Rating: M, much adult stuff

Disclaimer: Characters are property of NBC, Dick Wolf et al. Lyrics are by Damien Rice and are used without permission. No infringement intended/moolah made.

Spoilers: Nope

Pairings: Elliot/Olivia, Olivia/Other, Elliot/Others

Summary: AU in which Olivia is the one in a long-term relationship. Elliot struggles with his feelings for his partner when she and her significant other decide to marry.

A/N: If you really wanna up the angst on this one, listen to Damien Rice's songs "Cheers Darlin'" and "Prague" upon which this story is based.

A/N2: For Jerry, with much love xxx

i.

Cheers darlin',
Here's to you and your lover boy
Cheers darlin',
I got years to wait around for you
Cheers darlin',
I've got your wedding bells in my ear
Cheers darlin',
You give me three cigarettes to smoke my tears away…

For as long as he's known Olivia Benson, she's been married. Or as good as married. She's got a ring on her finger, a man in her bed and three children all bearing his last name.

Elliot can't fault Graham, even if he'd like to. Olivia's significant other is handsome, successful, altruistic and endlessly understanding when it comes to the demands of her job. He's understanding when it comes to the late-night calls and long absences. He's understanding when it comes to her disturbed sleep and pathological reticence. He even understands the necessity of the protracted periods of time spent with her long-time partner.

If the situation were reversed, Elliot isn't sure he'd be as understanding. He'd hate his wife spending all those long, late hours with another man. He'd hate seeing her suffer, watching her soul get stripped further away every day. He'd want to save her, he'd want to protect her. He'd want—. If Olivia was his wife, he'd want…a lot of things. But his wife is not Olivia. His wife is not anybody. So he has little choice in the matter.

As her partner, he'll happily gobble up her time. He'll expect her support, hope for her friendship, strive to be worthy of her trust. Beyond that, he holds no expectations. It's how he conducts all his relationships with women – without expectation. Without expectation of commitment, love, like or even a future. In the present is where he prefers his endless string of meaningless affairs to occur, his profession always providing the perfect excuse or escape.

His women don't mind. Mostly. To them, he represents an ideal – a rescuer figure, an all-American hero, a modern-day gunslinger. He'll play that role for a short time, let them get their thrills from his solid physique and forbidding attitude. He's even been known to whip out his badge in the bedroom. His cuffs make regular appearances. The control he lacks in his real life never eludes him in his fantasy life. In fact, the short but potent burst of power he reaps from this illusory existence keeps him from fixating on all he lacks in reality. For a little while, at least. Of course, his sexual partners don't know this about him. They don't know anything about him, which is exactly the way he likes it. He gets an unadulterated thrill from being worshiped but not known. Only one woman in the world actually knows who he is. All the rest are never allowed deep enough into his life to learn the obvious truth lurking at his core.

Because the truth is he's in love with his partner and has been for years. He loves a woman he can't have. A woman who sits across from him every day with a ring on her finger telling the world she's taken. The photos on her desk advertise the fact that a much happier and more important life awaits her beyond their squadroom's grim, damp walls. And when she dons her coat and shoulders her bag at the end of each day, she goes home to those grinning twin boys and a baby girl with her dark eyes. All of whom Elliot watched grow in her belly.

-x-

He can recall the announcement of both pregnancies, one occurring just months into their partnership and the other more recently. He was present for the arguments with Cragen about what her duties could be, couldn't be, should be or shouldn't be. He was there for Munch's preposterous name suggestions and Tutuola's rapping lullabies which did little more than make Olivia laugh until she needed to pee. He was there for the food cravings and the mood swings and the sore feet and the cramps in her lower back that needed all the strength in his arms to ease. He was even there, during her last pregnancy, when her water broke a month early.

Elliot drove her to the hospital, told her repeatedly to breathe. He held her hand through the contractions until Graham arrived to take over. The second he entered the room, Olivia's hand released Elliot's and reached for the other man's. Graham winced when the ring on her finger bit into his flesh. So he slipped it off, leaving it on the table by the bed. Elliot looked down at the hand she'd held, running a thumb over the indent her ring had made in his flesh. Taking a step back, he nearly tripped over one of her boys. He'd never been able to tell the twins apart. The two steady sets of eyes never failed to make him feel uncomfortable. And the way the two mini-Grahams finished each other's sentences just plain creeped him out.

Outside of his work, Elliot was not much of a kid-person. He'd never really seen the appeal of having his own. That unflinching brand of honesty that all kids possessed made him edgy. It made him fear he was about to be found out – the side-effect of a guilty conscience. Not that he was a naturally dishonest man, just a habitually dishonest one. Sidling around him, Olivia's twins stood by their mother's bed, dividing their questions about the new baby into two neat halves. Graham re-abandoned Olivia's hand, ushering the boys into a quiet corner. As Elliot slipped out the door, he saw his partner's head snap back into the pillow, her eyes squeeze shut and her teeth clench around a low, guttural groan he'd only heard once before.

