Part VIII.

With her eyelids still closed, she stretches her limbs as she yawns and he watches her from the doorway of the kitchenette.

He only catches a glimpse of her before he turns his attention back to the induction cooktop on the counter, cooking some of the scrambled eggs and turkey bacon he'd been able to grab early this morning at a 24 hour bodega.

The smell filters through the air, and if he knows her at all still, the smell will wake her up fully in a few moments. It's one of the few things he knows about her that went beyond partnership.

He'd sometimes walk in on her lightly sleeping in the cribs, coffee in his hands and just watch her for a few moments. Either she was obliging him on his staring or she genuinely had the knack for waking up to smells she enjoyed. "Is that coffee for me?" she'd ask.

Even one time he'd gone for a coffee run and grabbed some donuts for them on the way out, and she couldn't have known what was in the bag because they'd never gone to this coffee shop before. "Mmm, is the jelly for me?

Or maybe it was just that she knew him so well already.

It was all those tiny moments that he had clung to in the back of his mind all these years away from her. She'd always given him those tiny bits, and he'd always had wanted to reciprocate just not knowing how to without it becoming too much.

By their later years, it had become too easy for them, too natural to sit in each other's space without being more than what they were.

Until they weren't.

That day, in the middle of the squad room, staring at her from across the floor, her hands full of Sister Peg's blood, he knew that his problems had just begun.

So he left. For her. He knew she'd be there next to him as he jumped through hoops to get his badge again. She'd be there when he took the psych eval and felt like he didn't deserve to be next to her. She'd be there the next time he'd have issues within his family and the next time he lost himself on a case.

So he finally did something more for her.

He let her go.

He left the unit. He tried to convince himself for the longest time that he would be able to talk to her about his decision. But the longer he waited, the longer he realized she could thrive in his absence in ways she'd never let herself before.

Her voice catapults him back into the present and he releases a rush of air at the sound of her voice in his hotel room. He'd gone so long without hearing it in the tin can he had called home, that he had gotten used to listening to his own breathing bounce off the metal walls.

"You go from running away, to cooking for me? I'm not sure how I should feel," she jokes with him, as he continues to cook some bacon in a small pan on the induction cooker. He looks around the corner, and sees that she's on her back, her hand laying lightly on her lower stomach, and her other hand under her head as she still lays back on her pillow.

"Peace offering?" he jokes back lightly, eyebrows raised just as she opens one eye and looks at him peering around the corner of the kitchenette doorway.

"Mmm, I did lose about four hours of sleep because of your … adventurous streak. But I'll take it."

Elliot grins slightly, feeling much lighter than he had this morning, last night, yesterday, weeks ago, years ago.

In fact, he feels light enough to joke around with her for the first time since 2011 he realizes.

"Four hours? Check the time, sweetheart. It's 1 p.m."

He hears the bed squeak under her weight and the faint ruffle of the bed sheets as she sits up quickly on the edge. "Really? I need to call Lucy, and check on Noah."

"The food will be ready when you're done."

Olivia nods and pulls out her phone as she silently presses on her screen and steps back out into the hallway for a little privacy.

He swallows when he hears the door click.

He won't lie to himself. After she'd made the effort to find him and then fight her way back into his life in the brief time that she has, he'd been slightly unnerved to find her gone this morning when she'd been outside talking to one of her detectives.

He'd felt a little lost at sea, watching the horizon for the lighthouse to guide him back. She was the lighthouse, it was her light that was keeping him from drifting towards the whirlpools around him, waiting to suck him back under again.

He'd been able to hear small bits of the conversation through the door, like they were speaking underwater, and he had closed his eyes, realizing it was about him in some form without actually saying his name.

If she was so in control of what she wanted by coming here, fighting to get back into his life, he'd figured in that moment, with her inches away, outside his door, that he'd fight to get back into hers as well.

He doesn't take it personally that she won't talk to her son with him in the room, but he does realize that it'll take time before he'll be brave enough to ask her when he can finally meet him.

