The driver flicked his eyes to the rearview. “Where to?”

“Criminal Court,” Elliot said. He didn’t add please. The word had never helped him much.

Liv stared at her hands in her lap—faint tremor, the ghost of it. He noticed, because he noticed everything when it came to her. He wanted to take her hand, to thread their fingers the way he’d done yesterday when the world tried to crack her open. He didn’t. Restraint tasted like metal.

Traffic lifted and the city unspooled around them: vendors setting up, steam from a manhole, a dog tugging its human down a crosswalk. Mundane life stacked on top of catastrophe. Liv swallowed the last of the protein bar, grimaced, wiped her fingers on the wrapper, then tucked it neatly into her purse like control could be manufactured out of simple order.

Elliot’s phone buzzed. He took one look—Barba again, with a curt now—and tucked it away. “We’re good on time,” he said, as if saying it could make it true.

She nodded, eyes fixed on the window, watching the courthouse pull closer, heavy and inevitable. Her hand slid an inch on the seat. He didn’t move his. The space between them held.

The cab stopped. Outside, microphones and lenses waited like beaks. Elliot paid, stepped out, and came around her side. For a beat, he held the door like he could hold off the entire city, and she met his eyes.

“I’ve got you,” he said, simple as anything.

“I know.” She believed it. She stepped out into the noise.

-000-

The jurors filed in, faces unreadable, and Olivia’s stomach knotted so tightly she thought she might be sick. The forewoman stood, verdict slip in hand, but instead of diving straight in, she cleared her throat and launched into a moral lecture—words about police brutality, excessive force, officers who thought they were above the law.

The words blurred, but the tone landed like a gavel against her skull. Like he’s the victim, Liv thought, bile rising in her throat. She kept her eyes forward, her spine ramrod straight, but inside she was shaking.

Her fingers dug into Elliot’s knee before she even realized she was reaching. His hand slid under hers, warm and steady, threading their fingers together. He gave one squeeze—solid, grounding, a reminder she wasn’t alone.

“On the charge of attempted murder: not guilty.”

Her chest caved inward. The words hit like a body blow. She squeezed Elliot’s hand hard enough to hurt, panic spiking in her chest. Was this going to be another joke of a trial? Was he going to walk free?

Elliot’s jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle ticking. Fury radiated off him, but he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, except to let her crush his hand as if she could anchor herself to him.

“On the charge of attempted rape: not guilty.”

Her face stayed carefully blank, but humiliation crawled up her neck like fire. It felt like the jury wasn’t just absolving him—they were passing judgment on her. On her body. On what had been done to her. She blinked hard, fighting back tears that threatened to betray her.

Beside her, Elliot shifted forward, his whole body coiled like a spring. She tightened her grip, squeezing again, trying to pull him back from the edge. If he exploded, if he gave Lewis the satisfaction of an outburst, all of this would unravel.

“On the charge of kidnapping of a police officer: guilty.”

Her breath left her in a sharp, broken sob she couldn’t swallow down. She covered her mouth with her free hand, tears rushing to her eyes. Relief surged, sharp and overwhelming, and for the first time in months she felt like the ground might actually hold beneath her feet.

Elliot’s hand held hers steady, his thumb brushing once over her knuckles. She turned to him, and his eyes mirrored her relief, shining with unshed tears.

“On the charge of assault of a police officer: guilty.”

Her entire body gave out at once. She sagged sideways, her shoulder hitting Elliot’s, head tipping against him like the weight of the last year had finally broken through. He shifted just enough to catch her, steady her, not caring who saw.

Twenty-five to life. He wouldn’t walk free. She wasn’t safe—not really, not ever—but this piece of it was done.

The judge thanked the jury, dismissed them, and remanded Lewis to Rikers. The shuffle of robes and the scrape of chairs filled the room, but to Olivia it all sounded far away, like she was underwater.

Elliot stayed pressed against her, silent, immovable. She let herself lean there, just for a breath, until Cragen leaned over and pulled her into a hug, his eyes wet at the corners. Amanda and Nick hovered nearby, smiles breaking through their own exhaustion, Amanda’s glance flicking down to where Elliot’s hand still half-covered hers.

But Liv’s eyes kept scanning the room, searching through the blur of reporters and uniforms. She didn’t find Brian.

Chapter Text

Olivia slipped her key into the lock, bracing herself for the storm inside. She’d rehearsed every version of this in her head, but the words always curdled on her tongue.

Hey Brian, I temporarily lost my mind with the stress of this trial, and Elliot showed up, which was confusing as hell, but hey, I still love you, but I still love Elliot too, and my whole life is a disaster…

Honest? Too honest. She pushed the door open anyway.

Cassidy was waiting on the couch, beer in hand. He didn’t look angry so much as frayed — eyes hollow, jaw tight. “Hey.” His tone was flat.

She sank onto the cushion beside him, no use delaying it. “I’m sorry.”

He took a long pull from the bottle. “For what exactly?” His eyes pinned hers, sharp.

“Everything.” Her voice was quiet, useless against the weight in the room.

“Do you have any idea how much you scared me?” His voice cracked with strain. “You can’t just disappear, Liv. Not anymore. And when you finally answered someone, it was Rollins?”

She winced.

“What the hell, Liv?” He barreled on. “And after all the stress, after me tearing my hair out—” he slammed the bottle down on the coffee table “—I find out you were with him. That you spent the night with him.”

“It wasn’t like—”

“Don’t.” He cut her off, eyes flashing. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t like that. It’s always like that with you two. Like no one else in the damn room exists. I tried to let it go. I told myself it was stress, history, whatever excuse I could invent.” His voice dropped, bitter and raw. “But you spent the night with him. And last I checked, he’s married.”

Her chest tightened, shame crawling hot under her skin. He wasn’t right — but he wasn’t wrong, either.

“Did you think about me? Even once?” His eyes searched hers, not for an answer but for a reprieve.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This whole trial has been a nightmare. I’ve felt out of control, and I just needed… to get away.”

“Without me.” His voice splintered.

She touched his knee, desperate to ground them both. “I couldn’t be with anyone.”

“Except Elliot.” He spat the name like venom.

The words landed like a slap. She wanted to lash back, to throw all the ways he hadn’t been there for her — hadn’t noticed she was missing when Lewis had her — but her throat locked. Maybe she deserved his fury.

“And at the courthouse today?” He pressed, his voice ragged. “Did it even occur to you that I wanted to sit with you? That I wanted to be there when the verdict came down?” His eyes glossed, but his anger kept burning. “But no. You sat with him. You reached for him. During the most pivotal moment of your life, you clung to him.”

He finished his beer in a swallow, then stood, restless. “And I have no idea what to do with that.”

The door slammed behind him, leaving her alone on the couch. Silence closed in, thick and suffocating. She folded into herself, tears spilling until exhaustion won.

-000-

Olivia woke stiff and sore, still curled on the couch in the clothes she’d worn to court. The light spilling through the blinds was thin and sharp, making her headache pound. Her mouth tasted like salt and stale tears.

She shuffled toward the kitchen, rifling through a cabinet for painkillers. The apartment felt wrong — too quiet, too empty. She peeked into the bedroom. The bed was already made. Brian had left. No note. No trace of him except the beer bottles still crowding the coffee table.

She leaned on the counter, head in her hands, replaying every word from last night. At first it was guilt, heavy and suffocating, the kind that pressed her ribs until she couldn’t draw a full breath. But as the words looped again, something inside her shifted.

What the hell was wrong with him?

She had just survived the worst week of her life, had been dragged through hell in open court, her body and choices dissected like evidence on a table — and he made it about himself. About how he felt. About where he sat. About whether she thought of him while she reached for Elliot’s hand in the middle of her breaking point.

Her throat tightened, but not with tears this time. With anger.

Elliot hadn’t once made it about himself. He hadn’t hovered, hadn’t asked her to explain every flinch or panic or late-night silence. He had simply shown up. Stood beside her. Taken the hits for her, even when it meant risking his family, his reputation, his peace. He hadn’t demanded a damn thing in return.

