"I'm yourself in someone else" from U2's song 'Love Comes Tumbling'

Chapter 9:

Instead of calling her like every nerve in him demands, he calls Casey.

"How'd it go?" he asks.

"Good for our case, bad for Olivia," the ADA replies honestly.

"Thanks," is his only response. He doesn't need the details, he can imagine exactly how Olivia's cross-examination looked and felt like.

Several hours later he finally presses the 'Send' key following her number after faltering a few times.

He listens to the rings and he's almost sure that she won't answer his call, but just when he's about to give up, Olivia's voice greets his ear. "Hi," she says in a husky, tired voice.

"Liv," he speaks her name softly. After a short pause he continues. "Casey told me."

"Yeah," she replies and this one word is enough to convey everything.

"Are you ok?" he asks.

He hears her inhale deeply and then quietly exhale as she likely thinks about what to give him as a response. He doesn't need any answer beyond this to understand that today's testimony has probably set her months back. Elliot rubs his palm over the side of his face while his other hand presses the cellphone to his ear. "Can I see you?" he asks without further waiting for her to speak.

"You left home?" she suddenly asks.

He hesitates for a moment before replying. "Yes." She doesn't respond so he continues. "Gaines brought it up?"

"Yeah," she replies and the short syllable is even shorter coming out of her mouth, as if she's trying to give him as little as possible.

"I'm sorry you didn't hear about it from me, but I couldn't seem to reach you and I tried to give you some space," he then says.

"We've made enough mistakes, Elliot, don't make this one too," she says after a short pause and her voice is raspy, effortful.

"It's a long story, Liv," is his only reply because he can't explain it again, not over the phone, not when she's ignoring everything that he's told her before. "Can I see you?" he repeats.

"I…no. I have to be up early for work," she replies and he's somewhat hopeful, because she hasn't turned him down entirely.

"Ok," he relents.

"Good night, Elliot," she quietly says and hangs up without waiting for his response.

He looks at his phone's screen, how it blackens soon after Olivia's ended their conversation.

When he calls her the next night, after a long day at work, she picks up and he's actually surprised that she does.

"Do you still like it there? Heard you were in D.C for awhile too," he starts after her quiet 'Yes, Elliot?' because he doesn't want silence to take over so soon and because he wants a safer topic to start with.

"It's ok," she replies.

"They still haven't brought anyone to replace you," he says and he knows that she's probably wondering why he calls to tell her these things when there are so many other things between them that are left unsaid. But he needs this connection with her, in some format or other. He's grasping for straws.

"They will, sooner or later," she quietly replies.

"I think Cragen is still holding your spot for you."

"It doesn't work like that, Elliot, you know that. He just probably hasn't gotten the funding approval to replace me yet."

There's a pause after that and Elliot rubs his fingers over his jaw. "It's gonna end soon, Liv. Forget the crap Gaines pulled yesterday, I don't think he's stupid enough to think they can win this. He'll get convicted and thrown to jail for life. It'll be over," he says, avoiding mentioning the 'Director's name. "You should come back," he quietly adds, still wondering at his ability to say things like that after all this time.

"I can't," she replies and her voice is soft, hoarse. A beat passes before she adds in a stronger tone "How's it going at work? You're staying out of trouble?"

"I'm good. Not giving them reasons," he says, using her words from the night he came over to see her after he was suspended. "It doesn't mean that I don't need you there," he dares adding and he wonders if she'll finally hang up on him now, and how the word 'need' has become such a frequent visitor on his lips, after he's tried to kill it altogether for so many years.

"You'll live," she replies and he's surprised and hopeful at the same time, because maybe this little joke at his expense is a good sign. At least she bears with him when he alludes again to the truths he'd laid before her that night, weeks ago.

"I don't know about that, Munch has threatened to kill me if he has to continue with me for much longer," he quips in return.