It'll be one of the greatest gifts seeing Olivia as a mother.

The sizzling of the grease below him distracts him from thinking too far ahead. The bacon finishes cooking, and then he pulls out two forks out of a drawer, and then two plates, that he'd been surprised to find earlier, from out of the cupboard. He places some scrambled eggs on both and then neatly places the bacon next to them.

As he's coming out of the kitchen with both hands full, Olivia comes in and he hands a warm plate of food to her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think to grab some O.J. I have plenty of water," he smiles as they sit across from each other again on each twin bed.

She smiles slightly back at him, and takes a bite of the fluffy eggs, "Water's fine."

He nods, taking a bite of his bacon first, then staring at her from the corner of his eye.

She chews slowly, and focuses on her own plate before reaching down and taking a large bite of the turkey bacon. "S'good," she mumbles with a mouth full.

He nods again, and tips his mouth to the side in a satisfied grin, "Guess I still got it."

She laughs softly at that. But the atmosphere stays quiet between them as they eat.

If she'd ask, he'd admit that he'd only woken up about a half an hour before she had. He'd felt the sun pouring over his body as he'd laid fully clothed on the bed across from her, having fallen asleep not long after she had as he'd told her about his past, about his nightmares, and about his life as someone he never wanted to hear about or speak about again.

After he'd awakened, he'd taken another moment, much like he had in their over twelve years together, to simply take her in, observe, and memorize.

He'd despertately attempted to relearn her, but also to keep himself from reading too far into the scars peering out of the top of her v neck t-shirt, or the lines around her eyes, her cheekbones, or her lips.

He'd always been fascinated in the way her lips curved upwards even in her sleep. It'd been one of his favorite parts of her even though he'd kept it locked inside of him for a long time.

However, it'd quickly turned into complicated thoughts too soon. So he'd buried those thoughts because a key was too easy to unlock what wasn't buried.

Twenty years have passed and it's the dark caverns of his own soul that hold the truths that keep him from forgetting how linked together they are.

It's that thought that keeps him from reverting to the memories again.

In fact, when he'd opened his eyes earlier, it was the first time he hadn't woken up and immediately been thrust into that world again.

"I just wanted to say..," Olivia speaks, thrusting her voice into the middle of his own thoughts. "That I don't blame you or Dana for not saying anything. Anymore. I know it was your job. I know how good of an agent she is. I just wish I knew how to make it a little less painful," she whispers.

Elliot swallows his own food, and sits his plate on the bed next to him not expecting their earlier conversation to start up again.

He tries to figure out how to tell her that he'd longed to call her. He had longed to disappear into the night and find the nearest payphone just to hear her voice.

He longs for an answer that'll erase the past, and replace it with his words now.

"I tried to tell you."

She looks up at the admission.

"You tried?" she asks, confused.

"In a way. I had wanted to call you after I put my papers in because I knew seeing you face to face would wreck us both. I'd been away from the squad for months, and it just… it just happened. I had to move quickly. I'd been packing for D.C. and I couldn't talk to Kathy, and she just silently watched me from the doorway of our old bedroom so disappointed. Again. I opened up this old wooden box that belonged to my grandfather, and that's when I found it."

He looks up, and watches for her reaction. Her eyes hone in on his face, her plate forgotten on her lap as she simply waits for him to continue.

"In 1991, I received a medal. It was a day that I finally felt gave my kids foundation."

"Elliot…" realization flowing across her face. "You shouldn't have. Kathy... The kids- they deserve to see that one day when you're gone."

"It's alright, Liv. I thought about it. Even though it gave me a sense of purpose outside of being their father, Kathy's husband, it gave me an identity that would last forever. I only felt like one person would truly understand what that meant."

"Semper Fi," she breathes, her voice hushed as her eyes knit inward at the revelation.