That was the difference. The chasm between Elliot and Brian — between Elliot and every other man who had tried to love her — stretched wider than the Grand Canyon. Elliot’s presence, flawed and complicated as it was, had always been about her. About protecting her. Brian’s presence was about Brian.

The realization made her stomach twist, but it also lit something in her chest — small, stubborn, undeniable.

She reached for the Advil, swallowed it dry, and braced herself against the counter.

For years she had kept her boundaries neat and clean, telling herself Elliot’s absence was survivable, that she could build something stable without him. Last night had proven just how much of a lie that was. The trial, Lewis, the kiss — all of it stripped her bare. What remained was this: when everything fell apart, Elliot was the only one she wanted.

And God help her, she didn’t know what to do with that.

-000-

Cragen told her to take two days off. Olivia lasted twelve hours.

The apartment felt like a coffin, every wall echoing Brian’s accusations, every corner reminding her of last night’s collapse. Work wasn’t peace, but at least it was motion. Motion she could survive.

She stepped off the elevator into a blessedly quiet squad room. Amaro bent over a stack of reports, his tie loosened and his jaw tight with concentration. Amanda yawned her way through an incident file, highlighter in hand. Cragen’s blinds were half-drawn, his silhouette a steady anchor in the background.

No one noticed her at first. Olivia slipped her bag onto her desk, savoring the illusion of invisibility. The silence was rare, fragile. She almost believed she could slip back into routine without comment.

Amanda looked up first. Her eyes softened, no judgment there, just quiet recognition. “Didn’t think you’d be in today.”

“I can’t sit in my apartment,” Olivia said, her voice rougher than she meant. She picked up the nearest stack of papers and shuffled them just to keep her hands moving. “I need to work.”

Amanda didn’t press. She stood, crossed the room, and set a fresh file in Olivia’s hands. “New case from last night. Thought you’d want it.”

Olivia blinked, the simple gesture landing heavier than Amanda probably realized. No questions. No probing. Just trust. She swallowed hard, whispering, “Thank you.”

Amanda smiled knowingly. “Anytime.”

Olivia started flipping through the file, grateful for the numbers and statements, the neat lines of a world that could at least pretend to make sense. She walked toward her desk, head bent to the page.

Amaro cleared his throat. A low sound, deliberate.

Her eyes lifted — and froze.

Elliot stood just inside the squad room doors. Hands shoved in his pockets, eyes locked on her. The sight was a gut punch — so achingly familiar that for one dizzy second she swore the last two years had been a bad dream.

The room fell away.

He didn’t move. Neither did she. For a moment it was just the two of them, suspended in that heavy silence, the air buzzing with everything unspoken.

Olivia set the file down, her fingers trembling slightly, and crossed the room to meet him halfway.

“I think we need to talk,” he said, voice low, rough at the edges.

Her throat went dry, but she nodded. “Bunks?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, following her lead.

She flipped on the bunk room light, the sharp scent of detergent and dust rushing out with the memories — laughter and exhaustion, late-night shifts, half-asleep banter. All of it clawed up her chest.

“That’s about as private as we’ll get,” she said, shutting the door behind them.

Silence. Heavy. Too full. Neither of them quite brave enough to start.

Finally, she asked, eyes fixed on the floor, “When are you leaving?” Her eyes stayed on the floor, as though looking at him would shatter her resolve.

Elliot let out a strained breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.” The admission sounded like defeat. “I’m so confused about so many things.” He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing the back of it like a lifeline.

Her fingers curled into his almost against her will. “Me too,” she whispered, finally lifting her eyes to his. The confession was as raw as she’d ever let herself be.

“I wish…” His throat worked, but the words wouldn’t come. He wished for everything — a different life, a different choice, a different ending. Too many wishes to name.

“I know,” she said softly, filling in the blanks like she’d been doing for him their whole lives.

Silence stretched, heavy with ghosts. Then she pulled in a shaky breath. “But I don’t know if I can be that woman, El. And I know you’re not that man.” Tears gathered before she could stop them. She shook her head. “I can’t destroy your family. It would destroy you.”

His chest tightened, fury at himself bleeding into his words. “So what, you’re supposed to be the sacrifice? The lamb on the altar of my marriage?” His voice cracked. “I can’t do that to you, Liv. I can’t.”

Tears fell freely now, slipping down her cheeks unchecked. “Then what choice do we have?” She pressed her face into his chest, her voice muffled against the fabric. “I don’t see any other way.”

“I can’t either,” he rasped, his arms crushing her to him. His eyes screwed shut against the burn. “I don’t want you carrying this. Not for me. Not because of me.”

They just stood there, neither wanting to move nor letting go. When they were partners, their symbiotic relationship often saved their lives, but now it only meant both of them would be in pain no matter what they chose.

Elliot pulled back, ever so slightly pressing his forehead to hers, relishing her closeness, as he desperately tried to make a choice between the woman he loved and the woman he should love. No matter what he chose, he knew his life would crumble around him. And they both knew it.

For Olivia, the silence pressed harder than his arms around her. She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin, the rough tremor in his chest, and it was almost enough to tip her into selfishness. Just one word, one nod, and she could have him. After everything she’d lost, didn’t she deserve that?

But the thought of Kathy’s face, of his kids’ eyes, slammed into her like cold water. She couldn’t let herself be the reason his life splintered again. So she buried the want, shoved it down deep where the rest of her grief lived.

Still, her fists refused to unclench from his shirt.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know what to do.” His fingers mapped her spine, trembling at the edges, every stroke equal parts comfort and confession. She felt it echo inside her, splintering through muscle and marrow until she couldn’t tell if she wanted to collapse into him or run.

“I know what I want,” he whispered, voice thick, “but no matter which way I choose, I lose a piece of you. I lose a piece of me.”

His words vibrated against her ear, each syllable dragging with the weight of a choice neither of them could make. She nodded against his chest, the motion small, betraying the war tearing her open. She knew she should push him back, put space between them before they both drowned in the undertow of this thing between them. But her body betrayed her, clinging instead, as if letting go would rip her in two. She didn’t have the strength to walk away, not from him. Not when the ruin she feared was the same place her heart kept calling her home.

“You need to go home, El.” Her voice was soft but trembling, tears burning hot at the corners of her eyes. It felt like all she did lately was cry, and this—him—was both wound and salve. “You have to go.” She forced herself to look at him, her gaze locking onto the storm in his eyes, knowing that if she looked away, she’d never find the strength again.

“I don’t know if I can.” His voice cracked, and for a fleeting second, he looked less like the immovable wall of her past and more like a man undone, teetering at the edge of breaking.

Her palm lifted to his cheek, thumb grazing the hard line of stubble, dragging his focus down to her. “If you stay, then the sacrifice of the last two years means nothing.” The words made her body ache. She tried to lean away, to force the distance back into place, but his pull was magnetic—inescapable.

Their lips hovered too close, breaths colliding, the air itself swollen with everything unsaid. Every second was a choice, and every choice was ruin. She should have broken away. She knew she should.

Instead, she caved.

She pressed her lips to his, sealing the fracture with something that could never hold.

It wasn’t tentative this time—it was desperate, a collision born of grief and want, everything they had starved themselves of poured into that single moment. His answer was immediate, crushing. A decade of silence and denial unraveled in one bruising kiss.

Her fists curled tight in his shirt, yanking him closer like she could anchor herself to him or crawl into his chest if she tried hard enough. His chest was solid against hers, the bunk frame creaking beneath their weight, his breath breaking ragged against her mouth. For a moment she thought she might drown in the force of him.

They knew now. They knew what each other tasted like, and that knowledge was its own poison—its own fix. A secret they could never un-know, an ache they would chase even as it ruined them. She needed it one more time, needed the burn of him on her lips to carry her through the emptiness she knew would come tomorrow.

And so she took it. She dragged him back with her until the bunk caught behind her knees, pulling him down on top of her as she fell. Her mouth was fierce, demanding, her hands shoving his shirt up, palms sliding over bare skin.

He matched her hunger, lips leaving hers to blaze a trail down her jaw, her throat, the edge of her collarbone. His hand slid beneath her shirt, drifting lower with a reverence that only made her ache sharper. She arched up into him, hips meeting his, breath catching when his mouth grazed the skin just above her chest.

