Olivia batted her eyes at the light shining through the 19th story window, immediately sensing the dryness in her throat and the mascara hardened across her lashes. He was still asleep, his heavy arm resting limp over her shoulder. She glanced down instinctively, checking for the classic did-we-sleep-together indicators in her tired haze. Guess not.

She predicted that last night's conversation would take longer than planned and Amanda had jumped at the opportunity to look after Noah. She could tell something more serious was up between Olivia and her ex-partner despite a little too much insistence otherwise. In fact, it was obvious to the entire team by now. Olivia figured Fin was to blame, oblivious to her own stuttering and dancing around any discussions involving him.

Uh oh. Elliot stirred when she tried to reach for her phone. Rollins is going to think we...

"What are you doing?" he mumbled, pulling her in closer with his eyes still shut.

"Nothing, need to text Rollins." He was already back asleep when she managed to grip the edge of her phone off of the table. Amanda had beaten her to it.

10:37 AM: Hey, taking the kids out for pancakes. Take your time. Hope you had a good night...

As grateful as Olivia was, she certainly wasn't looking forward to explaining this one. She started running through excuses to tell Amanda when she felt her phone wiggled out of her fingers from behind her. Elliot tossed it gently off the couch and onto her coat on the floor before wrapping his arms back around her.

"Morning," he mumbled, this time a bit louder as he shifted his position to spoon her more comfortably. There was something indescribably sexy about his deeper morning voice that made her nuzzle further into him. She'd always imagined waking up in his arms, but not like this. Not under these circumstances. His wife is dead for God's sake. He was probably just overwhelmed last night. He didn't mean it. He doesn't love me. He abandoned me. I should leave.

"Hey," she whispered back eventually, still discerning her own confusion about the entire situation. She felt quiet around him. Reluctant, as though he had the power to take everything back and leave without warning. After all, it was what happened the last time he kissed her.

"How are you feeling?"

Damn it.. "I'm fine." He wants to talk. His fingers were now gliding up and down her forearm. Is that all he wants to do…? They remained silent, the gentle movement of his hand on her skin being her only indication that he was still awake.

She lied still as his hand continued to explore her body, relieved that the movements were more intimate than sexual. Despite the intensity of last night and their undeniable attraction to each other, this wasn't the time or place.

Elliot was so many things to Olivia. An old friend was the go-to description for anyone who asked about her former partner over the years. Their relationship was too much to capture in any single sentence or any full-blown conversation, for that matter. Meanwhile, her old friend's hand was gliding along her side and across her stomach, tucking his fingertips under the crease where her shirt had slightly ridden up.

"What's this?" he asked, sleepily. She couldn't tell if the tingling was from him tracing over the scar across her torso or just her instinctive response to his touch. "A scar?"

Not just any scar, a William Lewis scar. She lightly gripped his wrist and nudged it off. "Not now."

He felt her body stiffen and considered not pushing this any further, but only for a moment. Elliot was never the type to hold back. "What happened? Was this on the job?" He asked, wide awake.

"We can talk more later, El. I should really head out, it's nearly noon." She pulled herself upright as Elliot weakly protested before letting go of her. He wanted to be with her and knew that his thoughts had a tendency to unravel whenever he was alone. Once she sat up on the couch, she smoothed out her soft locks to avoid a walk of shame-esque exit.

"Liv. You're stunning," he smiled, watching her scramble to look presentable. Her cheeks flushed as she continued to pull her hair into a low ponytail, unable to stop the edges of her lips from curling up at his words. "But I still want to know what happened. That cut felt pretty serious."

Her smirk quickly dropped and she shifted towards him, noting the strain his muscles placed on each shirt sleeve. "Elliot, a lot's happened since you've been gone. A lot that I'm just not ready to discuss." She placed her hand on his forearm, worried that it came off too harsh. "Yet," she added. As jaded as these years made her towards their relationship — or any relationship, the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him in his time of need.

He tensed and his eyebrows drew together. He looked...sad. She'd been with him through many of his highs and lows throughout their years of "partnership," watching him cross boundaries with suspects and lose sight of his anger. But the one thing she could never get used to was seeing him broken.

She hated it. The last stretch when was like this was when Kathy left him. Oh right, Kathy. His wife. He's a widow. In fact, he's a brand new widow, and I could feel his erection for the past hour. What the hell am I doing here?

His silence drew more out of her — anything to get that look off his face. "I was held hostage. It was a long time ago, I don't even remember how many years..." she lied.

That son of a bitch. His stomach turned but he tried to restrain his voice. I could've been there. Long time ago... must've been soon after I left, then. "Kidnapper? What did he want? By now, Elliot was sitting up, his chest inches from her. "I would've come if I'd known…" he trailed off, remorseful as his fingers found their way back to her torso to trace the scar from over her shirt.

"The perp was a sadist. This one was from cutting my top off." She pushed his hand aside more forcefully and gazed at the door. She couldn't say Lewis's name without losing control over herself; without giving him control. "I really need to go."

She would fantasize about a lot these past ten years. Elliot holding her, waking up next to her. In a way, even in his absence, he was how she got through her trauma. While she gritted her teeth through hours of torture, the idea of Elliot bursting through that door and beating the life out of Lewis as she watched was a thought she found deep comfort in. Call it delirium, a physical response to unbearable trauma...but to her, he was there for her. And he never came, making his abandonment all the more painful.

Elliot turned pale. "Did he…?" This was all my fault. My God, how could I let this happen? He failed Kathy, and he failed Olivia. Almost lost her for good. Useless, was what came to mind. Marine-trained, decades on the force, and utterly useless.

He can't even say the word? You've got to be kidding me, she thought. She had to go through all of the suffering and he can't even say the word.

"Rape me? No." This time she stood up, gathering her phone and jacket off of the floor. "Bye, Elliot. I'm leaving now." As conflicted as she'd been about everything, she knew if she stayed for a moment longer, she'd be more vulnerable than he deserved.

"Liv, wait." He shot up to follow her to the door. "I'm sorry, we don't have to."

"I'm no victim. And I don't need you to save me." She tightened her grip on her coat and shut the door behind her.

Fuck.

But I love you.

He dropped back onto the couch, rubbing his eyes before slamming his fist against the table. He felt himself grow dizzy and shook his head to snap out of it. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Sweat seeped through his shirt. The thin crack now lining the center of the wooden table matched the tiny streak of blood forming along the side of his palm.

Elliot Stabler was always a religious man. So much so that knew he deserved every moment of this: his punishment for failing everyone who trusted him. After being offered many — too many — chances at redemption, it was over. He'd hurt Liv too and couldn't take being tormented by regret anymore.

He stumbled into the kitchen, still dizzy, drawers busting open one after another. A knife. No, too much of a coward for that. The whiskey bottle cap flew off. The back of his shirt dragged against the counters as he slid onto the cold tiles, finding solace in the glass bottle. Within minutes, that pesky shirt collar finally began feeling less tight and the lips that had finally reunited with Olivia's were drenched with bitter liquid, stinging the cut inside his mouth.

"God," he scoffed. "What God?" And took another swig.