"Yeah, I wrote that on a piece of yellow construction paper from out of Eli's bedroom," he smiles sadly. "He wasn't even there, all of his other things had been packed and sent to Connecticut to Kath's mom's place. I felt empty. The house felt empty. When I looked into Kathy's eyes, they were empty."

"It's sad to know you sent that with so much emptiness that the only thing you could think to do was send it to me."

"That's why I don't blame you for not wearing it. I did a shitty job of saying goodbye. It wasn't my intention to use that as a get out of jail free card..." he trails off, thinking of what Dana told him years ago when she'd been about to go on her own assignment undercover in prison.

She uh, she seemed good. To me at least. Spitfire as usual…. She was okay. She was on top of her game.

She'd been to see Olivia for one hypothetical last time.

"Liv…" he starts, wanting her to know that leaving her in the dark wasn't simple, wasn't easy and he'd wanted desperately to show her that he'd always be there with his medal around her neck. "If I had told you it was a peace offering, that wouldn't be entirely true… giving it to you means so much more than that-"

"I still have it," she interrupts softly. "In my jewelry box. I still have it."

His eyes reopen and he tilts his head, not even having realized he'd closed them while telling of a past so infiltrated with regret.

Looking into her eyes, scanning her face in the light of day, he revels in the knowledge that he doesn't have to pull from the deep depths of his memory in order to find strength from her anymore, because she's right here.

"I wore it at first. Some part of me believed you'd be back and I could show you that I understood. Then I started to hide it, tuck into my shirt behind my other necklaces to prove that I didn't need it. But then… I stopped wearing it. But it was a random occurrence that one day I pulled it back out and slipped it back on right before," she trails off. "It got ripped off," she quickly finishes. "I found it on the floor and put it in my pocket and it's been in a box deep in my dresser drawer ever since."

He pulls from deep within and steps outside that proverbial box and lets a small piece of him become visible.

"It's funny how we tend to bury the things we love."

Olivia purses her lips but doesn't say anything, a small nod of understanding is her only response.

It's her actions that speak louder though.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, seemingly analyzing his words, and he can't help but feel currents of air around them starting to whip up from the ground again, threatening to pull him off his axis.

Maybe it's only the cool air circulating around them from the window unit, or maybe it's just the ice cold fact that they had to dissolve in order to coagulate back.

This is them trying. This is that attempt to finally bust open so many closed doors, and unanswered questions

Unresolved emotions.

"I always tried my best to be there for you; as a friend, as a partner. I know I wasn't perfect. I know you deserved so much better from me sometimes. But I'd like to believe I did some things right."

"You did," she inserts quickly. "But I'll admit, there were times over the last few years where I let resentment overpower a lot of my feelings. But I knew that what I was saying wasn't how I truly felt. I know you've been there. I knew you, El and I'd like to think I still do. Because I got the memo, Elliot, just with your writing."

"I wanted you to have it. Some part of me wanted you to have that last bit of my identity. I'd always been a son. A father. A marine. A husband. A cop. A detective." Shaking his head, "No. I saw the way Kathy looked at me when she'd seen the note, and the replica badge I'd put inside of the yellow envelope. She knew. She didn't have to say anything. We both knew where my piety rested. My kids. You. Her."

"Elliot-"

"But the only thing I feel I did right was be your partner, even if I messed up, even if I made a lot of mistakes, just knowing that you were safe, happy… I gotta make sure you know that, before you're gone too," he pushes out.

"Elliot…," Olivia says again, her voice sounding like it's on a loop, rewinding every time he seemingly tries and fails to be better. She places the glass plate on the night stand between the beds before turning her attention back to him. She leans closer, and whispers to him, her voice forcing him to look up again, the tears in the back of her throat causing her voice to crack. "I'm… I don't know how to say this. But… you… you were always a faithful partner, and a force in my life that I will never have again and didn't have in the years you were gone even though some came close."

He nods, wishing, God, wishing he could tell her the deepest buried secrets in his chest in that moment.

"You deserve that, Olivia. You deserve more."