And for a moment—God help her—she thought she might let it happen. Didn’t she deserve this? Him. Just once. Just one time before he was gone again. One night to remember when the silence came back. She could keep this. Hide it away. Live off it like oxygen when she had nothing else.

The thought hollowed her out even as it filled her. Her fingers fisted tighter in his shirt, pulling, urging, desperate. His body pressed harder to hers, his restraint breaking apart thread by thread, and she almost gave in. Almost let them burn it all down.

But the truth hit just as fast: if she let it go further, she wouldn’t just be taking him for herself. She’d be taking everything. His vows. His family. The fragile pieces of his life she had no right to break.

Her palms shifted. Flattened against his chest. Pushed.

The kiss tore apart with a sob that ripped from her throat. “No.”

He froze above her, chest heaving, forehead pressed to hers like opening his eyes might destroy him.

“We…we can’t.” Her chest heaved. “If we…we do this…” Her voice cracked, jagged, her breath trembling. “There’s no coming back.” She cupped his jaw, blue eyes falling on her brown. “You’ll lose more than I can ever give back.”

Still pressed beneath him, she held her hands braced against his chest, forcing space even as her body ached to close it. Neither of them moved, both trembling in the silence, lips swollen, breaths ragged.

He lowered his forehead to her shoulder, eyes closed, his breath shuddering against her skin. For a few suspended seconds he didn’t speak, only clung to the anchor of her like he could steady himself there. His hand lingered at her waist, then slid up to her ribs, to her shoulder, finally cupping her face. The rough drag of his thumb traced her cheekbone once, tender and breaking, before he forced himself back.

“You need to go, Elliot.” Her voice cracked, raw and final. “Go.”

He looked like he wanted to fight her, to argue, to refuse. But then his throat bobbed, his jaw clenched, and for a moment he looked carved from stone, a man locked inside his own punishment.

Still, he pressed his forehead briefly to hers—one last, helpless tether—before pushing himself upright. His hand lingered at her face for a heartbeat longer, then fell away. 

She closed her eyes and listened to his footsteps taking him away. She sensed his last pause, last minute of hesitation, but then the door opened. 

The sound of the door clicking shut was louder than any slam.

Olivia stayed frozen on the bunk, staring at the ceiling until the silence crushed her chest. Then her knees drew up, arms folding tight around her middle as the sobs tore loose. Sharp, uncontrollable, they wracked her until she buried her face in both hands, trying to cage the sound. It didn’t matter. The grief ripped through her anyway.

This was right, she told herself. Over and over, a broken chant. This was right. This was mercy. But the words cut like glass, and every time she whispered them she felt another piece of herself fracture.

Because some part of her wanted it—wanted him—just once. One night she could claim as her own. One memory to cling to when the silence returned, when he was gone and she was left with nothing but emptiness. She could have kept it. She could have survived on it.

But she hadn’t. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t take that from him, even if it meant destroying herself.

Her hands trembled against her mouth. She could still taste him. She would always taste him. And she hated herself for stopping even as she hated herself for wanting.

Love, fury, loss—it all seared her at once, leaving a scorch that would never fade. And she knew she’d carry that burn for the rest of her life.

-000-

Amanda stacked the case file on Olivia’s desk, pretending to busy herself while her mind churned. The bunk’s door had been closed too long, and she wasn’t sure if she should check in or stay the hell out. Liv had looked like she was two seconds from breaking earlier, and the last thing Amanda wanted to do was barge in.

She yanked open a drawer, rifling for a pen she didn’t need, ears tuned to the silence at the end of the hall. The quiet was heavy enough to make her twitch.

A throat cleared across the room. She glanced up just as Nick tilted his chin toward the entrance.

“Shit.” Amanda muttered, her stomach sinking.

Brian Cassidy was striding through the squad room, jaw set, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to hold himself together. Amanda’s gaze darted back to Nick, wide-eyed, and the look she shot him said it all: oh, hell, this is bad.

Nick leaned in, hissed under his breath, “What the hell are we supposed to do here?” His eyes flicked toward the bunks, then back to Cassidy, tension sharp across his face.

Amanda didn’t answer—because she didn’t know either.

Brian slowed as he reached her desk. He looked contrite, shoulders rounded instead of combative, but Amanda knew better. Contrition had a shelf life, and if he caught Olivia with Elliot again… well, she’d rather not picture the fallout.

“Hey,” Brian started, voice clipped but careful. “Liv come in today? She wasn’t home when I stopped by earlier.”

Amanda tapped her pen against the desk, trying to look casual. “She was here earlier,” she said lightly. “Got antsy, left about an hour ago.” Left was generous. More like relocated twenty feet away.

Brian frowned. “Do you know where?”

She forced a shrug. “Coffee. Food. Something like that. She didn’t say.” Amanda prided herself on staying cool under pressure, but this—this was different. She knew this was going to be bad.

For a moment, it looked like he might accept that. His shoulders eased, his weight shifting back.

Then—click. The sound of the bunk’s door opening carried across the room.

Amanda shut her eyes. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Nick was already pushing half out of his chair. “Hey, Cassidy,” he called, louder this time, sharp enough to draw eyes from nearby desks and maybe give Elliot half a second of warning. “What’s up, man? Haven’t seen you in a couple days. Everything okay?” His tone was easy on the surface, but Amanda caught the warning under it.

Cassidy didn’t even flinch. His eyes had already locked on Elliot stepping out, face drawn tight, every line of him screaming wreckage. What the hell happened in there?

And Brian saw it too.

Oh, hell. Amanda’s stomach dropped. She rose, knowing she couldn’t get between them fast enough. The air in the squad room shifted—quiet, charged, everyone else clocking what was about to explode.

Then Cassidy moved.

Chapter Text

Elliot didn’t even register the blur of motion until his back slammed into the wall and Cassidy’s fist connected with his jaw. Pain flashed white, but anger surged hotter. His instincts roared awake—Marine training, years on the street. His body knew what to do before his mind caught up, throwing a punch back in Cassidy’s direction. 

Cassidy’s voice echoed across the squad room. “You think you can just walk back in here? That she’ll make room for you again?” His jaw clenched, eyes flashing. “After all the damage you left behind?”

Elliot froze mid-step, pulse pounding. The words hit like a sucker punch — the kind you don’t see coming but know you deserve.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he growled.

“Yeah?” Cassidy stepped closer, voice rising. “I think I do. I think you’re a bastard who wanted his partner more than he ever wanted his wife.”

Red flooded Elliot’s vision. He shoved Cassidy back, the nearest desk rattling when Cassidy hit it — and before anyone could move, Elliot swung hard, his fist cracking against Cassidy’s cheek.

The squad room erupted—scraping chairs, startled voices—but neither man heard it.

“You think I wanted any of this?” he snapped. “I loved Kathy. I—” he faltered, jaw tight. “I cared about Liv.” He shook his head, still seething. “Don’t you dare act like any of this was easy.”

Cassidy wiped the blood from his mouth and smirked. “You talk like walking away was noble. News flash—it wasn’t. You ran, and she paid for it.”

Elliot’s jaw locked. “Yeah?” he shot back. “And where the hell were you when she was being tortured by that psychopath?” His voice rose, vibrating with fury. “Two damn days, Brian. You didn’t even notice she was missing.”

Cassidy’s smirk vanished, eyes going dark. “You don’t get to talk about that.”

“Oh, I think I do.” Elliot stepped closer, voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “You want to throw stones? Start with the fact you didn’t even see it happening right in front of you.”

Elliot only half-dodged the punch Cassidy threw.

They grappled—fists and fury, a knot of grief and jealousy and history boiling over. Elliot’s knuckles split on Cassidy’s jaw; Cassidy slammed him against the wall, the sound sharp and sickening. Every punch felt justified, every accusation burned, every block came too late to stop the shame clawing deeper than the bruises.

“I’m doing what you aren’t!” Elliot roared, voice ragged. “I’m showing up! You weren’t man enough to be what she needed—not then, and sure as hell not now!”

