A/N: Your life is a reflection of how effectively you balance potential and kinetic energy. -Steve Maraboli
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the show or the characters, but, oh, how I wish I did.
March 27th, 6:55 PM
You know, you'd make a great mom.
The way he'd smiled when he'd said it had been burned into her memory, part of her heart had been branded with it. Licking her lips, she tried to remember what he'd said immediately afterward, something about her being great with kids, so good at treating his as if they were her own, but her irritation at the time had muffled and overlapped his professions.
Oh, my God, I am not having this conversation.
The pain of having the man she loved speak her most desperate dream into existence, in the middle of a rusty, trash-filled, coffee-stained car, had been almost unbearable. Even now, though it was only a memory, it ripped into her like a bone saw.
Look, maybe you should start thinking about having kids and any way you want to do it, I'll support you.
The words he'd spoken to her only a week before she'd gotten herself wrapped up in an undercover gig that changed her life echoed in her ears, over and over, with high reverb and crisp quality. Biting her lip, she now realized he'd meant it even then, and if she hadn't been so embarrassed, she might have taken him up on his suggestive offer. Maybe she'd already be pregnant. Maybe choosing names and making plans wouldn't be hypothetical.
Elliot, do me a favor.
His wide eyes and expectant expression had tattooed themselves directly onto her soul, and recalling how hopefully he'd stared at her made her smile. He'd wanted her to set it all into motion, he'd wanted her to ask him to help her. To be the man that made it all happen. He'd held his breath, she remembered, and the light in his gaze had been new and bright. Until she'd shattered him.
Shut up and drive.
The memory faded and she rubbed her eyes to bring herself back into the present, hearing the door open made her straighten herself up. She tried to ignore the footsteps as they bounced off the walls, and when the man who'd come into the room entered her line of vision, she sighed almost dejectedly and slumped lower in her seat. The leather couch crinkled underneath her as she moved, and she raked a hand through her shoulder-length locks. "George," she held out her other hand, palm facing the man. "This really isn't necessary."
"Elliot seems to think it is," George Huang sat in his large armchair, folded his hands together, and kicked one foot up to rest on the opposite knee. His black shirt wrinkled as his body curled forward. "He was very upset when he called me, Olivia, and he doesn't usually…"
"I'm fine," Olivia snapped, her tone suddenly sharp. The way her eyes narrowed physically hurt, and she stunned herself into a stiffer position. Exhaling, she tugged at her red shirt, ran her hands down the front of her black pants, and her nostrils flared as she slowly breathed in and out again. "I need to get back to work."
"You need to confront what's happening to you," Huang countered, "Or you won't be able to do your job. Not effectively." He shifted in his seat and reached for a notebook, then looked down at the half-filled page. "Elliot told me that you had a panic attack in the middle of an interrogation, now if you had been in the room alone with someone more dangerous…what could've happened?"
"Shit," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. For a moment, she went silent, taking in her surroundings. The office seemed more like a library than a federal psychologist's chambers. Shelves filled with books lined three of the four walls, fake plants stood in gaps between furniture in an attempt to make the room feel more welcoming than intimidating. The dark wood and the black frames of the various certificates and degrees gave heavy contrast to the stark white walls. "Ya know, I would never be in a room alone with…"
"What would happen if you started having an attack in the field, then?" Huang interrupted, knowing she was defensive, making excuses. "If you panic while you're chasing someone, or during a standoff, what if it caused you to drop your guard, if you…"
"All right!" she yelled loudly. Shaking her head with a viciously dark, flat smirk, she huffed and closed her eyes. "Look, I didn't choke, okay? That's not...not what happened."
"So tell me what happened," Huang leaned back, folded his arms, and waited.
Olivia let out another breath and cracked her knuckles, giving herself a small smile. It made her think of the way Elliot cracked his all the time, so effortlessly, simply by shifting his body in the right directions. Then she frowned. "Tatum is a fucking narcissist. We weren't getting anywhere with him, he was sitting there, smug and silent…" she breathed out roughly. "All of a sudden, he lunged over the table, went after Elliot, it happened so fucking fast…" she cringed and dragged one palm down her face. With another hard breath, she said, "I knew he was fucking fine, I saw him push the son of bitch off of him, but I remembered the last time the two of them got into it, he almost broke Elliot's nose, and then I…" opening her eyes, she took a deep inhalation, and let her shoulders drop as she bent forward, putting her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees. "It was like every bad memory replayed all at once," she whispered, shamefully admitting what she'd been trying to avoid. Lowering her eyes, she stared at George's shoes and let out a hard puff of air. "Every time I almost lost him."
