Chapter Note:

I remember that this chapter and the next chapter were posted in quick succession. I almost made them one big chapter, but this came to a natural stopping point, and I decided to go with the pause. Please know that despite the lighter tone toward the end of the chapter, I'm not avoiding addressing the other deeper issues in Elliot and Olivia's healing process and aftermath of all this trauma. (Chapter 12 delves into more of that).

Chapter Eleven

She spun around and flattened her back against the wall, instantly hyper-alert. Her hand immediately flew to her hip, her heart racing as she remembered that her off duty weapon was in her apartment. Her eyes darted around to scan the hallway, the stairs, searching for any signs of movement – any shape or shadow that seemed out of place. She strained her ears but all that she could hear was the sound of her own rapid breathing.

She reached a trembling hand into her pocket to pull out her cell phone. She flipped it open, not once dropping her gaze as her fingers felt along the keypad.

Two.

Speed dial.

She held down the button.

She waited to lift it to her ear, not wanting to run the risk of the ring tone drowning out the sound of a footstep – any indication that she was not alone.

"Liv?" Elliot's faint voice reached her ears. "Liv?" she heard again, slightly louder.

She raised her hand. "Elliot," she whispered.

One word.

She lowered the phone.

"I'll be right there," came his distant reply.

She counted the seconds. He was close – a few blocks away at most. He'd be there.

She stared at the switchblade, wishing that she could pry it from the door and use it to defend herself – anything rather than standing there unarmed, waiting for her attacker or protector, whoever came first.

She flashed back to the night before, remembering their first encounter with the man they now knew to be Petrov. He had approached her, crowding her, looking her up and down with a lascivious sneer. She had felt revulsion, unease, but not fear – not with Elliot staring him down, his arm possessively wrapped around her. Yet Petrov was not meant to warrant concern, he was intended to blend into the background – just another pawn in Nikolai's warped game.

If only they had seen through the charade. If only they had known just how dangerous he would prove to be.

If only.

She remembered the feel of his hands as they lingered over her curves, the stench of sweat and cigarettes that radiated off of him as he invaded her space.

Now, in the hallway, near paralyzed with fear, she began to detect the faint traces of an odor that was all too familiar. The scent was seeping into her pores, contaminating her air, threatening to choke her where she stood. She couldn't be sure whether her mind was playing tricks on her or whether it was actually there, only that nothing had ever felt more real.

She jumped at the sound of the door bursting open below her, followed by footsteps…heavy, decisive footsteps intermittently coming to a dead stop before resuming again.

Elliot.

She would recognize the pace anywhere. She tried to focus on the image of him climbing the stairs, pausing as he carefully scanned the landing and flight above him before continuing his ascent.

Eventually he came into view, gun drawn, expression tense. Olivia locked eyes with him but remained frozen against the wall, part of her still waiting for Petrov to suddenly emerge from behind one of the closed doors that stood between them. Elliot shifted his gaze to the switchblade, his expression hardening as he took in the warning message. He looked back at Olivia, gesturing to the stairs with an incline of his head as he continued to approach her. She nodded, falling into step behind him as he cautiously began to climb the next flight. She had followed his train of thought: with no signs of forced entry downstairs, there was a distinct possibility that Petrov had entered the building from the rooftop.

"Stay close," he breathed over his shoulder.

Olivia nodded, positioning herself between Elliot and the wall as they moved. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and once again she longed for a weapon of her own. It was no longer the fear for her own safety that concerned her, but rather the fact that she felt unequipped to be able to effectively protect Elliot.

He raised his arms, aiming the gun higher as they rounded the next corner, trying to discern any hint of movement from the floor above, but saw nothing. He continued to climb, Olivia matching his movements so that every step sounded as though it were one person and not two, minimizing the potential of their own footsteps masking someone else's.

After what seemed like ages, they finally reached the top floor and headed toward the final flight of stairs leading to the roof. The light fixture in the hallway was old and flickering, intermittently illuminating their path or leaving them in darkness; the staircase before them had no light source at all. Halfway down the hallway, Elliot's arm shot out to halt her movements though she had already frozen of her own accord: there was a sound…a hollow, thudding noise emanating from the staircase and echoing down the hall. It wasn't constant, but it was there.

Elliot returned his hand to the gun, the muscles in his arms rigid as he began to move toward the stairs, Olivia's breaths hot on his neck as she followed closely behind him. At the base of the staircase they determined the source of the noise: the door to the roof was ajar and banging against the frame, louder or softer depending on the gusts of wind that controlled it. They continued to climb, slowing as they neared the exit. The lock was broken but they were barely able to make out the damage in the shadows. Elliot set his jaw and put his shoulder against the door, readying himself to push it open but Olivia stopped him with a firm grip on his arm. He looked down at her silhouette, wishing that he could see her expression.

