A/N: Sorry.


-1993-

If the room doesn't stop spinning, you just might die. Every inch of you hurts and you have to be up, walking the beat, in less than three hours. Next to you, Elliot stirs, the bed shifts and you find yourself clamoring to your feet and fleeing to the bathroom. You barely make it to the toilet before the contents of your stomach wrench their way up your esophagus.

"Death, come quick." you murmur, fingers clutching porcelain as tears stain your face. It would be just your luck to end up with the flu as winter draws to a close.

"Come on baby," Elliot's voice sounds and then you feel his fingers in your hair, pulling it away from your face. He sits down next to you best he can, drops his hands from your hair, and runs a warm palm up your spine. "This is the third time in two days you've thrown up, it's time to go to the doctors."

"I don't wanna." you gripe, relaxing into his touch and crawling into his lap. "They'll make me sit out at work, El. I'm already one of the only women in my unit. Imagine what they'd say if I let a cold get to me."

"Liv, you're clammy and you can't keep anything down. Now is not the time to worry about what a bunch of dumbasses are gonna say."

"Easy for you to say Detective Stabler, you don't know what its like." you part murmur and part tease, dropping your forehead against his neck. He's been a detective for a total of two months and you were on your second year of patrol. Three more years and you'd be on the same path as your husband.

"You're right, I don't, but I also know that you're sick. If it gets worse, you'll have to sit out longer than a couple of days. Come on, let's get you dressed and to the 24-hour clinic in the ER."

Every inch of you wants to protest, to fight; to dig your heals in and stubbornly maintain that you are not going to the emergency room, but another wave of nausea washes over you and chills slink down your spine. Aright; you give.

"Okay, fine. But when the doctor tells me i'm perfectly healthy, you owe me a peanut butter and caramel milkshake and loaded fries from Mikey's.

Elliot just smiles at you as he helps you to your feet. His finger rest in the dip of your lower back as he guides out of the bathroom and into your bedroom.

/

An hour later, you sit in a pod in the emergency room, the bright lights overhead too harsh on your eyes. Elliot had been in the process of helping you dress when he'd gotten a call to go into work. You'd encouraged him to go so that you could flee to the safety of your bed to sleep off whatever was ailing you, but he hadn't relented. Much to your dismay, he'd somehow managed to coerce you into dressing (though right now you really wish you would've listened to him and worn sweatpants; the button on your corduroys had fallen off somewhere along the way to the hospital; thank god for huge sweaters). Right after he'd signed you in and made certain a nurse had taken your vitals and you were all set for the doctor, he'd gone off to work at your behest.

Now you really wish he hadn't. After poking and prodding at you for twenty minutes, the clinic staff had disappeared, leaving you alone to stare at intricate diagrams of damage done by different diseases on the walls. Each drawing made you a little queasier than the next and all you want is your husband. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine his fingers running through your shoulder length dark locks; rocking you to sleep. The image alone causes you to laugh; you'd never really been one to rely on others, Elliot is the exception.

A knock at the door nearly sends you jumping out of your skin. The door cracks open and in walks your doctor, Dr. Seville. She's half paying attention to you, half focused on your chart.

"Olivia, you're on birth control, right."

You nod slowly, wondering what that has to do with you having the flu. "Yeah, why?"

"Have you forgotten a couple of days' worth? Maybe a week?"

"Not that I can remember...or at least I don't think so?" you guess because you truly don't know. It was hard to keep up with your pills sometimes because of your constantly changing work schedule, but as far as you knew, you were up to date. Weren't you?

"You're pregnant."

What?

"What?"

"There's a high level of HCG in your blood, it's the hormone produced during pregnancy. Which means you're pregnant. Think hard, do you remember missing any pills?"

The walls feel like they're closing in on you. Everything tilts and your heartbeat is the only thing you can hear. Pregnant. You're pregnant. Pregnant and you just started a new job. Pregnant and nowhere near ready enough to become a mother. Pregnant and not ready to give up your dreams or to put them on hold. You're pregnant…

"I - I - I don't know...I…" you stutter, suddenly wishing for the flu you'd been bemoaning all morning.

"Do you and your husband use condoms?"

"Why would we? He's my husband, we've been together since I was 18."

"Yes, Olivia, but judging from the look on your face, you weren't really ready to hear the word 'pregnant.' Birth control alone isn't 100% effective."

You suddenly feel like a child on the receiving end of a stern lecture about safe sex, but all you can think about is the fact that you're pregnant. There's a child inside of you. Suddenly your tight pants and ridiculous appetite all make sense. The pudge you'd been sporting lately…

You're pregnant.

"I'd like to do an ultrasound to see how far along we are so we know what our options are, is that okay? Then when can go from there; hopefully get you set up on some prenatals. Look at some vitals…"

Dr. Seville's voice fades off into the distance, her voice coming at you through a fog.