"Elliot?" George squinted and re-read his notes, taken during the frantic conversation he'd had with Stabler before the man hauled ass across town, dragging Olivia into his office. "Something you've been hoping for and afraid of at the same time, am I right?" He offered a small smile as he looked at her, and he chuckled at the glare he was getting in return. "The life you seem to have settled into with him, I mean. You love him, always have. And you've prayed for it but were terrified of it, and now it's in your hands and you feel like you don't deserve it. That you can't be the woman he needs because of what happened to you." He shook his head and tossed his yellow notebook down onto the table beside him. "You're not damaged, Olivia. You're not broken."
"I've always been broken," she retorted, not willing to bring up her mother, her childhood, but knowing that what she was dealing with wasn't just because of one moment. "I'm really good at compartmentalizing, suppressing things. This time…" she shrugged and rolled her eyes.
"If you shake a champagne bottle hard enough, Olivia," George began, "It won't matter how tightly it's corked, it will eventually explode." He scooted forward and crossed his ankles as he angled himself toward her. "What happened to you in that place was traumatizing. It was the final shake of the bottle. It doesn't make you any less of a cop, any less of a woman. I'm sure you know that." He tried to smile at her, but the line between friend and professional needed to be drawn tonight. "You've avoided facing your past, I think what happened to you at Sealview...don't look at me like that, I don't know the details."
Her eyes softened and she nodded once.
George carried on. "It made your history impossible to ignore, it put you in a similar position as your mother was once in, though thankfully quite different. It was traumatic, Olivia, and what you're dealing with now is a normal response to it all." He saw something register on her face, mentally he patted himself on the back. "I'm concerned because you waited this long to work through it, but believe me when I say…you will get through it." He softened and tilted his head. "And stop holding yourself responsible. Don't let that man take any more of you than he already has. If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you and Elliot. He mentioned…" he paused, narrowed his eyes, and then grinned. "You're trying to have a baby?"
The smile pulled at the corners of Olivia's mouth insistently, demanding that her lips obey, and she laughed softly. "Not actively," she said, "Yet." Shaking the curls from her hair, she let out an audible sigh. "We're just talking about it. He's crazy." Knitting her brows together, she looked at Huang. "Isn't he? To want that...with me...now?"
"I think he's thinking more clearly than he ever has," George replied. "He's more open, honest, and he's less aggressive than I've ever seen him. I think it's because he's finally in control of his life, and he has the one thing he's always wanted." He smiled and pointed at her. "Now, you and I have talked about this, so I know the answer already, but he's not the only one who wants that. Is he?" He shifted his weight again, tugging on his black belt and shuffling his feet for a moment. "That baby he wants, you want it, too?"
With slowly falling eyelids, her bottom lip folded over and slipped between her teeth and she gave him a silent nod. "Didn't realize how much I really did until…" she laughed at herself. "Until I sat down on this couch."
"Then you need to fully deal with this," Huang stood up and walked over to a small shelf behind his desk. "You can't take a leap like that, that comes with extreme emotional fluctuations and more stress than you can handle if you're struggling with post-traumatic…"
"I'm not," Olivia interrupted, defensively. Rising to her feet, she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. "That's not what this…"
George grabbed a bottle off of the maple wood plank, then walked toward the couch, cutting her off. "That's exactly what this is," his voice was softer, lower, gentler. "I'm not putting this in the books, and I'm not writing this up." He handed her the bottle, then tapped on it once. "But this isn't just going to go away. You know as well as I do, high-pressure situations bring on the panic, and with your job, that's what...every ten minutes?" He smiled when she laughed. "When you feel yourself starting to panic, you have to acknowledge it. When it happens, you need to breathe. Slow, deep, calm...and I want you to focus on something while you're doing that, an object or person…"
"Got it," she nodded once, licked her lips, and brought one hand up to clutch the gold pendant under the collar of her shirt. The object she'd focus on, the man who gave it to her, everything it meant. "So if all I need to do is breathe, then what are these?" she shook the bottle. "Oxygen pills?" she quipped, one brow raised.