"I could have had more, but I chose not to. Because I chose you. I know that. We're not partners anymore. We're not responsible for watching each other's back anymore. We're just us. You're talking about a life that doesn't exist anymore. Can't we just say what we really mean for once?"

Licking his lips, he looks down at his forgotten plate. There's a million things that he really wants to say and yet nothing will formulate on his tongue beside the same old metaphors that she wants to leave behind them.

He'd always have their history and he wasn't going to repeat it again.

"Did you know that Semper Fi actually means "always loyal?"" he asks.

She smiles softly, before pursing her lips and then speaking, "I do now," she whispers.

Silence overtakes them for a few moments both of them long abandoning the rest of their food. He's thinking of what the rest of the day is going to look like and whether she'll be a part of it, when she speaks again.

"Did you and Dana..." she begins hesitantly. "Did you work well… together?"

He brings both of his hands together and lets them hang loosely in between parted thighs.

Dana.

The woman was a damn good agent. A damn genius. A damn good case agent. He knows Olivia worked with her briefly years ago when she'd gone undercover in Oregon. He's not sure he should bring up that Dana had mentioned that she'd come to him based on what she saw in Olivia. He's not sure how Olivia will react to that, knowing how hurt she was not knowing.

"Yeah," he answers simply at first. "She's…. Something else," he smiles thinking about the antics of the other woman. But she'd been there in a really rough time in his life. He understood now how she'd been able to convince Olivia all those years ago.

"She's… very persuasive," Olivia adds softly.

"Yeah. Too persuasive for her own good," he adds with a coy smile.

"She knew… about you," Olivia ruminates out loud. "About things that I wasn't allowed to know. I guess that sort of pisses me off. But, I get it. I do. It was her job. You were her partner. She was there to keep you safe. I know what that's like. I tried to call you once, but then two of the tree huggers stationed with me walked up on me and I had to hang up. I feel like if I had called Dana, she'd have told you I was okay. But I couldn't. Porter was my handler."

He takes a deep breath. She tried to call him. It makes it easier knowing she'd almost blown her cover as well.

"She knew only in the beginning," he clarifies. "She had her own job. She really became involved later in the game. It was a big risk. I owe her big time."

"And vice versa," Olivia whispers, reluctantly agreeing but he knows she is well aware of how much Dana played a role in the case they're all working on currently.

"It's kinda hard to get agitated with her when she's all Bless Your Heart or, Come hell or High Water, all the time."

Olivia smiles, and he can see her neck bob as she swallows back a snarky retort. Instead, she turns her focus to a random picture on the wall across from them. Her voice is low, and her fingers lightly grasp at the sheets beneath her when she does speak, "You really did get to know each other. Eight years is a helluva lot longer than four months. But, I appreciate her taking care of you," she offers, a small smile gravitating towards her eyes.

He nods slowly, a puff of air comes out of his nose as he smiles, simultaneously contemplating his next words, ready to let it all slip out in one breath.

"But she wasn't you," he confesses. It comes out softly, but he feels the force it's left in its wake, and for some reason, he starts to feel lighter. His chest starts to open back up a little more. His throat feels a little less constricted and his mind feels a little less jumbled. "She was never going to be you. Our loyalty to each other would have never reached the level of mine and yours. My loyalty was always going to be fully on you, whether I was with you or not."

He stops, and swallows, unable to look at her, not knowing how she'll take the revelations spilling from his gut.

He braves the chance to look up and she's already staring him, her lips pursed and her eyes, her goddamned eyes, are pouring into him like a raging monsoon and he can tell because she blinks and the moisture that pools around them are the same ones he focuses on in his mind when he remembers the heat, the droughts, the thirst that had him nearly on his knees.

Her voice is regretful when she speaks, and he can already tell it's because she feels like she doesn't deserve his loyalty. He quickly finds out why and it'll never not haunt him when she opens herself to him.