"El-" she whispered tensely, cutting herself off. Be careful. God that sounded patronizing, even inside of her head. Of course he would be. He always was.

"I will," he responded.

She nodded, releasing his arm.

He slowly leaned into the door, nudging it open a sliver and peering through the gap. He continued to push it open, using it as a shield as he ducked his head around to get a glimpse of the rooftop. When no shots were fired, he opened it fully, cautiously moving forward as he continued to scan the area. The sky had now transformed into a deep gray-black, the heavy cloud cover causing what might have otherwise been twilight to quickly approach nightfall. Both Elliot and Olivia struggled to make out shapes through the darkness, the gusting winds and the sounds of the city obscuring any slight noises that might have revealed the presence of the intruder they sought. They made their way further onto the roof, darting between concrete structures and ventilation systems along the way in attempts to afford themselves some coverage.

Together they carefully inspected the entire expanse of the rooftop, but there was no sign of Petrov. They studied the network of buildings, the east wall of Olivia's apartment close enough to the neighboring building that Petrov could have feasibly made it onto the adjacent roof, though it was more likely that he had been able to use the fire escape on the west side that was relatively out of sight – the dumpsters in the alleyway providing somewhat of a visual barrier between the bottom of the metal structure and the pedestrians on the sidewalk below.

"I'll call CSU," Olivia said once they were sufficiently convinced that the threat of danger had passed for the time being.

Elliot nodded, his eyes still narrowed as he continued to scan their environment. In his gut he knew that Petrov was long gone, but he would be damned if he would let something happen to Olivia by becoming complacent. He ushered her toward the entrance as she spoke into her cell phone, pausing to allow her to finish once they reached the door. He took in her taut features and the flat, detached manner in which she was reporting the situation to the person on the other line and knew that she was hanging on by a thread.

She snapped her phone closed. "They're on their way," she informed him, staring at his chest rather than his eyes, every muscle in her body tense.

He nodded, making no move to open the door. "Liv-"

"We, um…we should call Cragen," she said hastily, not allowing him to finish his sentence and still not meeting his gaze. She flipped open her phone once again, her hand trembling as she began to use her thumb to dial the number.

Elliot said nothing but reached over and placed his hand on top of hers, blocking the screen and preventing her from finishing.

She closed her eyes, breathing a sigh through her nose as she leaned her head back against the wall. After a few moments she reopened her eyes, once again opting to focus on a random spot on his chest rather than his eyes. "This never fucking ends, does it?" she said dully.

"No," he commiserated.

She allowed him to take the cell phone from her, continuing to lean against the wall as he relayed the information to Cragen, fury and exhaustion dueling inside of her. She wondered if part of Elliot was finally rubbing off on her after all of these years. She had never felt a desire to punch something – anything – more than she did right now. She clenched her jaw, her fists balled at her sides and her breathing controlled but shallow.

Elliot hung up the phone and quietly studied her. He knew that look. He'd seen it in his own reflection more times that he could count. He cleared his throat. "If you're gonna pick something, pick me, not the concrete," he said, extending his arm to offer her the phone.

She took it from him, slipping it back into her coat pocket. "I'm sorry?" she asked with a mixture of confusion and irritation, finally looking him in the eye.

"Trust me, you don't want to hit this wall," he replied, the slightest knowing smile crossing his lips. "I've got the scars to prove it." He flexed and curled the fingers of his right hand. "So, like I said, if not the concrete, that leaves me."

She smiled despite herself. She was chock-full of adrenaline, frustration, and fatigue, two seconds away from snapping, and he was cracking a joke. "God, don't tempt me," she chuckled, her smile slowly fading as reality set in once more.

"I can take it," he said quietly, his eyes full of concern.

She dropped her gaze, silence falling around them. "I'm so tired, El," she murmured after a pause, running a hand through her hair.

"I know."

She sighed resolutely, raising her head. "We should go." She tucked her hand into her sleeve, using it to ease open the door through the gap without contaminating potential prints on the handle. Elliot opened it the rest of the way with his elbow, following her down the stairs.

They waited on the front steps for CSU to arrive, and before long there were a swarm of techs going over the building with a fine-toothed comb. Olivia was relieved when she was finally able to gain access to her apartment, and more relieved to find that it did not appear that anything had been disturbed within it. Regardless, she stood aside as yet more techs filed in to check the interior.