Chuckling, Huang crossed his arms. "No, Olivia, it's just a blend of amino acids and Rhodiola root extract. Completely natural, not addictive, and perfectly safe to take if…" he dropped his eyes to her stomach. "When." he shrugged knowingly. "One in the morning, one at night, for the next two weeks. If they help, I'll provide more. And if you decide you want to really talk to me, I'll be here."
Shoving the bottle of pills into her pocket, she licked her lips again. "Thanks, George," she said, and then she flicked her hair back, cleared her throat, and said, "Some color in the room wouldn't kill you, ya know." She heard him chuckle and then she turned and walked toward the door, then turned the knob and stepped out into the hallway. Without turning around, she said, "Next time you drag me into a doctor's office, we'd better be walking out of it with a baby."
Elliot laughed loudly, wrapped an arm around her, and said, "Got news for you, there are about a thousand appointments before we'll actually get to leave with the baby." He kissed her temple and whispered, "How'd it go in there? What did he say? Do you have to…"
"Breathe," she stopped walking with him and looked into his eyes. "Ironic that I'm telling you that, right now," she joked. But as she swallowed, she searched his eyes. Feeling him grab both of her hands, she said, "I'm gonna be okay. He gave me some weird hippie concoction to help calm my nerves, and he told me to trust myself, focus and breathe...and then he told me…" she sighed and blinked once before tilting her head. "I've been afraid of this, you and me. Part of me thinks it's gonna end just as fast as it began, but I…"
Before she could say another word, he stopped her with a kiss, in the middle of the hallway, on the third floor of One Police Plaza, where anyone could walk by and see them. People in this building shouldn't be seeing this. It was purposeful, designed to prove he didn't care where they were, or who was around, his priority was her. He pulled back and brushed his nose against hers. "Nothing to be afraid of," he said softly. "Swear on my life." His hands slipped lower, ran over her stomach. "And on the life we're gonna make."
Kissing him again, she sighed into his mouth, pressed against him, and said, "I know. I'm... I'm okay." She straightened up and pulled on her leather jacket. "Did Cragen give you any shit for this?"
He frowned as he shook his head. "Didn't even notice," he kept her stride as they headed for the elevator. "Tatum cracked when he saw you..." he squeezed his eyes shut. "By the time I calmed you down, Cragen and Tucker had Novak in the room and I told them we were grabbing a cup of coffee." He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he slapped a hand over the button on the wall. "Maybe you should cool it on the coffee, now that I'm thinking about it. Just until…" he rolled his tongue around in his mouth. "Well, you wouldn't be able to drink it anymore when you're pregnant anyway, so we should think about switching to decaf." He led her into the elevator as the doors opened. "I'll get you an extra donut to make you less homicidal."
Laughing, her head dropped to his shoulder, and when the doors slid shut, she whispered, "I need to lay off the donuts, too. I don't want to gain any more weight than necessary if we're actually doing this." Her brow furrowed and she told him, "You told George."
"That's right, I did." He took hold of her hand and tugged her out through the elevator doors when they opened. "I'm not hiding this, if anyone has anything to say about it, let them say it to my face." He grinned then, and said, "I'm not gonna deny being the father to your child, so I…"
"Elliot," she stopped him in front of the front doors, staring at him, taking in the proud stance and certainty in his eyes. "You know I stopped taking…"
"December twelfth," he spat out, giving her hand a yank through the sliding glass. He spoke as he started for the parking lot. "I know because you had these horrible migraines for almost a month, and then when I found out you were talking to that girl at the clinic, I knew you had to have stopped taking them at least a month before you went in for that consultation in January." He laughed at the look on her face. "Baby, I pay more attention to you than you think." With a wink, he opened the car door for her, and before she sat, he kissed her again. "I love you."
Grinning, she brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. "I love you, too." She sat down, let him close the door for her, and then slowly took a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips. Her hand moved on its own, it seemed, to the pendant around her neck. Smoothing her thumb over the metal, she thought about what he had said to her, how he'd thought of it as a good luck charm, how he'd prayed with it in his hands, thought it had the power to keep him calm and focused. Alive. The sound of the car starting jolted her out of her reverie and she turned her head to look at him as he pulled out of the parking space. "You used to do the same thing," she said.