He hears what he thinks is a soft chuckle before silence falls between them. He has a feeling that she's pretty much done with him for tonight, that she can't give him more than that and maybe he should be satisfied, maybe it should be enough.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later. Kathy and me," he then says, because he hasn't had enough and because as long as he has her listening to him, he should seize the opportunity and actually talk to her, unlike the million opportunities he's missed all these years by keeping silent. "Even the kids weren't surprised," he adds.

She's quiet and after a pause he starts again with "Liv, I…, but she interjects.

"It's getting late, Elliot." And there it is, her losing her patience, her courage, her endurance.

"I'll call you again tomorrow," he ventures to establish it as a fact. He doesn't ask her again if he can see her, like he did the night before. Baby steps, they need to take this in baby steps.

"I don't know if I'll be home," she replies and despite the brush off he's grateful yet again that she hasn't turned him down point blank. It's a little glimpse of hope.

"I'll try," he says before they hang up.

He's still eaten up with guilt, with fear, with pain, with need. There's nothing he can do about it, except for accepting it as a fact and trying to fight it. For her. For himself.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

She stretches on the couch in her comfy yoga pants and oversized tee, the remote in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. She got a new partner today. Life goes on.

If only she'd feel as comfortable as she looks. If only life would really just go the fuck on.

It's been two weeks since she testified and thankfully those weeks have been very hectic at work. They've left her almost no time to think about anything besides work. At least during the day.

The nights are a different story. In the past two weeks Elliot has called her almost every night. Sometimes she hasn't picked up because she's still been at work and sometimes she's been at home but felt like she couldn't handle his voice in her ear and everything that it stirred in her. But mostly, she's answered when he called. Sometimes they'd spoken for a full five minutes and sometimes she's told him that she was tired or had to go after just one. But he's kept calling. And she doesn't and hasn't resented him for that. In fact, on the fifth or sixth night, she was already waiting for her phone to display his name when it came up.

They don't say much when they talk. Once he'd told her that he'd met Casey at work and that there were a few weeks' worth of trial still left, and once he asked what exactly she'd done in D.C. and she shortly told him about the Think Tank. Once he started telling her that he'd seen an apartment he'd liked and she cut him short because she didn't want to hear about it, knowing that it'd lead to talking about his separation from his wife and her fault in it would be out there for her to painfully confront. But in general, they don't say much and sometimes she wonders why he still bothers calling and why she still bothers answering.

She doesn't tell him that the nightmares have returned ever since she had to see 'The Director' again, and that when she lays awake half the night, she wants to call him just to hear his voice. She doesn't tell him that in her nightmares his voice in her ears is the only thing that saves her, just like it did in the basement. She doesn't tell him, because they're not in the basement anymore and she has no business relying on him for comfort any more than she ever has.

She doesn't tell him how the things he's told her that other night keep surfacing all the time, despite her efforts to bury them, and how the fact that he knows how she feels about him, although she's never uttered it in words, is killing her. She doesn't tell him that her body remembers how his body felt against hers and how she sometimes longs for the way he made her feel – safe, reassured, comforted. Loved.

She doesn't tell him any of it, and she hopes that if he'd dare telling her anything of that sort, she'd have the strength to hang up on him and never pick up again when he calls. It's a futile fight, but she has to fight it.

And tonight she finds that she wants him to call. That she wants to tell him about her new partner. For months she's been assigned to whoever was free or whichever detectives needed more manpower on their cases. But today her Captain called her into her office and told her that from now on she'd work permanently with one of them. A detective who has been in the squad for five years and longer on the Force. Detective Second Grade Tom Higgins.

Higgins' partner is leaving New York and he needs a new partner. She likes Higgins. He's not Elliot, he's not even Fin, but she liked working with him whenever she's had a chance. Despite the pleasantries though, she couldn't help thinking 'great, another Irish man', and, on top of that, one whose convoluted relationship with his two ex-wives sometimes made him a target for jokes by his colleagues. And now she finds that she actually wants to tell Elliot about it, not because she wants to hurt him, make him jealous or prove him that life goes on or anything like that. She wants to tell him because she feels a need to share this part of her life with him.