“Enough!” Cragen’s voice thundered through the squad rooms 

Hands clamped down—Amaro hauling Cassidy into a headlock from behind, Fin dragging Elliot back by the shoulders. Elliot’s chest heaved, fists still twitching to swing. Cassidy lurched forward once more before Amaro shoved him hard against a desk, the crack of impact silencing the room.

“Cassidy! Stabler!” Cragen’s glare could’ve flayed skin. “My office—NOW.”

The command landed heavier than any punch, the entire squad frozen in the wreckage of what they’d just witnessed.

-000-

Amanda’s pulse hammered in her ears. She’d been half out of her chair the whole time—frozen—watching two men who claimed to love Olivia tear each other apart in front of half the damn squad. Not just idiots. Reckless, selfish bastards. Fighting like she was a prize instead of a person.

Movement at the edge of her vision snapped her focus. Olivia. Pale, wrecked, braced against the bunk room doorframe like it was the only thing holding her up. Amanda’s stomach dropped, a sick, heavy lurch.

“Shit.” The word slipped out before she could stop it. She pushed to her feet, protective instinct overtaking the fury. 

Let Cragen roast the bastards. Liv needed someone to keep her from shattering.

-000-

Olivia’s body slumped against the doorframe, her legs buckling beneath her. Her fingers clawed at the wood, white-knuckled, but her strength was gone. The squad room spun in fragments—the shouting, the scuffle of feet, Cragen’s bark—all of it pressing in until her vision tunneled. She was just…done. Too wrung out to stand, too tired to fight the collapse when her knees gave.

“Hey, hey.” Amaro caught her under the elbows, steadying her weight. Amanda was there in a heartbeat, her hand firm on Olivia’s arm, her voice low and steady.

“Got you.” Between the two of them, they steered her back into the bunks, away from the stares, away from the testosterone still vibrating through the walls.

Amaro eased her onto a lower bunk, lifting her legs onto the mattress with care. Olivia didn’t protest—she couldn’t. Her face was vacant, but not numb; every line carried the exhaustion of someone who had felt too much for too long. Her eyes stayed fixed on nothing, like even blinking cost more than she had left to give.

Amanda flicked her gaze at Nick. “I’ve got her.”

He read her tone instantly and nodded, slipping out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Amanda perched on the edge of the bunk, one hand brushing gently through Olivia’s hair—wild against the pillow.

Nothing. No words. Just the hollow numbness radiating from her chest.

Olivia wondered if this was what it felt like to finally break. Not the sharp shatter of glass, but the dull, collapsing crumble of a wall too weathered to stand. Every breath scraped against her ribs. Every thought carried too much weight. And threaded through it all was the raw memory of his hands—warm under her shirt, rough against her skin.

She didn’t regret it, even if she should have. God, she couldn’t. But she regretted the ache it left behind—the scorch in her chest that felt like absence branded into bone. Because he was going home to his wife. Because she’d let herself believe, for a heartbeat, that his touch could make it bearable. And now he was leaving her again. And she was the one pushing him on his way.

That realization hit harder than the kiss, harder than the fight—it gutted her. And with it, the nausea surged. She bolted upright, barely making it to the trash can before her stomach lurched. The sound echoed harshly in the small room.

“Okay,” Amanda said softly, crouching at her side. She didn’t flinch, didn’t fuss. She just gathered Olivia’s hair back, rubbed a slow circle between her shoulder blades until the heaves subsided.

That’s when the tears came—hot, endless—cracking the fragile shell she’d been holding around herself.

Olivia folded onto the cool linoleum, body shaking. “I can’t—” she choked, her breath catching in jagged bursts.

Amanda slid down beside her, looping an arm firmly around her shoulders. “Yeah, you can. Not right this second, but you will.” Her tone left no room for doubt. She pressed gently, coaxing her back toward the bed. “Come on. Help me out here, Liv.”

Between Amanda’s grip and Olivia’s last scraps of strength, they made it back onto the bunk. Olivia collapsed sideways, sobs spilling unchecked into the pillow.

She hated it. Hated the loss of control, the raw mess of it. Olivia Benson didn’t fall apart. But tonight, she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t patch over the grief, or the guilt, or the goddamn mess of her heart.

Amanda settled again at the edge, fingers brushing rhythmically through her hair, her other hand a quiet anchor at Olivia’s shoulder. No judgment. No pity. Just presence.

Thank God for Amanda.

For the first time in days, Olivia’s breathing slowed—not even close to calm, but steadier. Her eyes closed as she secretly hoped this was all just a nightmare that she would wake up from at any moment. She felt herself drifting toward sleep, but one thought circled relentlessly: Elliot’s kiss, his hands, the way he had gone when she asked.

Part of her couldn’t stop imagining it—those hands sliding under her shirt, ghosting over her skin, his lips trailing lower. But even that memory was poisoned by the truth: soon enough, those same hands would be on his pretty blonde wife. The thought hollowed her out. He was leaving her just like before.

Her tears had barely dried when exhaustion dragged her under.

Amanda sat guard, jaw set, eyes sharp at the door. If anyone so much as opened it—Cassidy, Stabler, hell, even Cragen—they’d have to get through her first.

-000-

“I don’t even know where to start with you idiots.”

Cragen’s voice cracked like a whip, reverberating off the walls of his office. Elliot was shoved back twenty years in an instant—back to when he and Liv had first partnered, back to the days when they’d been young, reckless, unstoppable, always ending up across this same desk waiting for the inevitable explosion.

Back then, it had almost been funny. Tonight, it felt like a gut punch.

“You.” Cragen’s finger jabbed toward him, hard enough Elliot swore he could feel it land. He snapped to attention without thinking, Marine reflexes clicking in like muscle memory.

“I told you not to make this worse. I told you not to hurt her. And what do you do?” Cragen’s voice rose, thunderous. “You did exactly that. Exactly that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Elliot’s jaw locked. He wanted to argue—to say it hadn’t been like that, to swear he’d only wanted to protect her, to fix what he’d broken—but he had nothing. No words that wouldn’t sound like excuses.

“Preach,” Cassidy muttered from behind him, smug in his bitterness.

Elliot turned, cutting him a look so sharp it could’ve drawn blood.

“Don’t you even start with me.” Cragen rounded on Cassidy so fast the smugness melted right off his face. “If you’d stopped acting like a jealous ass for five minutes, maybe she would’ve had somebody in her corner who actually showed up for her through all this shit. She needed you. And you didn’t show. You know who did?” His finger stabbed toward the bullpen. “Amanda. Rollins has been the one holding her together, while you’ve been too busy swinging your fists.”

The words landed like lead in Elliot’s chest. Amanda. Of course it was Amanda. Someone had to step up when he hadn’t. Someone always did. And now he wasn’t even the one allowed to hold Liv when she broke. He’d forfeited that right.

Cragen’s glare didn’t let up. “You both claim to care about Olivia. You both use that word love like it’s a badge of honor. But you screwed up. Both of you. And you don’t get to hide behind excuses this time.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the rasp of Cragen dragging in a steadying breath. His anger simmered, but the disappointment underneath burned hotter. That disappointment—worse than yelling, worse than suspension—lodged under Elliot’s ribs like a splinter.

“I’ve pulled you apart twice now,” he said, quieter but sharper for it. “If it happens again, I don’t care how long I’ve known you—I will report this up the chain. And you’ll both find yourselves suspended. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Elliot’s voice hit at the same time as Cassidy’s.

Cragen gave a curt nod, then dropped into his chair like the fire in him had burned itself out. He waved them both off with a dismissive flick. “Get the hell out of my face.”

Cassidy slunk out first. Elliot lingered just a beat, throat thick, shame clawing up the back of his neck. “Sorry, Don.”

Cragen’s gaze cut up to his, hard and unflinching. “I’m not the one who needs to hear it.”

The words slammed into him harder than Cassidy’s fist had. Olivia. It was always Olivia. Always the one left bleeding for his mistakes.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, not trusting them not to curl into fists again, and drifted toward the bullpen. The weight in his chest was worse than Cassidy’s punch—shame, guilt, and the bitter knowledge that Cragen was right.

