Rating: M

Disclaimer: Neither characters nor lyrics are mine.

Spoilers: Nope

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

Summary: Check out chapter one

epilogue

Prepare myself for a war
And I don't know what I'm doing this for
Trying to let it all go
But how can I, when you still don't know?

I could wait for you
Like that hole in your boot, waiting to be fixed
I could wait for you
What good would that do but to leave me pricked?

Cheers darlin',
Here's to you and your lover...darlin'...

Olivia shoulders her bag and thanks the clerk in French. The little B&B they're staying at just outside of Paris is quirky and parochial. So quirky and parochial that it still has dial-up internet service, free of charge for its few treasured guests. Following the clerk's directions she enters the adjacent room and settles at one of three computer terminals, all boasting the height of 90s technology. The computer slugs to life, dials and connects. She heads straight for her email, waiting patiently as the page loads.

She smiles when she sees an email from home. Graham's mother has attached some pictures of the kids holding their own liberally painted, generously glittered artworks. Frankie, Charlie and Sophie have all contributed messages, no doubt typed by Grandma, telling them to have a fun time and that they are already missed. Olivia wipes away a few tears as she responds, leaving several oxs after the words love Mom & Dad.

Running her eyes over the rest of her inbox, she spots an email from the wedding photographer. Clicking on it, she finds several sample images have been attached, all with a discreet watermark in one corner. There is one of her exiting the car in her dress and veil. Her daughter stands by the door in her flower girl dress, her bouquet dangling at her side. There is another of Graham's mother flanked by the twins. Another shows herself and Graham holding hands in front of the priest. The next is of her and her partner, standing against a green hedge after the completion of the ceremony.

Olivia pauses on the image, her hand drifting away from the mouse.

Elliot stands a little behind her, one hand resting lightly on her waist. The photographer positioned them, told Elliot where to place his hand. They would never stand so close in reality – not intentionally, not knowingly. Possibly because the last time they did, the last time Elliot's chest was pressed to her back, the position presented them with the most precarious possibility of their lives. A warm shudder runs down her spine at the memory. But it turns cold when she skips to the next image. It shows three couples smiling at the reception – two of Graham's colleagues with their husbands and Elliot with his date. That same hand is curled around the other woman's body, a little lower and a little more possessively. It sits just below her waist, on the ample curve of her hip.

Olivia averts her eyes, closes the email and logs off the computer. She'll go through the rest of the images and the rest of her mail another time. Picking up her bag, she heads back into the foyer to await her husband. Graham's grabbing a quick shower after his early morning run. He was up and out of their bed before she'd even opened her eyes. Olivia tried to take the opportunity to reclaim some of the many hours of sleep that being a cop and mom had robbed her of. But she found herself restless, sleepless, staring at the molding of the unfamiliar ceiling. The feeling lingers as she paces back and forth in quiet vestibule, unable to sit or stand still. She wants to get going. She's ready to continue their honeymoon so that she can get back to her life, her kids, her job, her partner. The thought of Elliot causes her feet to alter direction, detouring into the darkened bar.

It doesn't look open for business, not yet. But there is an old man behind the counter, replacing one of the barrels. The stench of alcohol creeps into her nostrils from the carpet, curtains, upholstery. It doesn't affect her anymore, not after so many years of sobriety. She can happily sit in a bar with her partner, sipping tonic water while he swigs beer. She can have friends over for dinner, fill their glasses with wine, rinse out the bottles for recycling. She can toast her own nuptials with sparkling apple juice while around her everyone else guzzles champagne. She wouldn't say it's easy. She won't say that she doesn't sometimes crave a sip, the taste, that warm oblivion. But she's too aware of all she'd risk, of all the reasons not to fall, falter and drown.

For a moment though – just a single, solitary moment, all alone in a shabby bar in a foreign country – she considers it. She considers ordering a glass of red wine – a rich Cabernet or full-bodied Merlot. She's in France after all, it probably tastes incredible. She slides up onto one of the ancient leather stools, smiles at the bartender. The bartender smiles back, murmuring gruffly in French.

Olivia takes a breath then orders a fizzy water. Sipping it does nothing to ease her unrest. Graham enters a few minutes later, body bouncing from his run and hair damp from his shower. He kisses her neck, steals the rest of her drink then asks if she's ready to leave for Prague. Olivia nods, picks up her bag and follows her husband out of the bar.

END.

A/N: Please don't kill me for this cliffhanger ending. As stated yesterday, this story will be continued in the second of three installments. If you wanna speed up the writing process of this story, you know what to do. Thanks to all who made my day by reading and reviewing. M x