Elliot knows Tom, vaguely so she's pretty sure that he wouldn't dare act like he used to when she was partnered with others while still in SVU, especially because they're so far from where they once were. And though he apparently hasn't given up on her coming back to SVU and somewhere deep down, neither has she, she still hopes he'll understand and be happy for her evident progress towards normalcy, at least at work.

An hour later, when he doesn't call and her wine glass is empty, she finds herself fighting an urge to call him herself, and this scares her. It might be the wine or the late hour or the sudden apprehension that she can't suppress her need for him anymore, or maybe it's the realization that she's never ceased needing him, which makes her stomach drop with fear. The stupidity in all this is crushing her - all their nightly conversations, when they have no business being in touch at all, not after everything that has happened, not after all the harm that she's caused, not after the things he's had no right telling her, not after she's made it clear to herself and to him that they shouldn't be reaching out to each other anymore because what they used to be is ruined forever and they can never be anything else. It's crushing her and she wonders how come she's allowed it at all, how come she became weak again, how she can even think about calling him or accepting his call or sharing with him parts of her life, when what she should be doing is telling him to go to therapy and work on his issues so that he can go back home to his life and wife, to what he used to be, instead of being trapped by the incessant guilt that condemns him to being Olivia Benson's savior forever.

She's startled by the chirp of the phone and when she looks at the name that flashes on the screen, tears sting her eyes. She drops the phone on the couch and gets up to pour herself another glass of red wine. The ring ceases and just as she returns to the couch, it starts ringing again and she presses the volume button to shut it up. Restless, Olivia gets up and enters the bathroom to take another shower. She feels the urge to wash away the salty tears that have started rolling down her cheeks along with the acid thoughts that are swirling inside her head.

When she emerges from the bathroom, it takes a while before she dares looking at the phone that is still thrown on the couch in the living room. Two missed calls and a text message icon lure her to pick it up.

'Sorry for the late hour. Signed a lease just now. Will try u again later,' the text reads and Olivia's lips curve in a bitter smile. Life goes on; it goes the fuck on and obviously nothing she can say or do can restore things to where they were.

She might be fighting a futile fight, but she doesn't know any other way. So when Elliot calls again later that night, she doesn't answer.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

What the fuck? Why isn't she answering again? When she hadn't picked up his calls in the last three nights, he thought that she must still be at work or asleep or avoiding him for a little bit like she sometimes still tended to do. But tonight is the fourth night in a row he's tried calling and she hasn't answered. This is the longest it's been ever since they've started this new routine, two and a half weeks ago.

Two weeks is nothing, he knows that, but even this short duration has proven him that he sleeps better at nights after he talks to her, even if just for one minute, even when she picks up only to tell him that she can't really talk. She doesn't let him talk to her about anything too personal either. Work and the weather are probably the only relatively safe topics. And even there he has to be careful. Because work has brought them to where they are now. Yet, just being able to call and sometimes talk to her for a few moments is enough to keep him going. That way, he feels still connected to her, he has the means to sense if she is still hanging in there and not giving up on herself; that way he still has hope that one day she'll let him come close again; that way he can somehow feel like it's possible to live without losing himself completely.

He hasn't repeated the offer to meet again, because he knows the answer and he doesn't want to push her, but now that she isn't picking up the phone, he feels like he has no other choice. Elliot's fingernails dig into his fists as he forces himself to remain seated on the brown couch in his newly-leased two-bedroom apartment. He moved in the day after he'd signed the lease because he couldn't stand the motel room anymore and couldn't afford it either. The furniture here is not his, it came with the apartment and it looks like it too. There are no unpacked boxes around him, because the little things he's brought with him are already placed. Two suitcases of clothes, one backpack that contained a binder with important papers, a picture album that Kathy allowed him to take from the house, two framed pictures of his kids and one old picture of his parents, and that's it. He went to a nearby store and bought things like a mop and cheap sets of plates, cutlery and glasses, a few towels and two sets of bed linen. He bought some food too and put it in the fridge. It's not much, but now he can call this place home. It doesn't feel like it, yet, but he'll get used to it.