He slowed near the bunks, pausing long enough to glimpse through the narrow window. Amanda’s silhouette sat guard at the bedside, a steady shadow at Olivia’s side. Relief tugged at him—she wasn’t alone—but it twisted too, because once again, someone else was doing the job that used to be his.

“Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t go in there.”

Amaro’s voice cut across the bullpen, flat but edged. He didn’t look up from his computer. “Amanda’s protective. She’ll shoot first, ask later.”

Elliot forced a humorless exhale. “Wasn’t planning to. I’ve made enough of a mess already.”

“Yeah.” Nick finally turned, his gaze sharper than Elliot expected. “You did.”

The words hit like a blow. Elliot bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nick leaned back, arms crossing. “She was finally okay. Not with Lewis—no one’s okay with that—but with you. When you left, it demolished her. She wanted nothing to do with anyone. Least of all a new partner.”

Elliot swallowed, throat dry. He wanted to argue, to say he hadn’t had a choice, but Nick’s glare dared him to try.

“You could’ve called,” Nick pressed, frustration hardening his voice. “A letter. Something. Instead, you left her to pick up the pieces on her own. She pined for you forever, and then she finally got over it. Realized she could live without you.”

Each word hammered Elliot down. He dropped his gaze to the floor, shame twisting tight.

Nick leaned forward, voice low. “If you’re here—if you’re gonna show up for her—then you always show up. No more half-in, half-out. Either you stay, or you stay gone. She can’t take the in-between. Not from you.”

Elliot’s stomach churned. He wanted to promise, to swear—but the truth tangled in vows and rings, in decades of choices. All he could manage was a hoarse, “I made a mistake. I don’t know if I can fix it.”

Nick didn’t soften. “Then figure it out. Because she deserves better than this.”

Chapter Text

Elliot left the precinct and let the city swallow him whole. He walked without direction, letting the crowds shove and jostle him down the sidewalks. But no amount of noise or motion drowned her out. He could still hear Liv’s voice: Go home to your family.

It should have been simple. It wasn’t. Every step he took felt like betrayal—betrayal if he stayed, betrayal if he left.

By the time he flagged down a cab, the only thing he knew was that he couldn’t outrun himself.

The hotel room was exactly as they’d left it. Beds unmade, sheets tangled. Olivia’s shirt still on the bathroom floor, a stark reminder of what he should never have touched.

He stood in the doorway too long, staring. He could still taste her—salt and heat, the warmth of her breath when she kissed him back like she needed it as badly as he did. He could still feel the press of her skin beneath his fingertips, hot and alive, burning him in places he didn’t know could burn.

How was he supposed to go home after that? How was he supposed to slip back into a marriage, into routines, after knowing exactly what it felt like to cross the line he’d spent years convincing himself he wouldn’t cross?

He dragged a hand down his face, heart pounding like he was still in her arms. The guilt was brutal, but underneath it throbbed something worse. Want. Hunger. The truth that he could never unlearn the shape of her body in his hands, never unknot the ache of wanting more.

For the first time, he wondered if home had become a lie. Maybe it had the second her mouth met his. Maybe even longer. 

He paced the room like a caged animal, back and forth, dragging his hands over his face. Every corner carried her, every shadow burned with what they’d done…what they’d almost done. He couldn’t escape it.

But in  the end, there was nowhere left to go but the desk. She sent him away, and maybe everyone was right. He wasn’t good for her. 

He dropped into the chair, head in his hands. He didn’t want to search flights, didn’t want to make calls, didn’t want to think about Kathy. He wanted Olivia. But that wasn’t an option, and the longer he sat in this room that still carried her presence, the more dangerous it became.

Rip off the band-aid. Force the break.

He opened his laptop, typed in flight searches with stiff fingers, each click like a nail in his own coffin. The earliest option was tomorrow morning. Too late for escape. Too much time to doubt. 

He sat back, staring at the screen as the number glared back at him. One night. One night too long. Long enough to replay her touch, her kiss, her voice telling him to go home. Long enough to realize he’d never stop wanting her.

His chest felt raw as he drafted the text.

I’m sorry for everything. I wanted to be here for you, and I think I made things worse. I’ll be flying out tomorrow. I’ll call at the airport—only if you want me to.

Send. No taking it back.

Only then did he pick up his phone and dial Kathy.

The phone rang until he thought it would die in voicemail. Then—

“Elliot?” Her voice was low, wary.

Relief surged, then concern. He r voice sounded all wrong. “Hey. You okay?”

A pause stretched. “I don’t know.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

His chest tightened. “Did something happen? Are the kids—”

“They’re fine.” Another pause, longer this time. “I’m not.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, heart hammering. “Kathy—”

Her voice thinned, carrying exhaustion more than anger. “I keep going back and forth, trying to figure out how to say this. Whether to say it at all.” Silence pressed between them, heavy. Then, quieter still, “I think…” she sighed. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t come home.”

The words landed like a punch. “What? Kathy, what are you saying?”

“There weren’t any meetings in New York, were there?” There was abjagted edge to the question, making it an accusation. 

He closed his eyes. “…No.”

More silence. 

“I think you know what I’m saying,” she whispered. “Two years ago, I asked you to choose. Us or her. I thought you chose us.”

He hated how hurt she sounded, but defensiveness surged anyway. He’d done everything—sacrificed Olivia—and it still hadn’t fixed anything. Not really. Kathy had her secrets too. His were just harder to hide.

“Kathy, I did! I left her—for you, for the kids.”

Her breath hitched. “You keep saying that, but Elliot… you never really left her. She’s always here. Between us. Around us. In everything.”

He tried to find words, but his throat was tight. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” she said, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. “I’ve been waiting, hoping you’d come all the way back to us. Not just live under the same roof, but really be here. And you can’t. Because part of you will always be with her.”

He pressed his hand to his forehead, helpless. What was he supposed to say? 

She was right. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Her voice cracked, just once. “And I don’t think you can either. I think…We’re done, Elliot.”

The silence on his end was suffocating.

““You still there?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I’ll pack your things. You’ll need to come back eventually, but not now. I need time. The kids need time.”

His throat burned. “Okay.”

He could hear her take a sharp breath—steadying herself for what came next.

“Goodbye, Elliot.”

The line went dead.

Elliot sat frozen, phone slack in his hand, the silence louder than Kathy’s voice had been. She was right. Christ, she’d been right all along. He hadn’t just failed tonight—he’d been failing for years. An affair, not in bed but in every glance, every silence, every late-night call with Olivia that filled cracks Kathy never could.

And now the thing he’d pretended wasn’t real had turned flesh. Her mouth on his, her hands fisted in his shirt—he hadn’t pulled away. He wouldn’t have. If she hadn’t stopped it, he would’ve followed her down without hesitation, knowing full well what it meant.

That truth hollowed him. He could tell himself it wasn’t sex, not technically, but it didn’t matter. He’d have given her everything in that moment, not because it was right but because he was selfish enough to want it more than anything. Selfish enough to drag her down with him, even if it meant she’d wake up tomorrow gutted by what they’d done.

It wasn’t just betrayal of Kathy anymore. It was betrayal of Liv too—taking from her what he knew wasn’t fair to give, binding her to him in a way that would’ve left her with nothing but wreckage. And he hated himself because even now, some part of him still wanted it. Still wanted her.

He pressed both hands to his face, shame blistering hot. He’d judged Cassidy for not being there, but what was he? A man so torn between two lives that he’d risk ruining the one person who mattered most to him just to feel whole for a breath.

God help him, he didn’t regret the kiss. What gutted him was knowing that if she asked again—if she looked at him like that, begged without words—he’d give in all over, even knowing it would destroy her.

And that made him more dangerous than any other man in her life.

He pressed his palms into his eyes until colors burst behind his lids. Kathy’s voice still echoing, Olivia’s taste still on his tongue.

What the hell was left of him now?

Home was gone. Marriage gone. And the only person who had ever felt like home… she’d told him to go back to Kathy.

He barked out a laugh, bitter and broken. There was no way back. Not to Rome. Not to Liv. Not to anything that made sense.

He was already untethered. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be fixed.