"I lost it," she whispers sadly. "You… you sent me your mini badge. I lost it," she whispers again. "It's been one of my regrets since… all of this as well. I had it on my gun. Now it's… lost somewhere in storage."

"S'okay," he murmurs. "It doesn't matter to me."

"But it does to me," she whispers, emotion escaping her in her breath. "I think I saw it at some point in this cabin where I was those four days… I saw it one last time before they took it. It was sealed up with…. my clothes and evidence."

Elliot closes his eyes, realizing she's trying to share, she's trying to reciprocate her side of the coin when it comes down to the lost years between them. He wants her to continue. He wants those missing puzzle pieces. "You think about it alot?"

She smiles dimly but looks up and blinks lazily. "About which part?"

"All of it," he answers.

She nods. "I do. It's been...years. But I still think about different days. Sometimes in vivid memory, sometimes just random words, and feelings… I know what it's like to be afraid of falling asleep at night."

The pain once gain hits him square in the heart but he presses on, trying not to let it show on his face. He doesn't want her to feel his anguish on top of hers.

"Did you have somebody?"

She looks down and picks at one of her thumbnails, before biting her bottom lip.

"Yeah," she whispers. "I did. I had my squad. Cap, Munch…. Cassidy," she mumbles.

She says it like she's afraid of what he might say but it's the last thing he cares about. She doesn't owe him a reason for anything. She doesn't owe him validation by moving on in every facet of her life. He'd only been able to give her certain parts of himself, and if he can't change that, then she doesn't need to either.

"I'm glad," he offers sincerely. "I'm glad they were there for you."

"Mmm" she hesitates. "I think I owe most of it to my shrink though," she smiles sheepishly before laughing softly and catching his eyes with hers.

He smiles too, watching her face as a myriad of emotions flit over her features. His breath catches in his throat, as an unexpected flow of emotion escapes on his next words, "Maybe… maybe I should talk to someone too?"

He'd always been paranoid about talking about what he saw every day in the Special Victims Unit. He'd always felt like they'd always be able to see something in his eyes that told them he was no different than the scum he put away. That his anger was for naught. Now, the fact that he'd lived a life so close to that truth while deep under, he was more willing than ever.

"Well I know a guy," she says, her eyebrows raised and a small grin on her face.

He closes his eyes briefly and can't help the smile that forms on his own lips despite the dark swirling around. Nodding, he reopens his eyes, and hesitates before adding, "I'd like to know more. About your partner or partners, your…." he trails off, not realizing the double entendre until after he just spoke it. "Only if you want to, that'd be a lot of ground to cover," he quickly adds.

"Well, like you said… They were there when I needed them, they gave me space when I needed it…. But… " she trails off.

She places both hands on her knees and rubs them in short strides back and forth before she looks up and connects with his eyes again. Her dark irises swirl into him with an intensity of gale like force winds inside the center of a hurricane when she says it.

"But they weren't you. They were never going to be you and I wouldn't let them because you were all I wanted."

eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo

His face changes and she's not sure if it's because he's satisfied with her answer or if he's petrified.

Despite what she had told him earlier at her apartment, she's still thinking about that as she remembers his short note left on her coffee table.

I loved you too. So much.

But almost from the beginning, she'd craved something more.

She knew he couldn't freely give it but she still silently yearned for just a little bit more.

They've always left the unsaids between them out on the table like a deck of cards.

Face up.

Hand showing.

But never daring to put their chips all in.

She hopes she hasn't said too much. It's all so fresh. The atmosphere between them is still so unstable that… Some disaster could pick up at any moment inside the walls of this random hotel room in New York City.

A puff of air comes out of his mouth, and she doesn't look at him when he speaks. It's too troubling for her to know if what she says doesn't resonate with him the same way it does with her.

"Is it okay if I…," he hesitates and her face warms, the anticipation in her swirling low to the ground, the unstable pressure above transforming, spinning.

Tornado. Hurricane. Thunderstorm. Monsoon.