"Huh?" He quirked a brow as he drove onto the avenue.
"You didn't freeze and forget how to breathe, but you used to panic." Knitting her brows she looked down again, studying the embossed emblem on the medallion. "How angry you'd get, punching lockers, hitting walls...the way you'd snap at people and yell at Cragen." She sat up straighter and leaned her head back against the seat rest. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't realize that's what was happening," he confessed. "Not right away." He turned the wheel and let out a breath. "When I figured it out, I just accepted it. Like you said, it was my temper, I let it work for me instead of against me." He sighed and changed lanes. "I did talk to you, though, when you came along. Every night. You're the reason it wasn't getting any worse, and now...since you're with me all the time, at work, at home, I don't have to worry about where you are, who you're with, what you're doing with them." He swallowed and then let out a choked laugh. "Ya know that was the root cause of a lot of my anxiety, the last ten years. I was so afraid that you'd…" he paused and let out a trembling breath, turning the wheel again. "That you'd meet someone who'd rip you away from me before I grew the balls to make my move." He smiled as he came to a stop at a red light. "Now that I have you…"
"That's exactly what George said," she interrupted with a small chuckle. "He knows his shit. That's why the feds snatched him up, I guess." She dragged her tongue over her teeth and was silent as she drove the pendant up and down the length of her chain. "Kids are with Kathy's parents, right?"
"Frank's birthday," he gritted out. "I promised him he could take them to dinner, maybe a movie. They're still his grandkids." He rubbed his forehead and said, "Kathy didn't tell her parents she was moving, either, can you believe that?"
Olivia ignored his question as she hummed and looked out the window. "What did you say was in that storage unit?"
"A crib, changing table, strollers, a few boxes of clothes and…" he squinted and when he stepped on the gas again, he said, "Some things from high school. My football uniform, varsity jacket, why?"
"Maybe after you do whatever you plan on doing at Shotzie's, you can take the truck, get Fin and Dick…" she paused and pressed her lips together. "Rick," she corrected. "Bring it all back, set it up in the den."
He eyed her and grinned. "You're sure?" His heart gave a hard thump against his ribs and his pulse began to race. "Liv, don't play with me, are you serious?"
Smiling back at him, she nodded. "Might as well," she laughed. "What do you always tell me? A marine is always prepared for anything? Even though it may not happen right away, we should...be ready." Shrugging, she blew him a kiss, and he puckered his lips and blew one right back. As her focus drifted toward the windshield, she caught sight of a billboard, broadcasting the date, time, and temperature. "Today's the twenty-seventh," she mumbled. His words from the night before reverberated in her ears.
Two years ago. I almost lost you.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, her hand finding her scar under her shirt. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, staving off the panic as the angry tan face of Victor Gitano filled her mind. "Is the Twenty-eighth." The day they caught the case that forced them to realize how intense love could truly be, how petrifying and invigorating it was, how the risks didn't outweigh the rewards. "El, turn around," she spat, her eyes opening wide, and then pulled her phone out of her pocket. "Go home," she said, dialing Cragen's number. "Now."
Elliot narrowed his eyes as he turned sharply down the street, heading for their apartment instead of the precinct. "What's going on?" he asked, but his question went unanswered. He listened to her tell Cragen that she had a migraine and Elliot was taking her home, heard her promise to come in an hour earlier tomorrow morning to file paperwork, and then, when she hung up, he reached across the console and grabbed her hand. "Are you...you're not having a..."
"I'm fine," she exhaled and squeezed her fingers around his. "I just want to go home," she said flatly, and then her voice lilted slightly, her mouth curled just a bit. "Because we'll get to be alone, El." Her vision blurred as the car suddenly kicked into a higher speed. She didn't notice the trees rolling by, the buildings streaked in grey and yellow, as they drove, but when he pulled the car into their spot, her palms began to sweat. She unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The world around her seemed brighter. The brick building might as well be made of marble, her lungs didn't burn when she inhaled anymore.
As he stepped up next to her, he tried to stop his hands from shaking. "Come here," he whispered then, pulling her into his arms. They shared a laugh as he swayed them back and forth, then dragged her along, toward the steps. He didn't let her go, not for a moment, as they walked into their building, down the hall, into the elevator. Once the doors closed behind them, he exhaled and leaned forward, his rapid breath landing on her lips. "I love you."