You're twenty-four years old. You're not ready to be someone's mother. You're barely taking care of yourself and your husband. Your husband. Elliot. You can imagine his face, almost see his glee and yet you can't feel the same. You're not ready. You've yet to sort through your childhood demons….

You're pregnant; and even though you know you're not alone, you feel more alone than ever.

-Present Day-

An incessant, shrill ringing wakes you from your slumber. There's a sharp pounding between your eyes and everything is hazy. Groggily, you sit forward, extend your arm out and blindly feel for off button of the alarm clock. The room goes quiet as the clock's silenced, and you began to precariously peel yourself out of bed. The last thing you want to do is wake your bed mate. Your heels are on the ground, duvet clutched to your chest, hair strewn all about, when you feel it. Elliot's hand runs up your bare spine and you shiver at his touch.

"Come back to bed, 'Livia…" he murmurs. You glance over your shoulder to find him, bare chested, duvet pulled up to his waist, with one leg sticking out from underneath the covers. He's got his right forearm slung over his eyes and his left hand is on your lower back. You all but freeze, stomach clenching as you wait for him to say something else. Hail Marys run through your mind as you silently pray that he's still locked in slumber. Three rounds of sex (really, really good sex) at different intervals throughout the night should keep a man bordering forty asleep long enough for you to shower, shove your shit into your suitcase, and catch a cab right? Right?

His hand drop from your spine and he sucks in a deep breath, a grunt escaping from his throat. You breathe a sigh of relief; he's still asleep. You can't imagine what a conversation between you two right now would consist of. Hey, the sex was great, I never stopped loving you, but funny thing...I'm married.

Married. God. What the hell were you thinking last night? The knot in your stomach tightens as you seize the gold band on the nightstand and slip it onto your finger. It feels foreign- odd- out of place. You chalk it up to the fact that you'd forgotten about it yesterday in your hurry to get to Alex's post shower instead of your guilty conscience, which had been heavily outweighed by your suddenly sixteen again hormones. But your conscience still rears its head. You can't look at the band, even having it on makes you feel like a traitor (but for some reason, you're not sure to who).

Shower. Pack. Cab. Home.

You make a beeline for the bathroom as quick as possible once you're a thousand percent certain Elliot is still asleep. The door clicks shut behind you and you grab a towel off the mounted rack, careful to avoid looking in the mirror as you go. You don't want to see what you already know; every inch of you is covered in Elliot. Your thighs are sticky, there's bruises on your hips from where he held you as you rode him. He'd started it. He'd woke you up by nudging your legs apart and rubbing against you. You'd finished it by climbing on top of him and riding him until your thighs burned. A burn that radiates through your legs now as you inch your way over to the shower and adjust the water.

Again, what the hell had you been thinking last night? But perhaps that's the problem; you hadn't been thinking. Not during the first orgasm nor the second. Definitely not the third, which he'd coaxed out of you so softly and gentle. Lazy lovemaking. Somehow throughout the night, you'd both ended up on your sides, facing one another, legs intertwined. He'd lifted your left thigh over his right hip and slid into you without issue. Slow, deliberate thrusts with him buried deep inside you, his chin resting in the groove of your neck, and his hot breaths against your skin, toppled you. You'd held onto him, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other holding onto his shoulder, as he kept moving inside you until you had nothing left. You still don't know if he came or not, all you're sure of is that you haven't felt intimacy like that in a while. You slip underneath the spray of the nozzle, hot water rolling down your back, as you brush your wet hair from your face.

Last night had been a mistake. Especially on your end. You'd become Yeats' mermaid; Elliot the lad, and you'd both drowned.

/

Moments later you emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white towel. Your wet hair hangs down your shoulders, as you tiptoe around the bed, grateful to see Elliot still locked in slumber. He's turned onto his side now and hugs the pillow you'd slept on to his chest. There's the ghost of a smile on his face that only serves to further fuel the fire beneath your feet. You don't know what last night meant to him, but rather than stay to find out, you'd rather get out of dodge before he comes to. You grab your now ripped dress off the floor and roll it into a ball. Best you can, you shove it into your suitcase while simultaneously pulling out a thin long sleeve black shirt, a pair of black yoga pants, and some undergarments.

You scurry back into the bathroom to dress. As you slide your pants up over your hips, you catch sight of your left hand. The gold band that you'd neglected to honor last night stares back at you accusingly. You'd forgotten Jonah, with his kind eyes and warm smile. The man that two years ago, you'd swore to love and cherish until death do you part. A day in the same space as Elliot rendered that promise null and void. You'd cheated on your current husband with your ex-husband. History had an interesting way of repeating itself.