-000-

Olivia rolled over on Amanda’s couch, groggy, her head still pounding from too many tears and not enough sleep. Sunlight cut through the blinds, too sharp for the dull ache behind her eyes.

Her phone sat on the coffee table, screen lit with the text she’d read a hundred times already. Elliot’s words hadn’t softened with repetition.

I’m sorry for everything. I wanted to be here for you, and I think I made things worse. I’ll be flying out tomorrow. I’ll call at the airport—only if you want me to.

She hadn’t answered. She didn’t know how. Every time she typed something, she deleted it before sending. There was no right response, no way to explain the mess he’d left her in.

And it wasn’t just the message. It was him. It was the realization of everything she ever felt returned to her then immediately stripped away.

Her mind dragged her back to the first moment, his mouth on hers, the shock of it, the rush of adrenaline that left her dizzy. She’d kissed him back—God, she had—and it hadn’t been gentle. His breath against her, his body pressing into hers, the cool wall at her back. Her body shuddered as she remembered the slide of his tongue over hers, the scrape of stubble along her skin, the softness of his lips as they trailed down her chest.

For those frantic seconds, she’d let herself imagine a different life—one where she wasn’t stealing pieces of him in the shadows but taking what was freely hers. A life where they’d crossed paths before vows and children and lines carved in stone, before regret had threaded itself into every touch.

But then he pulled back, whispering restraint, and when she asked, he’d seemed willing to give her everything. Everything she had ever wanted. The problem was, she couldn’t ask that of him, and the realization gutted her.

The second kiss haunted her differently. It wasn’t soft or steady—it was desperate, clinging, the kind of intimacy that pushed past every boundary she swore she wouldn’t cross. And she knew why. Because she had driven it there.

She was the one who tugged his shirt free of his waistband, greedy for the feel of him beneath her hands. She was the one who rose into his touch, arching into his palms, silently begging for his mouth on her skin. She kissed him like she wanted to burn with him, like she’d finally decided that one night of ruin was worth the cost.

And he had followed her lead, answering her urgency with his own, hands sliding higher, lips drifting lower. Every time she leaned closer, he matched her. Every time she asked without words, he gave.

That was what gutted her most—not that he wanted her, but that she had wanted him so much she would’ve taken everything, even knowing it wasn’t what was best for either of them. Even knowing that when the night ended, he would walk out and go home to someone else.

It wasn’t reverence. It was ruin. And she had led them there

She had to let him go. He wasn’t hers. He never had been.

But her entire body balked at the thought. If he wasn’t hers, why did her body still hum with the ghost of his touch? Why did emptiness claw at her now, deeper than it had in years?

Her body felt wrung out, every limb heavy, mouth dry from hours of crying. Even her skin seemed to remember him—her lips tender, her chest aching where his hands had pressed, her stomach still alive with the phantom of his mouth drifting lower. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling until the plaster blurred, trying to breathe past the weight of it. Every inhale scraped like glass.

She wanted to believe she was stronger than this—that she could push him away and mean it. But her body betrayed her, still buzzing with memory, the same way she knew he was out there carrying hers. Both of them marked, both of them ruined, with no way to take it back.

She buried her face in the couch cushion, the stale fabric rough against her cheek, and tried to breathe through the ache. She could text Amanda. She could reach out. But she didn’t. Not yet. She needed to feel the burn a little longer—without the mercy of absolution.

The apartment around her felt foreign. Too bright. Too quiet. Amanda’s life showed in the details—the stack of case files on the counter, a chipped wine glass in the sink, a sweatshirt tossed carelessly over a chair. Evidence of rhythm. Of normal. A space lived in and safe, untouched by the ghosts Olivia carried everywhere she went.

She was only a guest here, wrapped in borrowed stillness. It reminded her how temporary she always felt in her own life, as though she were only ever passing through. Never rooted. Never allowed to stay.

Her phone buzzed against the table, Amanda’s name flashing bright. She could answer. She could let herself break the silence. Instead she let it buzz, then fade, leaving her suspended in the exile she had chosen.

-000-

He sat in the hotel chair long after the call ended, phone clutched in his hand. Kathy’s goodbye echoed—hollow, final. He could call her back, try to explain. But he didn’t. If he were honest, he’d admit he didn’t want to. The silence was easier, even as it scraped him raw.

At last, he dragged himself toward the bathroom. Olivia’s shirt was still on the tile, soft cotton crumpled where she’d left it. He bent, picked it up, and for one reckless second pressed it to his face. The faint scent of her shampoo clung to the fabric, fading but undeniable.

His chest ached. He shoved the shirt into his bag like contraband, a man carrying his own evidence, and sank onto one of the beds.

The phone buzzed once in his hand—her name lighting the screen. His stomach leapt.

Call me if you haven’t left yet.

Her words were a fracture line, one last chance, one plea she shouldn’t have made but couldn’t help. He stared at it, every instinct screaming to answer, to hear her voice just once more. But the better part of him—the part that loved her and knew he wasn’t the best man for her—let the screen dim, her name vanish into the dark, and the silence settle back over him like ash.

Chapter Text

By late afternoon, Olivia figured her text had come too late. Maybe that was better. Any answer from him—silence or not—would only drag out the ache.

But there was one thing she couldn’t keep avoiding. Brian. The wreckage with Elliot had stripped away her excuses, left things brutally clear. She couldn’t keep pretending with a man she ran from whenever her world cracked open. With Brian, she was always the one carrying the weight, always steadying him when she had nothing left for herself. And when it mattered most—when she was breaking—she hadn’t reached for him at all. She’d reached for Elliot. She always did.

That was the truth she couldn’t unsee. Even if Elliot was off-limits, maybe always would be, she couldn’t stay with Brian while she wanted someone else more. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to her.

Resolved… at least telling herself she was…she pushed up from the couch. Her body felt heavy, her reflection in the window a hollow-eyed stranger, but she didn’t care. She thumbed out a quick text to Amanda letting her know she was heading out, squared her shoulders, and pulled the door shut behind her.

-000-

Olivia turned her key in the lock and stepped into her apartment, bracing herself for silence. Some part of her half-expected Brian to be pacing the floor, ready with another argument, but the place was empty. Too empty.

Her eyes snagged on the envelope taped to the fridge. Her name, written in Brian’s careful block letters, made her stomach twist. She peeled it free with stiff fingers and carried it to the couch.

Liv,

You haven’t returned my calls or texts, so I guess I’ll leave this and hope you read it. I’m sorry for this week. I’ve been a selfish ass. I don’t understand what’s between you and Stabler. I probably won’t ever get it. Sorry, I was jealous. Sorry, I was a jerk.

I grabbed most of my stuff, and I’m staying with a friend. I get that you need space to work through all this stuff. Figure out what you want. If you want me in your life, I’ll be there, but if it’s time to move on, I get it. I love you. Probably always will.

Brian

The letter slipped from her hand onto the cushion beside her. Relief and guilt twisted in her chest until she couldn’t tell which weighed heavier. He’d backed away, given her the space she hadn’t even known she was desperate for—but it left her feeling untethered. Unmoored. More alone than ever.

The apartment was oppressively still. No hum of conversation, no trace of another body moving through the space. Just the buzz of the refrigerator and the steady drip of a leaky faucet, each sound needling at the silence. She leaned her head back against the couch, eyes shut tight, the emptiness pressing like a weight on her ribs.

She tried to outpace it. Pulled case files across her lap, reread the same page three times without absorbing a word. Turned on the TV, only to shut it off when the laugh track scraped against her nerves. Showered, scrubbed until her skin stung, then pulled on a T-shirt and sweats. None of it helped.

Every light she switched on only seemed to make the place feel smaller. Lonelier. Her phone buzzed once on the coffee table—Brian, maybe Amanda—but she didn’t pick it up. Couldn’t.

By the time night swallowed the city outside her window, she sat curled on the couch, blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. The letter still lay where she’d dropped it, a neat little accusation in handwriting she knew too well. She wanted to believe him when he said he’d understand. She wanted to believe there was something here left to salvage.

But the truth was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Sleep came in shards—fitful, shallow, broken.