Her answer was a hard kiss, one that melted the last icy rock of doubt within her. "I love you," she told him, her mouth sliding against his. When the elevator stopped, so did her heart. "No interruptions, tonight."
"No," he whispered, shaking his head as he tugged her into the hallway. Leading her toward their door, he gripped her hands tighter. In silence, he turned and jammed his key into the lock, turned the knob, and guided her into their living room. Making sure the door closed and latched behind him, he toed off his shoes and let his jacket slide off of his shoulders. Tossing the trench over the back of the couch, he let out another affirming breath, then looked at her.
She'd already taken off her jacket and hung it on a hook, her shoes were in a neat row beside his haphazardly strewn ones, and her eyes were shimmering with something he'd only ever seen when they were alone. Taking a step toward her, he smiled, brought his hands up to her cheeks, and dipped his head to capture her lips with his. It was soul-tingling, he could feel sharp pinpricks on every limb, fluttering in his stomach, and he knew she was feeling the same way. She trembled in his arms as his tongue swept over hers, and slowly, he moved. Pressing into her, he goaded her backward, down the hall, through the open door of their bedroom.
His mouth moved down her slender throat and teeth grazed a patch of pulsing skin. A moan escaped him as she tugged at his clothes, pulling in a frenzied need to pry them off and away. Chuckling quietly, he nipped at her pulse and helped her undo his belt, and when he was sure she could manage to get his pants down on her own, his fingers moved to work away at her slacks.
Thumps broke the silence, holstered weapons and burden-laden pockets dropped to the hardwood. Softly smacking lips and louder panting breaths filled the air as more layers of cotton and silk fell into the pile below, and hot skin burned and fused as Elliot's mouth slid down Olivia's shoulder.
She gasped only once when he gave her a light shove, causing her to drop to the bed behind her, and she watched with helplessly unblinking eyes as his head drove lower, his lips and tongue carving hieroglyphic promises into the skin of her chest and stomach.
Feeling her nails scrape against his scalp, he moaned her name and licked long lines along her curves, until her arousal filled his lungs. Intoxicated by it, he prayed for the willpower he needed to be gentle with her, show her that this was so much more than a means to an end, that this moment meant absolutely everything to him. Rolling his eyes toward hers, his stare told her everything his voice had failed to, and he nuzzled the inside of her thigh. One bold swipe of his tongue set her off and he moaned as her hips rose. Curling his hands around her hips, he pressed her down again, keeping his eyes on hers as he worked his tongue between her folds. Nearly growling at the way her nails dug into the back of his head, he traced intricate patterns with the tip of his tongue, savoring her taste as she slowly rocked into him. As she whimpered his name, he lifted his head and crawled up the length of her, stopping to kiss and lick every scar along the way. When he dropped his forehead to hers, his fingers searched out the vacancy left by his lips. Focusing on her face, he slipped one finger into her, shaking at the contact. "God," he breathed, enamored by the way her glazed eyes stared back at him, her parted lips and tousled hair made every erotic fantasy he'd had come to life. He pushed a second finger into her and twisted them, teasing her open for him. He groaned as her back arched. "So fucking beautiful," he mumbled.
Entranced, she stared into his blue eyes as he drew his hand away from her body, brought it to his lips, and sucked his fingers slowly, deliberately staring at her. The sound she made was inhuman, low and throaty, and she bit her lip wantonly as her left arm curled around his neck and right hand grabbed his left wrist. "Elliot," she whispered, his name falling out of her mouth like a prayer.
He shifted, then stilled, feeling his eager cock press into her wet heat. Nuzzling her nose, he whispered, "I love you." Brushing her lips with his, he said, "Stop me if you…"
"El," she interrupted, looking up at him with clear eyes and a soft but needy plea in them, "I love you." Her head rose and she kissed him as she parted her thighs and hooked one foot around his leg.
Shaking, he bucked his hips, teasing her and coating himself in her wetness, unwilling to have this moment torn away from them again. Briefly, he paused, then moaned into her mouth as he gave an elongated thrust of his hips. "Oh, my God," he breathed, her tightness engulfing him as he inched into her. He dropped his gaze down again, needing to look into her eyes.
Open and focused, her eyes locked onto his as she took him into her, trembling as he stretched her. "Elliot," she keened, "Oh, my God."
