The faint scar on her neck scares him.
It was one of those things that happened every now and then in the line of duty: you got injured. But the thing that bothered him the most was that he had turned back, and because he had, they had lost someone.
They decided in the hospital that maybe they were too close, because he told her in that off moment that besides work, she was all he had.
And so he sits, and stares at her neck, because right now, they're both staking on thin ice, and they know it.
"Quit staring at me, Stabler."
Her voice breaks into his thoughts, and he looks over at her. He has no idea what she's done, only that she went into the captain's office and then came out, with a troubled look on her face. And somehow, he knew better than to ask.
"I'm not staring at you, Benson."
He wonders when they went back to referring to each other by last names on a regular basis, because he is so used to her calling him Elliot, and being able to call her Olivia that it feels wrong.
"Then what do you call it?"
"I don't know. What do you want me to call it?"
She kicks his foot under the desk, hard enough that it almost hurts. He bites back the desire to kick her back, just to give her a taste of her own medicine. She notices this and smirks.
"Don't tell me I hurt you," she says, sarcastically. "You're the one that always has to come back and rescue me, remember?"
It hurts that she remembers words he spoke in anger well enough to throw them back into his face. And it hurts that she won't tell him what she was doing in the captain's office. But the entire precinct heard that argument, and so he is the one that she isn't talking to. He's also the one that Munch and Fin won't talk to, either.
"I didn't mean it like that," he says, finally, a pathetic attempt at some kind of apology that he knows she isn't going to accept. She gives a derisive snort.
"Sure you didn't," she says. "Just like you didn't mean you always have to look over your shoulder, right?"
"I look over my shoulder because it's my job. Who's going to have your back out there if I don't, Liv? You wanna answer me that?"
The look she gives him tells him that she's in no mood to be called 'Liv' and if he doesn't watch it, she's going to kick him again. He ignores it and goes on.
"Don't give me that look," he tells her. "You know as well as I do that we're both always looking over our shoulders to make sure that the other one is there, so we don't get…lost, for lack of a better term."
At this, she laughs, mirthlessly. "You're already too far lost for anyone to save you now," she tells him flatly. "Not even I could pull you back now."
If she's deliberately trying to make him feel worse than he already does, it's working, and he wonders when she will have gotten it out of her system enough that she doesn't think taking pot shots at him is such a good idea anymore.
This is the problem with the way they are, though. They are close enough that they can tell when the other is being sarcastic and when they're being serious, and when they need to back off, and when it's ok to give each other hell about things.
Now is not one of those times.
"If I was really lost, don't you think I'd have eaten my gun by now?" he asks, finally, and knows it is the wrong thing to ask, and thinks that if she tells him it wouldn't matter if he did, he might just break.
"You would call me before you did that," she says, startled by the question. "And knowing you, you'd probably stay on the phone just so I could hear it."
He shakes his head. "I wouldn't do that to you. Even if I was thinking about it, I wouldn't do that to you."
She stares down at her paperwork. "I didn't think you were gonna turn back," she admits. "After Gitano cut me, I mean."
"You know better than that."
"He had that little boy, Elliot, and I know you well enough to have doubts."
She doesn't have to elaborate. He already knows what she means. They're back to first names again, or at least, she is. After a moment, she goes on, when he doesn't speak.
"You know, we don't always need each other to make it."
Oddly enough, hearing this doesn't hurt, like her other comments have. He leans back in his seat and nods.
"I know it," he says. "It's just not always that obvious."
She bites back a faint, half-hearted smile. "I'm not all you have."
"I know that too. But it would've hurt like hell if he'd killed you."
He doesn't have to say that it hurts even more to know that his indecision meant that they lost an innocent child. There is already enough guilt between the both of them for that, because it is the one thing that they will never be able to make right again.
"Would you really call me, if you were thinking about it?" she asks, and doesn't have to say that she means if he was thinking about eating his gun.
"Would I?" he asks, and a low sigh escapes him before he answers. "Yeah, I would."
"Why?"
"Because you'd probably be the only one who could talk me out of it, that's why."
She knows what he means by this. And she knows that she would stay on the phone with him until he finally gave up the notion, and came to his senses.
"Would you hang up on me?" she asks, after this thought hits her, and he looks at her.
"If I did, would you know when to make the drive?"
"Yeah." She pauses for a long moment, and then goes on, pushing at his foot again. "You're right, you know."
"About what?"
"We are always looking over our shoulders."