He gets up and grabs his car keys from the stand by the entrance but he doesn't move to open the door. If he shows up at her apartment now, just because he can't fucking control himself, it won't do any good. She doesn't want to talk to him right now, let alone see him, so he'll just have to respect that.

When he starts the car engine a few minutes later, he still knows that it's probably a mistake, but he can't help it. It's an addiction. He needs her, he needs much more of her than he can get, but right now – anything will do. Even if she just opens the door and kicks him out. If she tells him to go away and never come back, he'll figure out what to do with that later, but for now – he just needs his dose of Olivia to keep the demons away, to sleep at night, to feel alive.

It's not fair to her, he thinks as he drives, and he's torn, he really is, but it's stronger than him – that pull he feels which can't be overcome, not easily and not at all.

~eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo~

How fucked up do you and your life have to be to rely on such a line of work to save you from yourself and from your own life? Olivia thinks about that for the millionth time as she absent-mindedly adjusts the stack of paperwork on the desk again and again in an effort to rearrange it neatly. She has to go home. The squad room is empty, the night-shifters usually sit on another floor and they're probably outside somewhere. She should go home.

But the thought of going home, of the deafening silence in her apartment that allows the thoughts in her head to be heard, is deterring her. She should have gone home two hours ago, but she doesn't want to be tempted to answer the phone when Elliot calls, after successfully withstanding the temptation for four nights, including an hour ago. She doesn't want the void in her apartment to lure her into calling him herself just so that, to the sound of his voice she could feel that nanosecond of false-hoping, heart-widening, stomach-dropping feeling of 'home'.

She'd declined Tom's offer to go for drinks with him and the other guys either. She preferred to stay put and work some more. She didn't want to have to pretend. And here, her colleagues didn't even tease her for putting in so many hours unnecessarily. For the most part, they're keeping some distance from her, and she sometimes feels like she's surrounded by an invisible barbwire fence that doesn't allow anyone to really get close. Tom sometimes dares crossing it. Not too often though. Once he'd asked why she left SVU, and about Elliot, how it was working with him. "He's one of the good guys," he'd said to her when she hadn't answered, "acts like a prick, I hear, but a good guy," and she smiled, really smiled and nodded, though her heart had painfully contracted at this.

Olivia finally places the papers down on the metal tray that sits on her desk and turns her eyes to the computer screen. Her fingers reluctantly cling to the mouse as she starts going over emails that contain lab reports. The only light in the large Homicide bullpen comes from one florescent light at the far end of the ceiling and from the lamp on her desk. The dim light makes her bring her palms to her eyes and rub them tiredly after just a few minutes. She then intertwines her fingers and leans her chin on them, wondering how much longer she'll succeed in this. How much longer she'll be able to resist the tide, to avoid the truths that hide under the shallow, flimsy surface she has erected, how much longer she'll stop life from flowing on when every day proves her that it's pointless to try to prevent it from doing so.

Olivia shakes her head and brings her eyes back to the screen and her fingers back to the keyboard. It's too goddamn quiet here too, she thinks. She hears the distant voices of night-shifters from the other floor, the cars outside, phones that are ringing at the front desk, but it's still too quiet.

A moment later she hears footsteps and then she feels someone standing at the entrance to the squad room behind her.

She knows who this is.

"Thought I'd find you here," he says and Olivia shuts her eyes as her fingers freeze on the keyboard, her jaw muscles tighten and she inhales deeply, bracing herself.

Her hands then slide from the desk to rest on the chair's armrests and her head bows down, her chin almost touching her chest, as if her body somehow mirrors the defeat that is already creeping into her heart and mind at the sound of Elliot's voice and the knowledge of his presence just a few feet away from her.