She sighed. So much for her initial plan of crawling into bed in search of some peace and quiet.

"Liv."

She turned to find Elliot who had returned from leading a group of investigators up to the roof.

"Hey."

"Pack a bag," he instructed. "You're not staying here."

"El," she protested, "He's not about to come back here tonight," she said gesturing to the mob of people in their midst.

"You're seriously going to try to fight me on this?"

Her eyes narrowed at his choice of words. "I'm not going to try to do anything. I'm telling you I'm not going to hole up in the crib and let some perp use scare tactics to keep me out of my own home."

"You're not going to the crib. You're staying with me," he said matter-of-factly.

"What?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"You heard me," he said, taking a step toward her.

Her palms were sweaty. "El, I don't, um…I don't think that's such a good idea," she said, shaking her head.

"Why not?" he asked calmly, seemingly oblivious to all of the reasons that were racing through her mind.

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to figure out a safe reply to give him. "I just…I just mean that we don't know how long it's going to take to find this guy. Not to mention that in light of…" she hesitated, lowering her voice. "In light of…everything, I hardly think that's going to fly with Cragen." She finished the statement hurriedly, struggling to hold his gaze and instead looking back and forth between him and the techs dusting her windows for prints.

"I already cleared it with Cragen."

Her eyes widened even more. "What?"

"If Petrov was able to look you up, he most likely looked me up. My permanent address is still listed as Queens – the bills, the mortgage, everything gets sent there."

Her heart stopped. "Elliot," she said in alarm. "Kathy and the kids-"

"They're okay," he reassured her. "I just called to check in. She had them at her mother's this weekend and I told her to stay put for a while."

Olivia nodded.

"There is still a bit of a paper trail," he amended. "The new lease, the utilities…but it's relatively recent so the hope is that he hasn't figured that out yet."

"And if he has?"

Elliot shrugged. "Well, then we've already got ourselves a damn good protective detail."

Olivia sighed.

"Liv-"

"Okay," she conceded. "Give me a minute."

An hour later she found herself standing outside of his apartment for the second time that day. Thankfully Petrov had not left one of his love notes on Elliot's door, though the absence of such a message did not stop Elliot from locking up and putting the chain on as soon as they entered. He had insisted on carrying her bag, which he deposited on the floor by the entrance, moving to take off his jacket.

Olivia stood halfway between the living room and the kitchen, once again feeling timid and somewhat self-conscious at the thought of being alone with Elliot in a place that was solely his. She kept her back toward him, chewing on her lower lip as she tried to calm herself down. She wondered how it was possible that she could suddenly feel quite this level of nervousness beside someone with whom she had spent the better part of a decade.

"Can I take your coat?" he asked from just behind her.

She jumped slightly, not having heard his approach. "Oh, um, thanks," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder. She undid the buttons, shivering when he hooked his fingers around the collar, his hands brushing against her as she slipped her arms from the sleeves.

He took it from her, moving to hang it on a hook by the door. "Sorry for startling you."

"No, I'm sorry." She shook her head, folding her arms over her chest as she turned to face him. "I think I'm just still on edge from earlier."

"Yeah," he replied, taking a few steps toward her. He had been scared to death when he heard her voice on the phone, and he had yet to be able to shake the thought that something far worse could have happened to her. It had been hard enough for him to bring himself to walk away from her that afternoon, and while he would not have wished any part of this situation on either of them, he found himself breathing slightly easier now that she would be remaining safely at his side.

For her part, Olivia wondered whether she was breathing at all. Elliot seemed completely calm, yet no matter how many times she told herself to relax, her tension had yet to dissipate.

"You want a beer?" he asked, heading into the kitchen.

Yes. She most definitely wanted a beer.

"Sure, thanks," she replied, leaning forward to rest against the island counter that divided the space.

She watched as he bent over to retrieve a couple of bottles from the fridge. She caught herself looking at his ass and quickly dropped her gaze to focus to the countertop, tracing the grain in the wood with her fingertips. Her nervousness and fatigue were adding to a long list of things over which she felt she had no control: Lara, Petrov, Huang, herself. The dull, persistent ache in her head and body seemed to have intensified over the past couple of hours, which only seemed to emphasize the feeling that she was falling apart in every sense of the phrase. She felt her frustration starting to give way to sadness again, and she fought to suppress it.