Oh how you're ready to put this weekend to rest, to reseal the fault lines one night with Elliot had inevitably cracked back open. That man knew his way to your heart like no other. You shuffle out of the bathroom and bounce about the room, checking to see if you're all set to go. Shoes on, check. Clothes packed, check. You make one last pivot into the bathroom to check to see if you have everything when the hotel phone rings.

Shit. What time did Jonah say he'd call you?

The familiar gruff of Elliot's morning voice hits your ear as he huffs a sleep laden, "Stabler."

Your eyes go wide and your heart almost stops as you wait with baited breath for Elliot to say something else. Instead of his voice, though, you hear the receiver click against the console. Taking a deep breath in, you inch out of the bathroom to find Elliot sitting up, his back against the headboard.

"Wrong room," he mumbles, knuckles scraping across what little scruff resides on his chin, and then yawns. Your eyes dart to the clock next to the bed, 6:23. It hadn't been a wrong number. Your ever punctual often early husband called your room (seven minutes early), as promised.

"Oh…" you murmur as you cross the room and drop down to suspect your suitcase. A stray drop of water slips down your back, and you almost curse yourself for forgoing a good blow-dry in fear of waking Elliot; he's awake anyways.

The sound of the bed creaking catches your attention as your fingers fiddle with the zipper of your suitcase. Feet shuffle against the carpet, and before you know it, Elliot's lifting you to your feet. His hard body sandwiches you against the bed as he backs you up onto the mattress. He's still naked and his arousal is more than apparent against your thigh. His lips find your neck and he sucks on your pulse point.

"You trying to one-night stand me?" he growls against your lips and you find yourself melting, again. Every part of him is a welcome home, an escape. The way he touches you, you haven't been touched like this in a long time. You almost kiss him back, but as you move to stroke his cheek, your wedding band catches your attention.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Olivia, you cannot repeat last night, you repeat to yourself. It takes a great deal of effort, but somehow you manage to squirm out from beneath him, your heartbeat erratic, your breaths shallow.

Elliot stares at you with a raised eyebrow and then nods as if he understands what's going through your mind when you're not even certain yourself. "I get it, we never talked about what this means. Look, Liv, I'm - I've missed -"

The words hang unfinished in mid-air because the sound of your cell phone ringing cuts him off. You know exactly who is calling and exactly who's up, eagerly awaiting to talk to you.

"You gonna get that?" he asks you and you sigh resignedly; you're about to start WWIII.

You turn away from him, watching out of the corner of your right eye as he slips on his boxers, and then you flip your phone open.

"Hey."

"Good morning baby." Jonah's voice sounds into your ear. The cheeriness in his tone is a knife to the heart. You just cheated on him. "I called the hotel, but I must've given the front desk the wrong room number. I woke up some guy."

"Sorry. That was probably my mistake. I think I gave you the wrong room number."

"It's okay, I should've called your cell to begin with. How's it being back in New York, though? Everything going okay? The wedding go off without a hitch?"

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, praying for a hole to open up in the floor beneath your feet and swollen you whole. "Uhm, the wedding was good and New York is...well it's New York. And yeah, everything's fine."

No. It's not. You cheated on him.

"Good, good." Jonah tells you and you can almost see the smile on his face. You know he's standing in kitchen, dressed in his consult clothes, hospital badge clipped to his white coat, ready to head out for the day. He's probably had a cup of tea and a toasted wheat bagel. He's more than likely trimmed his salt and pepper beard that grows like weeds.

"Anyways, I miss you." he continues; inside your chest, your heart constricts. You bite down harder on your lip and pivot on your heels. Turning around, you see Elliot starring at you. His pants hang loose, unbuttoned on his hips. He's fastening his watch and looking at you with a raised brow - that detective eye.

"I - I miss you too, Jonah." you all but whisper, gaze falling to the floor. The red and gold paisley of the carpet catches your eyes and you trace circles on it with your booted toes. Don't look at Elliot. Don't look at Elliot. Don't look at Elliot.

On the other end of the phone, you can hear glass clink against granite and you know Jonah's in the kitchen.

"Alright, I have to get going for the morning. I have the Baker consult and then I'll be at the airport to pick you up. Your flight gets in at what, ten?"

You cheated on him.

"Yeah, about that time, which means I should be heading to the airport now, so I'll call you when I get there. How about that?" you suggest, finally dragging your eyes up from the ground. Elliot's staring at you now, arms folded over his chest, and his head tilted. There's an indiscernible expression on his face, but a fire building behind his eyes.

There's shuffling on the other side of the phone, the sound of hard shoes against linoleum, and your stomach drops.

Shit.

"Daddy!"

Charlotte.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Livvie, wait, Char's here. She wants to talk to you."