Each phenomena can thrust those in their paths into darkness, leaving the inhabitants in their wake wavering. They're desperate to emerge from the rubble, survive the brief darkness with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and their hearts on their sleeves.

Elliot stands, and he's even closer in the small space between the beds than he was before without even moving. He looks down and it looks like he's about to say something but he stalls.

The calm before the storm.

Even with space between them, he begins to soak into her. Soon he'll begin to seep through the linens and onto her skin.

He seeps into her slowly like a wave on the ocean as it encroaches on her walls yet again, but she tries not to panic. This is Elliot. This is safety.

But her heart rate picks up anyways when he takes one tiny step toward her. HIs shins bump into her knees briefly before he sways backward and touches his palm against her shoulder in a way someone consoles you but he is just steadying himself, she realizes.

He's using her body as an anchor. To hold in place.

She takes a deep breath and tries not to read into his touch too much.

He's standing there. He wants to say something but his heat is the only thing that registers in her mind.

She closes her eyes, and it's like hours pass with them just coexisting in each other's space. But it's only been seconds.

"Liv, I feel like I should… I don't want to overwhelm you. But…" He trails off, placing his hand on the side of her leg as he bends slightly to look her in the eye. "Can I hug you?"

Her breath hitches before she then looks down at his hand burning the mattress next to her thigh.

The question is so simple, and to anyone else, a mundane request but it still causes her throat to lock up momentarily.

Swallowing, she clears her throat, and her mind, for a brief second to register his question. Then, she quickly places her left hand on top of his, and immediately feels his fingers part open slightly to allow hers to mold in between his.

"Of course," she whispers. "You don't have to ask that," she continues.

"I know. I just wanted it to be me to initiate it this time. For no other reason than just because I want to…. I need to."

The saltwater permeates her facade, and her walls dissolve.

He's no longer abstract. He's solid. Tangible. Concrete. Good at floating.

Even if they sink to the bottom, they can still find their way back to the surface and re-emerge with new fervor and new purpose, cleansed of the previous dirt and grime. Their scars form a map that leads them to an oasis that finally lifts them over the last wave.

She raises her right hand and places it on his shoulder, and runs her nails over his shirt as she watches him swallow back his own nerves. Sliding her hand toward his neck, she revels in the feel of his skin, the muscle of his neck, and the warmth. He's so warm even in the cool air all around them.

"Elliot," she whispers so softly, she almost doesn't hear it herself. "There's nothing in this world that could stop you from doing just that."

She blinks at him lazily and his eyes latch onto her face, scanning, zoning in on. He places his other hand on the bed next to her hip and lowers himself to his knees in front of her.

Elliot, the man who'd been so far off limits, so complicated and mercurial, uncharacteristically kneels in front of her, and lets his hands slowly drift up her body, and then around her torso. She'd be upset at the loss of his hand inside of hers if it wasn't for the heat of his breath that lands on her neck when he buries his nose in her hair.

He leans forward and his palms land on her back, and her eyes instantly close at the sensation. Her skin vibrates, her fingernails ache, and her bones scream for more.

She immediately slips her own arms under his and grips his gray sweater at the back of his shoulders.

It's the second time she's had her arms wrapped around him in twenty four hours. The last time, it took four years to get herself inside of his safety net again.

He pulls her closer and she feels herself slide closer to the edge of the bed.

Her knees knock into his stomach, and that's when she hears it.

The crack of thunder. The electricity from the impending lightning bolt pulverizes another invisible boundary between them as she subconsciously opens her thighs and he slides right in like it's where he's alway lived.

The storm is close. The lightning hits with every rumble. It's drumming in her ears as he slides his hands across her back in lazy patterns. His chin sits in the dip of her shoulder and the weight of his head on her, makes her stomach flutter. She turns her face in slightly and it's enough to feel his cheek against hers. His skin touches her skin, and his breath trails against her jaw and her cheek as he turns his face into hers.