She'd been knifed in the belly at a bus terminal two years prior. He hadn't gotten to her in time. He couldn't stop it happening, couldn't even stop her slow decent to the filthy concrete. He really thought he was going to lose her that day. He really thought her death was going to be his fault. He rode with her in the ambulance, his bloody fingers resting on her clammy forehead. He called Graham from the hospital, her blood still stuck under his fingernails. One of the twins answered their home phone, he had no idea which one. When Graham showed up at the hospital, he wasn't even angry. Which only proved he was a much better man than Elliot could ever hope to be. He would've beaten the shit out of himself. If his wife was stabbed on another man's watch, he'd have been furious. He'd have gone ballistic. He'd have throttled the idiot, demanded what the hell he thought he was doing and told him to stay the hell away from her in future. He'd have insisted his wife get another partner, one who'd do his fucking job. Graham did none of those things. He just sat with Elliot in the waiting room, entertaining their young boys until the surgeon came out to tell them that Olivia was out of danger.

Her family went in to see her first, the twins asking tandem questions about mommy. She was barely conscious by the time Elliot was allowed in. The room was dark and she was all wrapped up in white. White sheets, white bandages, white hospital gown, small white bedside light. Her pale, slick skin made her eyes look sunken and her hair heavy. Elliot said nothing. He didn't apologize. He didn't explain or assure her scarcely hearing ears that it would never happen again. He didn't touch her, locate her pulse in order to assure himself of her survival. He simply marched outside and punched a brick wall. Twice. Once for each hand. He broke two knuckles, walked it off.

Two years later, he slipped out of the birthing suite with that same, pained groan punishing his ears. The nurse – the one who took him for the father when they arrived – guided him to the waiting room and showed him the vending machine that dispensed hot beverages. Elliot endured her attention in silence. He instinctively knew his way around hospitals – it was an unfortunate upshot of his job. He was much more used to the rush and gore of emergency though, not the pastel hush of a maternity ward. He flicked through every magazine they had then leant back in his chair and waited, arms folded and eyes closed. Before finishing her shift, the nurse popped back in and gave him her number. Elliot tucked it into his pocket for later.

He waited the full four hours which, he was told, was a short labor. He waited to hear that Olivia and her baby were both fine. Then he left. He left before being asked to go in and visit either of them. Later he'd find out that she and Graham named their new addition Sophie, after Graham's mother. Olivia's mother, a victim of rape, gave her up for adoption after only eighteen months of motherhood. In a letter to her abandoned child, she explained that she couldn't live with the constant reminder of her assault. Serena died three years later under suspicious circumstances so Olivia never knew her mother. She kept her name though – maybe she did want a reminder. As a girl, she was moved from group home to group home, her tenacious personality ensuring that she never made a strong connection with anyone. Graham's mother was, as a result, the only mother Olivia had ever known.

Personally, Elliot thought Sophie was an unforgiving, snotty bitch. But he couldn't blame his partner for seeking out family, for wanting to create it, draw it close about her. Not with her history. If anyone deserved a happy home life, it was Olivia. Which was not to say her relationship with Graham was without problems. Graham had left once, Olivia more than once. Once, she even kicked him out. Each of these times, she'd neglected to tell her partner what was happening at home. By the time Elliot found out about any one of these disruptions in her relationship, Olivia and Graham had always reconciled. It was after one such rupture that Graham finally, officially proposed. Elliot wasn't sure who'd kicked whom out of the quasi-marriage bed but this time Graham's solution was to buy a ring. Olivia thought about it for a week. Then accepted.

That had been before little Sophie was born. A second pregnancy had been about as planned as the first – or so Elliot gathered. Initially, wedding plans were superseded by baby plans. Then, after the birth, chaos reigned for many months with a sleep-deprived Olivia concentrating on breast-feeding and becoming work-fit. Graham was working from home, wrangling their two boys and playing househusband. Meanwhile, Elliot couldn't help but wonder if their plans to wed were simply postponed or whether the wedding was as good as cancelled. Over a year went by before he got an answer.

-x-

His partner's been back at work three months and everything seemed to be returning to normal. They're sipping their usual Friday night drinks at the end of a long week when Olivia turns to him, casually asking if he'll be her man of honor at the wedding. Elliot sips his drink and swallows. He'd prefer to scoop his own eyeballs out with a spoon. But instead of admitting as much, he clinks his glass with hers and answers:

"You bet." Then, because he's a little drunk, very tired and slightly blindsided by the request, he gives her a wink and adds, "I'm your man."

Olivia shoots him a sideways smile, crunches down on some ice then murmurs, "That means you're buyin'."

Elliot chuckles, slaps a note down on the bar and orders two more of the same. Usually, Olivia would only have one drink with him before heading home to her family. But tonight is different, tonight's an exception. This night is a special occasion.

Because for as long as he's known Olivia Benson, she's been as good as married. She had the man and the kids and the home and everything. Now, his partner is going to be actually married. Legally married. For-keeps married. With the white dress and the heartfelt vows and the death-do-they-part bit and all.

Elliot's head bobs drunkenly as another beer is placed in front of him. This news definitely deserves another drink.

TBC...