Since she’d come back from that godforsaken beach house, she’d only slept alone a handful of times. When Brian was working, she found excuses to stay at the precinct. A crappy bunk was better than waiting alone in her apartment for a shadow to pounce.

She startled at sounds, at phantom movements. And every time she drifted under again, Elliot was there: his voice, his hands, his mouth—his absence.

By dawn, she felt worse than when she’d closed her eyes.

She stood under the hot spray of the shower longer than necessary, trying to scrub the heaviness from her chest. It didn’t work, but she forced herself into pressed slacks and a blazer anyway, armor against the day.

The truth was, she was desperate for something steady. The ache in her chest hadn’t eased in days, but maybe the grind of the precinct—the steady rhythm of phones ringing, detectives moving in and out, case files piling up—could stitch her back together, even if only for a few hours. She couldn’t control Elliot. She couldn’t fix Brian. But she could do her job.

By the time she pushed through the precinct doors, she was already drawing in the familiar air like a lifeline. She nodded at the uniforms up front, squared her shoulders, and forced her pulse to slow.

But then her eyes snagged on the bunk room door, left half-open down the hall. The memory hit like a body blow—the two of them tumbling onto the mattress, her hand tugging his shirt loose, his stubble scraping fire along the curve of her neck. Heat shot through her chest before shame followed hard, sharp enough to make her breath stutter. She tore her gaze away, spine rigid, coffee clutched like a lifeline as she kept walking.

The noise inside the squadroom was a balm—phones ringing, printers churning, footsteps across linoleum. Normally she barely noticed. Today, every sound soothed her in a way nothing else could. 

Fin passed by and set a fresh coffee on her desk without breaking stride, just a flick of his brows. Amanda followed, a file tucked under her arm. “We’re still working this one,” she said briskly before adding, softer, “Glad you’re back, Liv.”

The words hit harder than she expected. Olivia blinked, throat tightening, and forced herself to nod. “Me too.” And she meant it. Being here, surrounded by the work, gave her something solid to cling to.

She opened the folder, pulling papers free, and let herself drown in the familiar rhythm—skimming statements, marking dates, jotting quick notes. The ache in her chest was still there, but at least it was muted, pressed down by something she could control.

For ten minutes, she almost believed in normal.

Then her phone buzzed across the desk.

The screen lit with an unfamiliar number. Normally, she wouldn’t have thought twice. But something in her gut twisted.

“Benson,” she answered, tone clipped.

“Olivia?” The voice was tentative, uncertain.

Her heart stuttered. “Kathleen?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Kathleen’s words tumbled out fast, shaky. “Um… I know this is weird, but I haven’t heard from my dad in a couple days. He said he was flying out, but he never called me to take him to the airport. And I know he wouldn’t have left without saying something. I can’t call my mom because she doesn’t know why he was in New York, and none of my sisters or Dickie know either. I just thought… maybe he was with you?”

Olivia’s stomach dropped. “I haven’t seen him since the other day. He said he was going home, and I thought…”

“You thought he just left again. Right?” Kathleen finished for her.

Olivia swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Kathleen’s breath wavered through the line. “Look, I know things are… complicated between you and my dad. I’m not trying to pry, I swear. I just—” her voice cracked, raw with fear— “I just need to know he’s okay.”

Olivia shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose until stars sparked behind her lids. “Kathleen, I don’t know where he is. He told me he was going home. That’s all I know.”

A beat of silence. Olivia could almost hear Kathleen chewing her lip. Kathleen’s inhale rattled. “He sounded… bad. The last time we talked. Like he was hanging on by a thread. And then he just disappears? I don’t know what to do, Liv. I don’t know who else to call.”

The words dug under Olivia’s ribs. She wanted to soothe, to promise. But the last image branded in her mind was Elliot walking out of the bunks, hollow-eyed and staggering under the weight of everything he couldn’t say. For the first time, she let herself admit it—she was scared too.

Kathleen’s next question cut with surgical precision.

“How was he the last time you saw him, Liv? Really—how was he?”

Olivia’s hand locked white-knuckled around the desk edge. The instinct to lie flared—fine, he was fine—but the truth swelled up, dangerous and undeniable.

“He… wasn’t good,” she said finally, the words trembling as they left her. “He looked—off. Tired, I guess. This week has just been… hard.”

“I know. I’m really sorry, Liv. I didn’t want to add this to everything, but you said he looked off? Off how?” Kathleen pressed—no judgment, just fear.

Olivia’s eyes shut against the flood of memory: his shoulders slumped in defeat, the way his hand trembled when it fell from hers, the wreckage in his face after her voice told him to go. And underneath it all—the feel of his mouth on hers, her own body pulling him closer, closer—until she’d shoved him away.

Her throat scraped raw. “He looked… broken,” she whispered. She pinched her eyes shut, hating herself for answering honestly. “Like he’d finally run out of whatever was keeping him standing.”

Kathleen’s sharp inhale was almost a sob. “Oh God. Liv, I—” Her words tangled into panic. “I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

Olivia wasn’t sure what either of them should do, but it appeared to be on her to make a plan. “Look. I know where he was staying. I’ll see what I can find out and make a couple of calls.”

Kathleen let out another half-sob. “Please. If you hear anything—anything at all—call me. Please.”

“I will,” Olivia said, though the promise tasted like ash. She’d promised before—to Kathy, to herself. Promises never seemed to hold.

When the line went dead, the precinct’s noise rushed back in, jarring and too loud. Phones, printers, footsteps. All of the things that brought a brief reprieve earlier now grated her nerves. Her breath caught and she had to slowly release it in a slow shuddered exhale. 

She shoved her chair back too hard, the screech loud enough to turn heads. Amanda’s voice followed, concerned. “Everything okay?”

Olivia didn’t look back. “Probably not.”

She grabbed her bag, stalked toward the elevators, and jabbed the button until the doors opened. The mirrored steel threw her reflection back at her—pale, wrecked, eyes rimmed red. She muttered under her breath, sharp and exhausted, as the doors slid shut around her.

“I’m so goddamn tired of this shit.”

The elevator jolted down, every floor a countdown she didn’t want. By the time the doors opened, her pulse was hammering in her ears. She pushed through the lobby, through the glass doors, and let the cold air hit her.

The city churned on—horns, voices, footsteps—but it all blurred. Kathleen’s voice replayed like a stuck record: How was he the last time you saw him? The truth she’d whispered back—broken—stabbed deeper now, because it wasn’t just about him. It was about her too. About the way she’d kissed him, tugged his shirt loose, let his hands slide over her like he was already hers.

And now his daughter was calling, panicked, begging for reassurance she couldn’t give—because while Kathleen had been worrying, Olivia had been taking pieces of him in the dark. Pieces she had no right to take.

Her hand caught on a lamppost at the corner, steadying herself against the rush of nausea. Kathleen had been right to be afraid. Because Olivia had seen it up close: Elliot hadn’t just been broken. She had broken him, too.

Her phone buzzed in her bag. Amanda, maybe Brian. She didn’t pull it out. Couldn’t. Not when one more voice asking her to explain might shatter her for good.

So she walked on, head down, letting the city blur past. One thought cut through the noise, merciless and clear,

She was losing him again. And this time, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s palms were slick as she pushed through the hotel’s glass doors. He’s fine. He’s fine. The mantra looped sharp in her head, but it didn’t cut through the dread twisting in her gut. Her mind kept conjuring worst-case scenarios—Elliot bleeding out, Elliot gone, Elliot swallowed by whatever darkness had hollowed him in the days before. She tried to banish the images. Failed.

She had seen him break before, but never like this. Their goodbye had gutted her. She’d told herself he wouldn’t do anything reckless—not to her, not to his kids, not to Kathy. But the certainty had frayed. Now all she had was the pounding of her pulse and the ache of not knowing.

Her phone buzzed, jolting her so hard she nearly dropped it. Amaro.

“Benson,” she said, steadying her breath with her hand pressed to her chest.

“Hey,” Nick said quickly. Too quickly. “Amanda told me you were looking for Stabler.”

“Yeah. I’m at his hotel now…”

His sigh bled through the line, and her stomach lurched. “I may have talked to him after Cragen ripped into him.”