Static and white noise cross sound as the phone changes hands and you're greeted by the most beautiful, yet heartbreaking sound there is; your daughter's voice.

"Mommy!" Charlotte yells into the receiver and you can see her clear as day. You can see her tiny fingers wrapped around the bulky black plastic phone. You can picture her thick and curly brown hair hanging in ringlets down her back because her dad can't brush her hair to save his life. He could sew a heart together, but brushing his five year old daughter's curls proved too much.

"Hey, baby!" you feign some of your excitement. You're happy to hear her voice, but right now, it's killing you. You just cheated on her father. "How's my girl this morning?"

A thud shakes you from the phone conversation and you look up to see Elliot, the anger in his eyes spreading across his face now. You don't know what he dropped and you're not willing to find out either.

"Mommy, are you almost done at the wedding? I miss you! Daddy tried to brush my hair and it hurt."

Your stomach drops and every nasty word ever said about you suddenly feels true. You let your body get the better of your head last night forgetting in the process about the little girl who counted on you. For the better part of three years, you'd been her mother. She counts you, loves you, calls you mommy, and you . . . you betrayed her.

"I'll be home shortly and as soon as my plane lands, you're the first person I want to see. Okay? We'll have a girl's night tonight. Just me and you."

"Yay! Love you!" Charlotte shouts and you hear the phone hit the ground. You know that in all of her excitement, the phone's become an afterthought to her. You listen as her little voice carries over the phone and then you hear Jonah again.

"We'll see you shortly, Livvie. Have a safe flight. Love you."

"You too…" the line goes silent as Jonah clicks over.

A beat passes before you snap your phone shut and you realize your eyes are closed. When you open them, you almost wish you didn't.

A now dressed Elliot is standing in front of you; nostrils flared, you swear you can see steam coming from them. He's heard everything; he knows.

"So you're married then?" his voice is level, cold.

You drop your gaze down to the ground and it takes everything in your to drag it back up.

"I am…" you hold your left hand up, the gold band bright against your skin.

"You weren't wearing it last night." His tone shifts from cold to accusatory and you know exactly what he's thinking about. The past always did come back to haunt you.

"No, I forgot it on the nightstand." you tell him truthfully; you had forgotten it. Way before you ever knew he was going to be a guest, you'd forgotten it. Alex had waited until the last minute to let you know your ex-husband would be attending the festivities. You hadn't purposefully set out to dupe him; it'd been an honest mistake your sixteen year old hormones only worsened.

"Like you forgot ours at work?"

If he'd just stabbed you in the heart, it would've hurt less. Suddenly you're ten years into the past and there's shattered glass in your hair and the Hudson in front of you.

This is the Elliot you'd be awaiting; this is the Elliot you'd expected last night. Not the sweet talking boy with bright blue eyes dressed as a Blues Brother that'd charmed you into taking a walk with him around Manhattan at two a.m. No, you'd expected the man scorned left with nothing but your abandoned wedding band and broken vows who'd put his fist through a driver's side window because of you.

Empty words is all you have to offer. "El, last night it just . . . just happened."

But he's not buying your words. He begins pacing back and forth. His chest heaving and his head shaking. "It just happened? It just happened? I was out of the room when you called me back in here. I was gone. You asked me to come back, you gave me some bullshit excuse about a button. After what you did to me, after what happened . . . you let me do it to someone else?"

"I never slept with David."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Olivia. Really, we're worried about semantics right now? You're married! You have… you have a little girl? He gave you kids." Elliot's voice breaks and you see a couple of stray tears slip down his cheeks. "How long after...how old is she? How long have you been married?"

"Does it really matter other than the fact that I am?"

"JUST TELL ME, OLIVIA!" he shouts and you know his next reaction is going to be to put his fist through something and neither of you have money to pay for for hotel repairs.

"We've been together for almost four years. Married for two. Charlotte is from his first marriage. She's not mine biologically, but in every other way, I am her mother."

He stops pacing and looks at you, his eyes bright red. You have to choke back tears of your own as his hard gaze burns you to your core. You didn't want this. This isn't why you came here, to New York. Elliot hadn't even been (much) of an afterthought when you'd agreed to step into Alyssa's roll. This was a mistake. Everything about the last two days was.

"Elliot, I'm sorry."

"Go to hell, Olivia. Next time you're in town and have an itch you need scratched, go do like the rest of the piece of shit spouses out there; hire an escort. I'm done. If I never see you again, it will have been too soon. Have a good life in Chicago."

With that, he grabs his suit jacket off the floor and blows past you. The hotel room door rattles on its hinges as he slams it shut.

It takes everything in you not to cry as you're left alone with your demons, the smell of sex lingering in air.

You'd promise yourself ages ago that if you and Elliot Stabler ever crossed paths again, you would hold it together.

Oh the lies you told yourself in vain.