"Liv, I'm not gonna ask why you're avoiding me. I just had to see that you were okay."

"I'm fine, Elliot. You shouldn't have," she manages to say in a hoarse, impatient voice.

"Maybe," he replies and she hears him taking a few steps into the room and stopping, standing closer to her.

Her hair is tied up, her nape exposed and she feels every tiny hair on it shivering, almost as if he was touching her or about to.

"I can go now, but don't you want to turn around and talk to me? Are we really down to where you can't even look at me?"

"I don't think we have much to talk about, El. You know where we stand."

"No, I don't. I…," he starts responding but she interjects.

"You know, you just don't want to accept it."

"True. And you shouldn't either." After a short pause he continues. "What are you fighting against, Liv? Why are you fighting it?"

"You know why," she replies and as she does, she stands up and pivots towards him. She faces him and this is what she wanted to avoid – his face, his features, his eyes, his being Elliot.

Their gazes are magented to each other's, locked together and after a beat she manages to add "And you know what, El? Walking into my squadroom and putting me in this situation isn't helping."

"So tell me what to do, Liv," he says and he takes a few steps towards her. "Tell me what to do except for leaving you alone? Do you want to go somewhere else to talk? D'you want me to go now and see you later? Call you later? What do you want me to do?" his voice rises in frustration.

He's close enough for her to see the vein that pulses in his neck. "I…I don't know, ok?" She falters because she can't stand this proximity. "I don't know how to deal with this! We were partners, friends, something. I don't know what we are now, ok? I don't know how to deal with everything. It's too…"

"Complicated?" He completes the sentence for her and takes another step closer and she can smell his skin now.

She moves away from her desk and a bit farther from him. "Even Gaines, that bastard, could put two and two together and realize what happened between us. Even he knew that I caused all of this, that I…that because of me you…"

"That because of you I what?" he urges.

"Left home."

"First of all, you're taking this piece of shit's words and giving it credit? Really?" Anger seeps into his tone and he takes yet another step and now he's closer to her again.

"He pinpointed so many things," she starts saying.

But he keeps going too, raising his voice to be heard over hers. "I didn't leave home because of you, Liv. I left home because of a million other things, and yes, you're one of them, but if things were okay between me and Kathy, then I wouldn't have left."

In parallel, she continues enumerating Gaines' truthful arguments while raising her voice as well and as a result they're both yelling at each other.

"He knew that we lied for each other, he knew that you left home, he knew that we slept together!"

And those two words are clearly heard, because Elliot had stopped talking right before she'd said them, and she'd spoken in such loud voice that her words reverberate in the dim-lit and deserted 4th floor of the 27th precinct.

Suddenly they're both silent, as if the yelling match and the things that were aired startled them to the point of shutting up.

Elliot then nods his head once or twice, fast, a nervous twitch, his lips press together and he bites the inside of them, placing his hands on his pelvis, turning for a second towards the exit. "You know what? You're right. Gaines is right. And if he's right, then I'm a perpetrator no less than a victim."

"That's not true, Elliot!" she exclaims and now she takes a step towards him, as if she wants to further press the point of its being a lie.

"So you say," he replies and his voice drops, the low timber of it vibrates in her chest.

"It's not true, don't say that," she lowers her voice too. "He was wrong there," she adds and the urgency within her drives her to take another step, stop close to him and place her hand over his forearm as if to further assert that.

"You're not either, Liv," he says, his eyes piercing her, and he drops his arms to the sides of his body, which makes her hand drop from over his arm too.

"I'm not what?" she asks, confused.

"You're not a perpetrator either, so stop acting like one," he replies bluntly.

"What do you mean?"

"Stop believing and acting as if everything happened because of you, as if it's all your fault, because it's not. Shit happened, Liv, it did, big time, ok? But you're not the cause of it, it didn't happen because of you, any of this. And me and Kathy – it's not your fault, it's not you, you shouldn't carry that guilt. And me and you," he suddenly lowers his voice, "I finally realized we were lucky to have each other back there. And you know what – through all of it, from Day 1, we were lucky."