Elliot had removed the caps from the bottles and was quietly watching her, his back against the counter by the stove. Her fingers continued to repetitively trace lines in the counter but he knew that she was no longer seeing the wood. Her head was tilted forward, locks of hair slipping in front of her face and partially concealing it from view, but he saw the tension in her jaw and could not remember the last time he had seen her blink. His chest constricted; she looked so vulnerable. He felt completely powerless.

He approached her tentatively. He did not want to startle her again. When he reached the opposite side of the counter, he paused, gently setting her beer on the surface and slowly sliding it in front of her.

She blinked as it came into view, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears and straightening slightly as she reached over to take it from him. "Thanks," she said, her voice husky, never removing her gaze from the bottle.

He placed his own beer on the counter, leaning forward on his forearms and bowing his head slightly to try to entice her to meet his gaze.

Olivia lifted the bottle to her lips, taking several large swallows before setting it back down. She stared at the blue of his pullover; it was safer than the blue of his eyes. She hoped that the alcohol would work quickly on her empty stomach. She longed for her thoughts to become fuzzy – less intrusive, however temporarily.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly.

She pulled in a slow breath and exhaled quietly through parted lips. "No," she replied, picking at the corner of the label on her bottle. "I think that's the problem." She finally darted her eyes up to meet his, offering him a sad smile.

Elliot nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. He took a sip of his beer, straightening as he rolled his shoulders to try to work out some of his own tension. "Well, let me ask you this," he said, redirecting the conversation. "If I hadn't dragged you out of your apartment tonight, what were you planning on doing?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "You didn't 'drag' me, El. I think I was fairly cooperative."

He acted as though he was mulling over her response. "I suppose you weren't the most difficult that you've ever been," he said with a glint in his eye, raising his beer to his lips.

"Gee, thanks," she replied flatly.

"You still haven't answered my question."

She nodded, finishing another gulp of the amber liquid. "Honestly? I was going to pull on some sweats and try to sleep…though after the, uh, 'welcome home' gift, I figured I'd probably keep a gun under my pillow." She cleared her throat. "How's that for coping?" she finished wryly.

Elliot breathed a laugh through his nose. "Sounds fine to me."

"You?"

He said nothing but raised the beer bottle in the air, waggling it from side to side, a self-deprecating smile on his lips.

She grinned in earnest and Elliot thought that it was the best sight in the world.

She raised her bottle. "Cheers," she said, amusement in her eyes.

He reached over to clink his bottle against hers. "Plenty more where this came from," he added after their simultaneous swallows.

"Good to know." She was beginning to feel more relaxed and was not sure how much to attribute to the beer and how much to attribute to Elliot's attempts to put her at ease.

"You hungry?"

She wrinkled up her nose. "I don't think so."

He gave her a stern look.

"El, why do you even ask when you're planning on force-feeding me anyway?" There was irritation in her tone though her eyes conveyed that she was only teasing.

He shrugged. "Force of habit. Plus you know you always are once there's a plate in front of you."

"Maybe I'm just being polite."

His eyes widened in faux surprise. "You?"

"Watch it, Stabler," she glared.

"I'll tell you what," he said. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable, change into those sweats of yours, and I'll try to scrounge up something for us to eat."

"Okay," she agreed. "Do you, um…do you mind if I hop in the shower?" She felt awkward asking the question, but after her encounter with Huang and the events of the evening, she longed to be able to try to ease away some of the tension under the hot spray.

"Of course not." He moved to get her bag and gestured for her to follow him down the hallway. He flicked on the bathroom light, putting the bag inside and returning to the hall to open the closet. "Here," he said, handing her some towels.

"Thanks." She took them from him, hugging them to her chest.

He continued to rummage through the closet. "Do you need shampoo or anything?" he asked lifting up a bottle.

"Pantene Beautiful Lengths?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

His eyes narrowed. "It's Lizzie's," he clarified with annoyance.

"Sure it is," she replied innocently.

"Do you want it or not?" he grumbled.

"I'm sorry," she appeased. "Yes, thank you." There had been so much chaos in her apartment when she was gathering her things that she hadn't thought to bring her own.

He handed it to her rather unceremoniously. "You're welcome," he gritted.

"See, now I bet you're wishing you'd dropped me at the crib instead," she teased.

His eyes softened, dropping the pretense of anger. "Never," he replied, raising his hand to gently squeeze her shoulder.

The dynamic had suddenly shifted, and Olivia's breathing quickened as the warmth of his palm permeated the thin cashmere of her sweater. She dropped her gaze, Elliot's hand falling away as he brushed his thumb across his lower lip.

"You, uh, you just let me know if you need anything," he murmured.