For a brief moment, their eyes connect before his dip to the level of her mouth and it's the first time in a long time she's noticed and been fully convinced that he might want something more too.

It only lasts a millisecond before his eyes rise back up and lock onto hers, their noses almost touching in the rare moment of intimacy between them.

She silently counts the seconds, while simultaneously trying to remember each feeling, each motion he makes, and every place he touches.

The inside of her thighs are tingling where his ribs touch and the sensation will probably haunt her in her sleep tonight. Too many nights have passed, with and without company, where her mind would wander into the possibilities of what it would be like, just like that, with Elliot.

She's had many relationships before, she's had passion before, she's had intimacy before, but she's no fool when it comes to the fact that all those things don't matter when your mind is stuck on something, someone else.

She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking away the thoughts before she pushes forward and brushes her noses against his fully. She feels him push back just barely but it's there, reciprocation, before a small rush of air touches her mouth.

He smiles. His arms tighten around her. His face lowers as he presses his forehead against hers.

She feels it in the back of her throat, the hitch, but she suppresses it, not wanting to miss a moment of this. The sound sits precariously close to the edge, but this is what she has wanted for ten damn years.

She had wanted this after she'd packed his desk up. She had wanted this after she'd nearly gotten herself killed in a hostage situation in a young man's apartment. She'd wanted this after Haden had broken her heart. She'd wanted this after William Lewis had been carted off onto a gurney, still alive. She'd wanted this after she'd felt like the perp during his trial. She'd wanted him after it didn't hurt her as much as it should have when Cassidy walked away again. She'd wanted him when Lewis had been found guilty on most charges and she couldn't suppress the pain she still felt in that courthouse stairwell. She'd wanted him when Lewis had escaped, and the blood poured down her face. She'd wanted him when she'd adopted her son. She'd wanted him when he'd been christened knowing that's what Elliot would have done. She'd wanted him when she found out her brother died and so on…

She buries her own face in his neck, not caring that her tears drip onto his skin. She pulls him tighter, feeling his hardness against her chest, and wanting nothing more to be buried beneath him like a concrete shelter.

His voice is soothing, relaxing, buoyant when he brushes her hair from her eyes and leans in closer. He replaces his thick fingers on her back as he speaks.

"This is the first time I've held someone, in God knows… a decade, Liv," he breathes out. He plays for time, and just rubs his hands up and down her back, his breath pulsting out of him with each motion. "I don't want to wake up."

"You're not asleep," she reminds him. "You're awake, Elliot. You're here. You're with me... Right now."

"I just don't want you to be another mirage in the desert."

She gently extricates one hand from under his arms and cups his cheek with her palm, "The desert flooded honey, there's only the horizon now."

He nods, and an exhalation of air escapes his nose as his face contorts and a series of emotions pour across his exhausted face. Pain. Relief. Realization.

He groans when he pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the bed next to her. He still holds her close, his far arm drifting from her back, gliding against her ribs. She can't help the reaction she has to his touch. Her eyes flutter and she tries to not close them as she feels the warmth seep into her bones.

She can feel the emotions ebbing and swelling in the way he pushes and pulls them, swaying together in some sort of flowing dance.

In slow motion, they ease backwards and land on their sides facing heachther, his arms pulling her impossibly closer to his body, his heat intoxicating, a blanket, replacing her barriers, and forcing the flood gates to close. Her head falls back before she turns into him as he simultaneously buries his nose against her ear. The act sends a pool of heat through her body, landing square in the middle of her thighs.

She releases a sigh, moves her hand up to his shoulder again, grazing her fingers over his neck, across his ear, over his temple, and the short hairs that are slowly, non discreetly, receding backwards like the levees in the great plains.

She doesn't hold that against him and never has. It's always been his soul, his heart that she's been drawn to … that makes her heart skip. It was all of that, and more, especially when he was a father to his children, that made her realize that she was starting to see him as more than a cop, a detective, a father, but something deeply tangible. Something that affected her in ways a partner should not.