Olivia froze. “What the hell did you say?”

“Nothing he hasn’t heard before,” Nick muttered.

“Nick.” Her tone sharpened.

Another pause, then: “I told him you were a wreck when he left, but you got over it. That if he was gonna show up for you, he had to always show up—or stay gone. I might’ve said he should stay gone.” Guilt crept into his voice. “I didn’t mean—Liv, I’m sorry.”

She stopped listening. The words twisted into new fears, each one dragging her closer to panic. What if he did stay gone? What if this was it?

“Liv? You still there?”

“Yeah,” she forced out. “I gotta go.” She hung up before he could say more, before her spiraling could spill into her voice.

The lobby blurred around her. Maybe Elliot just needed space. Maybe he’d broken his phone. Maybe there were a hundred simple explanations. Maybe. But none of them felt true.

At the desk, she flashed her badge and forced a smile. “Can you tell me if Elliot Stabler has checked out?”

The clerk hesitated, then tapped the keys. “Hasn’t checked out.” He glanced up. “Need a room number?”

“No. That’s alright. Thanks.”

Her breath shook as she crossed the lobby, pressed the elevator button, and slid the old keycard from her wallet—the one he’d given her without hesitation, like trust had never been broken. The elevator doors opened with a hollow chime.

The hallway was silent, stretched long and sterile. His room was at the far end, and the distance between them felt endless. Her vision began to tunnel. She stopped, closing her eyes, forcing a slow breath. He was fine. It was fine. She just needed to breathe. The adrenaline surged anyway, sharp and metallic in her veins.

Olivia drew her gun as she neared the door. The keycard slipped once between trembling fingers before she steadied herself, swiped it through the lock, and pushed the door open.

The room looked untouched. Beds unmade, curtains wide, Olivia’s shirt still on the bathroom floor like a ghost of what they’d done. Her pulse kicked hard.

“Elliot?” Her voice carried too loud. “Elliot, you here?”

“I’m here.”

Her breath caught. She rounded the bed fast, expecting blood, collapse, something catastrophic. Instead she found him sitting on the floor, back to the mattress, knees bent, eyes locked on the skyline outside. He looked too still, too calm—like shock wrapped in human form.

Relief and terror tangled in her chest. She lowered her gun, slid it back into her holster, then dropped down beside him, breath still uneven. “Are you okay?”

His gaze didn’t waver from the window.

She touched his arm lightly, grounding herself as much as him. His hand drifted up, slow, covering hers, but his eyes stayed distant. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Then start with what happened.” Her voice was gentle, coaxing.

Finally, he dragged a hand down his face, his voice raw. “I called Kathy.” He paused like the words themselves were too heavy. “She… she knows why I came here. I don’t even know how, but she knows. And she said she was done.”

Olivia’s stomach turned over. “Done?”

His eyes flicked to hers, hollow and sharp all at once. “She told me not to bother coming back. Said she didn’t want to see me again.” His breath hitched, the cracks showing through his control. “I heard it in her voice, Liv. She meant it. Twenty-plus years, the kids, everything—and it’s just… gone.”

Her chest clenched. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but she knew him too well. He’d been carrying the guilt since the second he stepped foot back in this city.

He laid his head back against the bed behind him. “And the worst part? She’s right. I did this. I let myself come here, let myself—” His jaw locked, words cutting off before he could finish, but the silence was heavy with what he didn’t say. I let myself want you. Touch you. Almost take you.

He dropped his head forward rubbing his hands over his face before he turned to look at her, eyes shining with a devastation Olivia rarely saw from him. “I tried, Liv. I swear to God I tried to hold it together for Kathy, for the kids. I thought if I walked away from you, I could fix it. But I never left you, not really. And she knows that. She’s always known.”

Olivia’s throat burned. Because she knew it too.

“She deserved better,” he whispered, voice fraying. “And all I gave her was half of me. The other half…” His gaze caught hers, naked and broken. “The other half’s been with you this whole damn time. And now I’ve wrecked everything.” He shook his head. “With her…with you. I’m a goddamn wrecking ball.”

The words hollowed her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came. This was Elliot—her Elliot—being cut loose from the life he’d built, the family he’d sworn to protect. 

Olivia’s throat closed, grief and guilt crashing together so fast it stole her breath. For years she’d told herself she was protecting his family, holding the line so he wouldn’t have to choose. She’d kept her distance, swallowed her own feelings, and convinced herself it was the right thing. And then, in one selfish spiral, she’d let herself take what she’d wanted for decades.

And now Kathy was gone…and it was her fault. 

She pressed her nails into her palms, trying to breathe past the jagged weight in her chest. God, what if I ruined this? What if my need, my weakness, finally broke the thing he’d spent twenty years fighting to hold together?

She remembered the way he’d looked at her in the bunk room—devoted, desperate—and how easily she’d let him put his hands on her. She’d pulled him closer when she should’ve pushed him away, kissed him like he belonged to her, encouraged him when he would’ve stopped. And now here he was, wrecked on a hotel floor, telling her his marriage had finally splintered.

Her stomach twisted. He wasn’t just grieving Kathy—he was grieving what her presence, her pull, had cost him. And she couldn’t separate her own devastation from the guilt. Because part of her had wanted it. Had wanted him. Had wanted to believe that maybe, just once, she could be the one he chose.

But all she felt now was ruin. He hadn’t chosen her, not really. Kathy had finally made the choice for all of them. 

The ache in his eyes hollowed her out. She couldn’t stand sitting beside him, couldn’t bear the distance. Instinct surged before reason. She pressed his knees flat, shifted closer, and climbed onto his lap, arms locking hard around his neck. She didn’t care how it looked. She just needed him to feel her there, real and steady.

For a breath, his body went rigid. Then his arms snapped around her, fierce and unyielding, crushing her against him until her lungs ached. His cheek pressed to her temple, his breath breaking ragged against her hair. It should’ve been comfort, and it was—but the warmth of his chest, the solid muscle of his arms, the familiar scrape of stubble when his forehead brushed hers… it all tangled too close to something else. She nearly closed the last inch and kissed him. Almost. God, almost. But she didn’t. They had made enough of a mess already and she couldn’t hurt him more by taking more. 

Still, Something that lived in the same space as grief and made her chest burn hotter.

Comfort. Just comfort. She told herself, even as her body screamed at the lie.

Elliot’s arms tightened until she could barely breathe, and she let him. She let him crush her, cling to her, cry into her hair like she was the last tether he had left. Her fingers traced slow circles across his back, memorizing the way his ribs heaved under her touch.

The intimacy was undeniable, the tension a live wire under every breath. But for now it was survival, not surrender. And she held him like she could carry them both.

-000-

Olivia’s weight settled across his lap before his brain caught up. For a second, he couldn’t breathe—because she was there, close enough that he could feel her heartbeat against his chest, close enough that everything he’d been trying to outrun was right in front of him.

Her arms locked around his neck, steady, anchoring. And something inside him cracked wide open.

Kathy’s words still echoed, merciless: You never really left her. And now here he was, proving it in the worst way. Liv pressed tight against him, his hands hovering before instinct betrayed him and pulled her in harder.

He hated the heat that came with it—the automatic way his body responded, the ache low and insistent. She hadn’t meant it like that, not this time, and he knew it. But Christ, she was warm and alive and holding him like he was worth holding. His shame doubled down. Kathy had been right. And if Liv felt what he couldn’t disguise, she’d see what he was—selfish enough to want her even now, selfish enough to ruin her too.

He tried to speak, to apologize, to untangle the mess in his chest. But nothing came. Not I’m sorry. Not I’ll fix this. Because the truth was heavier: he didn’t know if he could fix any of it. He’d already lost Kathy. And the way Olivia had told him to go home—only for home to collapse under him—felt like losing her too.

Maybe he had already lost them both.

Her hand kept tracing those slow circles on his back, steady as his arms locked tighter, his forehead pressed to hers. For a moment, it felt like they were both suspended in something fragile and fleeting—like if they breathed too deep, it would all collapse.

And maybe that was the truth. Maybe this was all they would get.

One last breath, held between them, before the world demanded its price.