She looked up at him somewhat shyly. "Thanks for this," she said, gesturing to the items in her arms with a slight incline of her head.

"Sure." He smiled, turning to return to the kitchen as she entered the bathroom.

She closed the door behind her, depositing the items on the counter and turning to sift through her bag to pull out a change of clothes. When she straightened, she took a moment to study her reflection. The bruising was still extremely evident, but the swelling had gone down considerably. She sighed, impatient for the outward signs of trauma to fade and knowing that it would be days before her injuries would become any less conspicuous. She purposefully did not look in the mirror as she undressed, pretending that she didn't notice the bruises on her knees and thighs as she stepped out of her pants – as if it would somehow lessen the severity of what she had undergone if she could convince herself that the extent of the damage was limited to her face. What she could not ignore, however, was the sharp pain in her breast that returned with a vengeance when she pulled off her sweater and unclasped her bra. She stood still for a moment, setting her jaw as she waited for it to abate. She exhaled slowly and lowered herself to sit on the side of the tub, running the water and holding her hand beneath the stream as she waited for it to warm. She tried to focus on the feel of the water on her hand – anything to distract herself from the lingering discomfort and from the conflicting thoughts running rampant through her mind.

If she were being honest with herself, she did feel better being at Elliot's place for the night. The fact that Petrov had been able to track her down as quickly as he had was unnerving to say the least, and while she didn't anticipate that he would have run the risk of returning right away, "Soon" wasn't exactly conducive to a good night's sleep. If Nikolai was any indication of what they might expect from Petrov…a chill ran down her spine. She wasn't sure that she would be able to get any sleep even with Elliot close by.

She sighed, knowing full well that this was not merely due to the threat of danger looming overhead. Being around Elliot was simultaneously the most comforting and the most excruciating feeling in the world. He had the ability to make her feel safer than anyone, and as many times as his tendency toward over-protectiveness had caused friction between them in the past, a part of her always found reassurance in the knowledge that he cared. Yet as much as his presence had the ability to soothe her, she was now acutely aware of the fact that this alone was no longer enough. His proximity only served as a constant reminder that everything she so desperately wanted remained out of reach, and the nagging feeling of longing was almost more than she could bear.

She chastised herself for letting her mind wander again and stood, tugging on the lever to switch the stream of water from the tub to the shower. A smile flickered across her features as she reached for the bottle of shampoo. She shook her head. This entire situation was so surreal. Three days ago, Elliot had pulled the rug out from underneath her when he told her that he was single. Forty-eight hours later they had blown past every single boundary imaginable. Now she was standing in the middle of his bathroom, in an apartment she had only just discovered existed, while he made dinner in the next room. Any chance of a return to some semblance of normalcy had evaporated as soon as she had set foot into this façade of domesticity. She told herself that she needed to remember that it was just that: an illusion, yet she had a sinking feeling that this would be easier said than done.

Elliot was paying an almost comical amount of attention to every minute detail of the food preparation process, which, in this case, was limited: grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Nevertheless he diligently stood over the stove, continuously stirring the soup that in no way required the action. Anything to take his mind off of the fact that Olivia was in the shower – in his shower. He finished off the rest of his beer in three large gulps, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow with his sleeve and placing the bottle by the sink. He yanked off his pullover, tossing it to the side. He was plenty warm.

He needed to get a grip. Though Olivia had tried hard to mask her anxiety, he knew her too well and had immediately recognized her unease. No matter how much she said she trusted him, he knew that it could not have been easy for her to agree to come stay with him after everything he had put her through. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel more uncomfortable. She was vulnerable, and he was the asshole picturing her naked. He rubbed his hands over his face, cursing himself for even allowing the thoughts to enter his mind. He opened the fridge and grabbed another beer.

He had finished half of it and was in the process of flipping one of the sandwiches to lightly brown the other side when he heard Olivia emerge from the bathroom, her socked feet padding into the kitchen.

"Hey," he said, turning his head over his shoulder to offer her a smile.

She had changed into her favorite gray sweatpants and was wearing a navy T-shirt that said NYPD but was obviously not authentic because it was fitted. Her hair was still wet, droplets of water occasionally collecting at the ends and dripping onto her shoulders.

"Hey." She stood behind him, leaning against the counter. "Smells good," she added with a smile. "I might be hungry after all."

Elliot returned his attention to the stove, quietly laughing as he worked the spatula under the next sandwich. "Uh huh," he replied smugly.

She watched his movements, the material of his shirt stretching as he shifted and drawing attention to the lines of his shoulder blades and the muscles of his back.