She runs her finger nail along the scar healing on the rough skin in between his temple and cheekbone. He flinches slightly against her, but she continues to graze her fingers against him in a way she's never been privy to before. The way he holds her is the beginning of the new them. He's never held her like this. Again, they've shifted. Their dynamic changed.

He shifts his head again and breathes against her neck. He must feel the shift in them as well, because he's mumbling and she can feel the vibrations against her.

"I'm glad this is with you."

She doesn't think he's sorry for the admission and she certainly isn't in their current position, particularly the one where his nose trails down and skims her clavicle.

Her eyelids droop low again as she revels in the closeness and tries to contain the moan that wants to escape her lips…

Instead, the smell of him infiltrates her and it's the first time she's registered the faint smell of ivory soap and his musk. With one arm, she pulls him tighter. With the other, she explores.

She rubs her thumb over his cheek, side of his mouth, lips, and in response, they part slightly. He seems just as enamored in her touch as she is in his. She watches as he relaxes under her ministrations. It's only when she moves away again that she sees the brief clench of his jaw, and the way his neck bobs when he swallows.

She relaxes her head down on the sheet below them, facing him again.

This time, he raises up slightly, and leans over her.

He pulls one hand up and pushes the hair from her eyes, and it's the most mundane show of affection but she disintegrates.

Her eyelids dance and he does it again, pushing her hair back with his thick fingers, then trailing them across the scar she knows exists at her temple.

They say nothing yet say everything when they are able to trace each other's scars and connect the dots.

She leans into him, and forgets who they are for a moment and raises her leg and presses it against his closed thighs, seeking entry into new territory.

This time he does swallow thickly, and his jaw clenches nervously before he lowers his face close to hers, "S'that a request or a demand?"

He looks at her closely, and she knows he's trying to gauge where she's at right now, and she doesn't want him to overthink it, so she touches his lips with her thumb. "Let me in," she whispers. She's not sure if she means let her slip her leg in between his, or into his thoughts, his history, his nightmares. She wants it all and not sure where she wants to start.

He lets his head rest against the comforter next to hers, and then slides in closer. Her heart pounds, her body aches in ways she's not thought of in a while and she grabs his shirts at the front when he whispers it.

"Only if you let me in first."

Fist clenched, eyes closed, breath heavy, she pulls his shirt and his body comes in closer, and when she opens them again, his blue eyes are staring at her lips.

She sighs into the space between them, and his eyes raise to hers in response as he lifts his leg slightly. She, without hesitation, slides hers in between his thick muscles. He squeezes her legs with his and somehow pulls her even closer, seemingly trying to blend them into one entity, one storm, one ball of wind hovering above the sea, waiting for the electricity to spiral them out of control.

She plants her open palm against his chest, and looks up at him, seeing the way his body conforms perfectly against hers, their bodies fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle. They simply hold onto each other, their fingers dancing across each other's body in ways that defy normal intimacy for most. Especially for two people who've never touched like this.

He clears his throat, and she looks up waiting for him to say something.

He does. It's a whisper. A request. A gentle breeze that pushes their boat back to shore.

"Can I kiss you?"

Her eyes widen briefly before she tamps down the surprise. His thighs clench slightly before he loosens his grip on hers.

She'd be a fool to tell him no.

But she's not sure he's ready.

One wrong move, and their back under the darkness of the abyss.

But she's also tired.

She's tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. She's tired of waiting for perfection.

She looks around at all these other cops in her unit, and sees a different world around them. They've not seen what she has. But she wants to see what they have.

If he kisses her, she might walk out of here never being able to hide the fact that this brief moment in time with him has changed her insurmountably and every one will be able to tell that his lips have been on hers.

She hates that she's trembling instead of answering him right now. She shakes with how much she wants him. She's been suppressing it for twenty years, but failing by the minute ever since those words just escaped his lips.

That's what scares her.

tbc.

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