Casey. That's what Casey told her. That's the thing that hung there in the back of her mind for weeks. They survived this because they had each other. That's what the other woman was telling her. And now, she's trying to survive without him and she's failing. She can hate it and she can try to deny it, but the sad truth is that fucked up as it is, they need each other to make through all of it. From Day 1. Till Day Last. That's what she's been resisting.

"I'm gonna go now. Call me when you're ready," Elliot says in a gravelly voice, citing the words he texted her when she was in D.C. He's waiting for her. In a way she's been waiting for him for years, and now he's ready, now he's waiting for her to stop resisting.

She doesn't say a word. She just stands there as he looks at her one more time before he turns around and leaves the bullpen.

Olivia remains standing there in the middle of it and it takes a long moment before she staggers back to her seat and slumps on it. She sits there quietly for another minute before she turns to her computer again, mechanically retreating to what she does best – work.

But tears blur her sight and smear the words that appear on the screen, her head buzzes and her fingers just absentmindedly move the mouse from side to side across the screen, without really knowing what they're doing.

She's a fool. Worse, she's playing a saint, when God knows that she isn't. She's been in love with a married man for so long, and though to her credit she fought it and repressed it and didn't act on it, it was still true. Then shit happened, and yes, she later succumbed to it all because she was weak and she needed him more than ever and she probably could feel that he needed her too. That he wanted her, really wanted her. So she succumbed. And now he's free, and he says that it's not her fault. And while she doesn't buy it, at least not fully, she's still playing the saint, as if life can't go on without her, as if she can resist the tide. But, despite the act, she can't, not really, not without being an empty shell, not without causing immense pain to him, to herself. And maybe she should stop resisting. Maybe she should just hold on to him, to life, to the glimpse of hope, and yes, maybe to some possibility of happiness. Maybe not everything and everyone is or should feel blighted by her mere existence.

She brings her palms to her face and presses them against her eyes, absorbing the tears that have already slid to her cheeks. She sits like that and just breathes.

And her breath almost hitches in her chest when a warm hand is placed on her nape, the thumb softly grazing her skin, sending warm goosebumps all over her.

She lowers her head further, allowing the palm to caress her neck further and her shoulders. She then pivots in her chair and he's standing right there, and when she rises to stand, her body practically slides up his body and they end up standing face to face, their bodies touching.

And all she wants him to do is envelope her in his arms till she'll melt into him, breathe him into her, till she'll allow that love, that tornado inside her, that grows bigger with every passing day, consume everything.

Epilogue:

2 years later. Present:

The hot water washes over her weary body.

A shower is exactly what she's needed and soon she'll crawl into bed, planning to wake up at noon. Her workday lasted through the night. Higgins was edgy and they kept getting on each other's nerves, as the case they were working on wasn't getting anywhere. And then after this all-nighter, when she could finally go home, Elliot texted her that he had to stay behind for one of his cases.

Soon she'll rejoin SVU, after receiving a unique approval from the Brass to return, because they needed someone experienced, and while what it'd be like to work in the same unit with Elliot again after so long worries her, she has to admit that she's glad to go back doing the work she was born to do.

Olivia tilts her head up and lets the water that's spraying on her face erase the residues of the night, lets herself drift with the hum of the water, until she suddenly hears the chirp of her cellphone in the bedroom. Damn, now she has to step out of the warm bath and get it.

"Stabler," she hears him answering it before she manages to take even a step. He's home! Probably just got in. The sound of the shower muffles his voice but she can hear him talking.

The bathroom door opens. "Yeah, she'll call you back," she hears him say before he shuts the phone. "Started without me?" he then asks in a low, gravelly voice and she imagines the sex-oozing smirk she knows is on his face.

She still can't see him because the curtain is drawn, but she hears the swooshes of him taking off his clothes. When the curtain is thrown open, Elliot is standing there. She's seen him naked so many times already, but she never ceases to melt with the sight - the width of his rock hard chest, the muscular plains of his shoulders and arms, his sculptured abdomen and, yes, anything south of that.