"I hope this is okay. I didn't have much to work with tonight, but I figured, you know…comfort food," he finished with a shrug.

"It's great, El," she reassured him.

"I can stock up tomorrow. I just haven't had a chance to get to the store since-" He stopped abruptly. Since we caught the case.

Since their world turned upside down.

Reality came crashing down once again. "Yeah," she said softly, reaching across the counter to take hold of her previously abandoned beer. It was far from chilled at this point, but she wasn't about to complain as long as it could continue to work to calm her frazzled nerves.

He cast a glance in her direction as he turned off the burners. "Liv, that's gotta be warm. Get a fresh one," he said, gesturing to the fridge. "I'm already one ahead of you."

She hesitated, but he extended his arm toward her, making the decision for her as he eased the bottle from her hand.

"There's plenty, Liv."

"Okay."

He dumped the contents down the sink as Olivia came beside him, their shoulders briefly brushing together as she opened the fridge. He watched as she leaned forward, her upper body bathed in the light emanating from the interior. His gaze was immediately drawn to the strangulation marks around her neck that she had kept hidden beneath her turtleneck all day. Some Nikolai's. Some his.

She straightened, pivoting to face him as she lifted another beer from one of two six-packs on the lower shelf. "You weren't kidding when you said that you had plen-" she stopped as she realized his focus.

He continued to stare at her throat, pain in his eyes.

She self-consciously brought her hand to her neck in attempts to cover the bruising but he lightly grasped her wrist, applying gentle pressure as he coaxed her to lower her arm to her side. She did so, averting her gaze as he gingerly lifted his hand to hover around the column of her throat – as if trying to determine which of her bruises might belong to him. His fingertips grazed her skin and he felt the rapid pulse of her heartbeat, betraying her apprehension at his silent scrutiny.

"El-" she said shakily.

"Sorry," he murmured, removing his hand. "I just…I'd forgotten how bad-"

"El-" she repeated, a hint of pleading in her tone. Her face flushed and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She didn't want to think about this. She wanted to forget.

He understood. "Okay," he replied soothingly. "Here, let me get this," he changed the subject, gesturing to her beer.

"Thanks," she said, shifting her gaze from the wall to the floor as she handed him the bottle.

He removed the cap, extending the bottle toward her but waiting to let go until she met his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again, layers of meaning in the words.

She nodded, offering him a slight smile in attempts to ease his conscience. She wanted to try to lessen the tension by making some sort of jibe about whether or not he was ever planning on feeding her, but she knew that the words would never make it past the lump in her throat. She was determined not to cry in front of him again; he was struggling enough with his guilt and she was loath to add to it.

Thankfully he moved on for her.

"Dinner's ready," he said. "Gourmet grilled cheese," he added with a wink.

She smiled in earnest, forever grateful for his efforts to lighten the mood. "Where do you want to eat?" she asked, finding her voice.

"I usually go for the living room, but if you'd rather the counter-"

She shook her head. "Living room works for me."

Elliot nodded, reaching into one of the cabinets to take out some plates and bowls while Olivia carried both of their beers into the next room, setting them down on the coffee table. "Need any help?" she called.

"Nah. Just make yourself comfortable."

Given the height of the table she opted to sit cross-legged on the floor, resting her back against the futon. She took a couple sips of her beer, once again bringing her hand to her throat as she tested the tenderness of the area. It wasn't too bad, all things considered. She removed her hand, turning her attention to her wrists, bruises now overlapping the marks left by the handcuffs that had yet to completely fade. Scratches marred the backs of her hands, having scraped against the rough cement floor in the basement as she struggled to break free from the men that held her down. She lifted her elbows slightly to rotate her arms, taking in the bruises dotting her upper arms. She ran her hands back and forth along them, musing that it might have been wiser to wear a long-sleeved shirt to conceal some of the damage. She tugged on the cap sleeves, trying to cover a bit more of herself, but quickly realized that it was futile and gave up the effort. She sighed, closing her eyes and running the back of her hand along her forehead before leaning forward to pick up her beer once more.

Unnoticed, Elliot had observed her silent inspection from across the room. His heart ached for her. It was obvious that she felt incredibly self-conscious about her injuries and he vowed to do a better job at overlooking them – or, at least, to make her feel as though that were the case. God knows that it was not that simple. Every mark brought about a memory of the countless times he had forcefully put his hands on her the night before. He wondered if it was the same for her – that each bruise carried with it the memory of his abuse of her. He clenched his jaw and resumed the task of serving the food, determined to try to alleviate as much of her unease as possible.

She looked up at him as he carried in the food, bowls of soup balanced on top of the plates and flanked on either side by halves of the grilled cheese. He carefully deposited them on the table, returning to the kitchen to tear off a couple of paper towels before coming to sit beside her on the floor. She was staring at the sandwiches, fighting and failing to suppress an amused smile.

"What?" he asked warily, his brow furrowing.

"Nothing," she replied, attempting to hide her smile by taking a swig of her beer.

"What?" he asked again, slightly up in arms.

"Nothing," she repeated, looking up at him reassuringly and rolling her eyes when it became clear that he wouldn't let it go. "You cut the sandwiches into triangles," she explained. "I just…I like the triangles," she shrugged.

He chuckled. "I've been doing it that way ever since Maureen was little. She wouldn't eat the rectangles." He smiled at the recollection. "Said they didn't taste the same."

Olivia returned his smile, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. She swallowed, resting the sandwich back on her plate. "I'm inclined to agree," she grinned.

Elliot had his beer poised to take another sip, but he paused, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a satisfied smirk. "Good," he replied, his lips brushing against the bottle as he spoke.

Olivia dropped her gaze to her food, trying to ignore the feeling of warmth that had spread through her as her mind had unexpectedly been flooded by the recollection of the feel of his lips against hers. She took another large gulp of her beer. She realized that if her aim was to try to rein in her thoughts, this wasn't exactly going to help things, but she decided that, for the time being, her need to lessen her anxiety took precedence.

They ate in a comfortable silence, both of them hungrier than they had anticipated after subsisting purely on stress and adrenaline for so many hours. Elliot finished before her, stretching his legs out beneath the coffee table and continuing to nurse his beer. He watched as Olivia dragged the last bite of her sandwich across the plate, sopping up the remnants of butter before popping it into her mouth.

"Don't look at me like that," she told him, not bothering to look up to see his expression. She already knew.

"Like what?" he asked, clearly amused.

"I like butter," she said, warning in her tone.

"I can see that," he said, his words intending to tease but transforming into something else entirely as he was distracted by the way she brought her index finger and thumb to her mouth, suckling on them briefly to remove the traces of grease before wiping her hands on the paper towel.

She darted her eyes to his and found him staring at her lips. Her breath hitched and she hazarded a glance at his own, a wave of longing coursing through her. She quickly returned her gaze to his eyes, only to find him looking right back at her. For a moment she froze, knowing that he had seen her prior focus and not sure what to do to backtrack. There was nothing she could do to backtrack. She flushed slightly and turned away, her heart pounding. She searched for any excuse to put some distance between them. She needed to collect herself.

Dishes. She could do the dishes.

She balled up her paper towel and dropped it inside of the now empty soup bowl, uncrossing her legs as she moved to stand.

"Liv," Elliot's voice stopped her, his hand reaching over to take hold of her plate. "Stay put. I'll do these."

"El, you cooked," she said by way of explanation. "It's only fair that I do the dishes."

"Who said anything about 'fair'?" he asked rhetorically, standing up and carrying both sets of dishes into the kitchen.

"El-" she began to protest.

"Besides, you're a guest," he added over his shoulder.

"I'm a squatter," she amended with a sigh, feeling safe enough to look up at him now that he was in the other room.

He turned from setting the dishes in the sink, placing both palms on the counter as he leaned toward her. "You're my guest," he emphasized, his eyes serious and his expression kind.

"Okay," she replied, allowing him his definition. Apparently for tonight, she was his guest. In some ways that was less confusing than trying to decipher the current definition of 'partner'.

Elliot would have been perfectly content to leave the dishes for the following day – which, he suspected, under normal circumstances Olivia would have been as well. But this wasn't about the dishes. It was about her need for space, and he wanted to give her what she needed.

Olivia pushed herself up from the floor, coming to sit on the futon instead. She tucked one leg beneath her, relaxing against the cushion as she listened to the sounds of Elliot in the kitchen. She leaned her head back, once again feeling the exhaustion creeping into her bones. Part of her was tempted to give in and let sleep claim her weary body and mind, but another part of her was terrified of what might await her in her dreams. She looked at the clock on the wall: it was just before 9:00pm.

Elliot finished up in the kitchen and came to rejoin her in the living room. He stood by the side of the futon, not making a move to sit. "Liv, you must be exhausted," he said, taking in her appearance. "Are you ready to turn in?"

"No," she shook her head but did not lift it from where it lolled against the back of the futon.