"Damn," he quietly huffs, his eyes skimming her wet body.

"Right back at ya," she smiles softly and reaches out her hand to pull him in.

In a second he's in the tub, pulling her wet body flush against his, his right hand on her bicep and his left around her back, pressing her to him, bending his head to kiss her. She opens her mouth to his and her hands close around his neck, drawing him further to a deeper kiss.

Water is spraying on their heads, cascading over their bodies as Elliot gently pushes her towards the shower wall, his forearms leaning against it, protecting her back from the cold porcelain.

She feels his hard-on grinding against her lower belly, as he slides his right hand down the side of her body, breaking out goosebumps on her skin. When he reaches her thigh, he draws her leg around his hip and lifts her body higher against his. Their eyes are open and as she's pinned between his body and the wall, leaning her back on his forearms, they drown in each other's gaze and when he pushes into her, she moans against his mouth. His fingers then dig into her thigh as he uses it as a lever to sink deeper and deeper inside her.

Soon the bathroom fills with their muffled moans.

Their lips meld together as he thrusts inside her, answering her need and his to erase any remnants of the world outside this shower, any shred of the night shift, of the job, of the misery they still deal with daily. Her hands around his neck help him balance his grip, her nails sinking into his skin. He exhales her name against her lips and she feels his body tense as he comes inside her. She holds on to him and inhales his quick and warm gasps of air, his forehead leaning against hers as he catches his breath.

He's home to her in more ways than she ever thought were possible and each time he's lost in her like this, she feels that he's even more than that, it's as though she can't tell where his body starts and hers ends, because even their flesh is not a boundary anymore. It's as if Elliot is really her only in another body.

Still inside her, Elliot hitches her other thigh over his hips and leans her back against the now warm and slick tile. His hands are free, and he slides his right palm over her neck, down to her breasts and hardened nipples, while his left trails all the way down to her core. His fingers touch her as he slowly thrusts himself within her. His mouth teases hers in short, wet, biting kisses that make her crave more, until she palms the back of his head, cups his cheek and draws him into a deep and long kiss. The way he knows her body, and uses his, is maddening; he makes her moan into his mouth as she comes, her body quivering in his arms.

Elliot then envelopes her in his arms completely and his lips brush her neck while she returns to her senses and regains her breath. When she does, Elliot softly lowers her to stand on the floor. Her legs are a bit shaky, her eyes hazy, but a satisfied, lopsided smile spreads on her face when she rasps "Detective Stabler, what was that?!" After all these years and after everything, she sometimes enjoys rolling this name on her tongue this way, as if finally allowing herself to give it a joyous connotation rather than a bleak one.

"I think you know," he grins, his blue eyes reflecting the haze in hers.

With an answering smile, she reaches for the shampoo and they start soaping each other, talking as they do.

Awhile later, she sits on the edge of the bed, wrapped in her towel. "It was a long night. You hungry?" she asks.

"Nah, can still feel the doughnuts from 4am," he replies, rubbing his head and neck with a towel. "Higgins called, wanted you to call him back."

"I'm so tired," Olivia sighs. "But let me get back to him, it's probably about a lab report we've been waiting for. It won't take long."

"Tell him to make the best out of the few early morning calls he's still got with you as his partner," Elliot says, smiling as she reaches her hand out for the cellphone and then takes it. She smirks at him while she dials.

Five minutes later, as the sky outside slowly turns into a lighter grey before the new sun rises, they finally climb into bed in shorts and tees, his body spooning hers, his arm splayed across her waist.

Healing is a process and they still have lengths to go, but they're home, with each other, for each other, and they'll make it all the way through. 'Thank God for this," Elliot thinks for the millionth time, as he breathes in the scent of Olivia's wet hair, his arms tightening around her waist right before he falls asleep, in their bed.

~Finis~