He regarded her with a hint of a smile. "You sure about that?" he questioned gently.

"It's too early."

"Says who?"

"Me," she replied with a tinge of irritation in her tone.

"Okay," he said, letting her win this round. "So what do you want to do?"

"I dunno," she mumbled sleepily. "Maybe watch some TV?" She pushed herself upright as if this would help her to feel more alert, running her hands through her still damp hair.

"Sure." He made his way to the corner behind her, switching on a lantern-style floor lamp and returning to the front of the room to turn off the overhead light. "You need anything?" he asked as he retrieved the remote control from the top of the television. "Another beer?"

"No," she replied. "Thanks."

He nodded, automatically walking toward the futon before he realized that it might have been better for him to sit in one of the chairs instead. He stopped dead in his tracks, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

She felt a pang of sadness at the fact they were in a position in which he would have to question whether or not she would feel comfortable with him sitting beside her. "Sit down, El," she reassured him, gesturing to the spot to her left.

He nodded, lowering himself to sit while carefully leaving a good foot of space in between them. The twelve inches might as well have been a mile. It only seemed to draw more attention to the immensity of all that they had undergone and all that had been stolen from them. For a moment they sat in silence, grappling with the painful reality that one man had been able to so grievously undermine a foundation of trust and friendship cultivated over more than ten years in the short span of a few hours.

Elliot spoke first, his throat choked with emotion. "You, uh," he cleared his throat, "You want to watch anything in particular?" he asked, starting to flip through the channels.

"No," she responded, her voice gravelly. "Something mindless."

"Yeah," Elliot murmured, studying her out of the corner of his eye. One leg remained curled beneath her and she had drawn the other into her chest, hugging her arms around herself and balancing her chin on her knee. The posture was protective – as if she were trying to seek comfort by crawling inside of herself. It made her appear that much smaller. She continued to stare straight ahead, seemingly unaware of the fact that he had stopped changing the channels. He closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of frustration and fatigue. He shifted slightly, pivoting to face her. "Liv?"

She nodded in response but continued to focus on the TV, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Her chest was tight, grief and anger and longing and confusion compiling inside of her until there was no room left to breathe.

"Liv?" he repeated softly, slowly reaching toward her and gently placing a palm on her taut back.

She closed her eyes, losing the battle at containing the moisture within as two silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Hey," he soothed, scooting toward her so that the outside of his thigh met hers. Distance be damned. "C'mere," he whispered, skimming his hand along her back until his arm was around her. She allowed him to ease her backward, and she shifted to lean against him, resting her head on his shoulder, her legs folded to the side. "We'll figure this out," he mumbled into the top of her head.

She didn't know whether he meant the awkwardness, the case, the confusion, how to heal... Maybe he didn't either. It didn't matter.

She nodded.

He turned back to the TV, picking up the remote with his left hand as he resumed the channel surfing. She remained completely still, allowing the trails of her tears that dampened her cheeks to air-dry for fear that any movement on her part would cause him to remove his arm. They eventually settled on a network broadcast of Return of the Jedi. It was a safe choice – no angst-ridden cliffhangers, a happy ending for all.

As they watched, Elliot occasionally absently stroked the bare skin of her arm, starting to unwind as he felt Olivia's weight sinking further into his side as she relaxed against him. Just as he began to wonder whether she might have fallen asleep, her soft voice reached his ears.

"Empire is the best one," she said.

He smiled. "Yeah? Why?"

"Just is," she responded drowsily.

He chuckled, "Wouldn't have taken you for a romantic."

"Huh?" her brow furrowed.

"Han and Leia."

"I didn't say that."

"Am I wrong?"

She fell silent. "No," she admitted after a pause.

He heard the smile in her tone.

They settled back into silence, twenty minutes passing until Olivia's breathing became slow and even beside him. This time there was no doubt in his mind that she was asleep, the back of her hand slipping to rest against his thigh as the tension left her arm. He lowered the volume on the TV, deciding not to wake her until the end of the movie. If he suggested that she go to bed now, she would only deny that she had been sleeping, he rationalized, though the real reason may have had more to do with the fact that waiting would grant him a few more moments of being able to hold her.

He looked down at the hand lying limply on his thigh, her slender fingers curled inward toward her palm. He lightly trailed his fingers over the bruises on her wrist as if he could somehow erase them with his caress. The size of his hand dwarfed her own, and he was struck by the realization that Olivia's inimitable strength and spirit were housed inside of such a delicate package. He bowed his head slightly, brushing a lock of hair back from her forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the air.