The moment he filled her, his body flush against his and every single inch he had to give buried within her tightness, it stripped away everything but love and need. She rotated her hips once and cried his name, fingers grazing his arms on their way to his back. They remained still, staring at each other, ignoring the tears that threatened to fall. With a small sniffle he kissed her softly.
Her hips rose then, as she depended their kiss, begging him to move.
He pulled out almost all the way and then plunged deep, the tendons on his neck straining, one thin vein throbbing. "You feel…" he spoke, but his words died on another powerful kiss.
Moving under him, she moaned as their kiss powered on, meeting each of his slow, rhythmic thrusts. She locked her legs around him and whispered something to him that rolled out with a small cry, emotions that had been building and balancing for ten years finally erupting volcanically.
Fingers tangled as he pressed her hands in his down into the mattress. He rammed himself home over and over again, forgoing speed for intensity and depth. Nothing had ever felt so perfectly right, so wholly electrifying. "Liv," he moaned, "Fuck, I love you."
She heard him whisper those three words repeatedly, on every gasp and grunt, until a mutual hunger took over. Her body rose to meet his with loud, feral slams and slaps, taking all of him into her. Closing her eyes, her head dropped back, his name flew from her as he suckled on her neck and mumbled things she'd only heard in dreams until this moment.
Love. Pure, sacred, honest, complete. Fire coursed through both writhing bodies, burning and branding each other as delicious friction penetrated every nerve. This was not sex, not something either had ever experienced before, and they were fully aware of it, softly whispering and grunting out confessions on the heels of hot kisses and slow, lingering licks. Their lower bodies entwined, her legs wrapping like snakes around his as their hips ground together.
"Oh, my fucking God," he growled, ignited by the way she clenched around him. He slipped one hand out of hers and worked it between their slamming bodies, hunting for her clit. He moaned her name again as he rubbed her, as he thrust in and out and brought her closer and closer to blissful release. "Oh, God, Liv, baby, cum for me. God, I need to feel you...watch you…" he lost his words as she clamped tighter. With wide eyes, he watched her come undone, her face and neck reddened as her muscles tightened and her back curled. "Oh, shit, yes!" he roared, feeling her pussy ripple around him.
"Elliot," she panted, chest rising once, "Oh, my God!" Quivering, she arched up into him, burying her head in the dip of his chest as she came harder than she ever had, brought on faster than she expected. "Elliot," her eyes rolled and she relaxed in his arms only for a moment. She could feel a sultry smile spread across her face as he began to thrust again.
Slower and more deliberate pistoning took hold, he lowered himself fully to her and bent his knees, gaining leverage and the ability to get closer to her. Slanting his lips over hers again, he let out near-silent groans of her name, every version of it he had, in between utterances of love and devotion. Her hands slid up his back and gripped his tightened shoulder blades, and as he bucked he could feel every muscle begin to twist and coil. "Oh, God, baby," he seethed, fighting it, needing to hold on just a little while longer.
They gasped and groaned together, she became lightning as he thundered into her with a roar. She felt herself climbing uphill again, growing dizzy, and when he slammed home again her mind splintered and there was no more thinking. He pounded once more, clasping her hips and pulling her to meet his final thrust, his pulsing cock firing into her while her body milked him for every drop.
Blackness feel over him as he cried her name one last time, and he used the dregs of his strength to flip them over. Panting, he flattened out and curled her body around his. His chest rose and fell rapidly, taking her limp head along for the wavelike ride, and his left hand danced through her hair. "I love you," he huffed.
"I love you," she wheezed back to him, her still-quaking body jerking against his. A satisfied moan escaped as she let her eyes close and her hands spread over his chest. "That was...so incredible." Her head turned just enough for her to kiss the hot, red skin of his chest.
He dropped a kiss of his own to the crown of her head and then wiped his eyes with his free hand. "Not the right word," he whispered. "Beyond. So much more than...anything...ever." He sniffled and hooked an arm under her elbow, tugging her up until they were face to face. He smiled at her, swiped away her tears with his knuckles, and then kissed her again.
Her hands splayed around his cheeks, his own hot tears dripped between her fingers, and she whispered something to him that made him growl. She laughed as she rocked her hips once, causing them both to moan loudly, and a part of her that had been missing for far too long worked itself like a puzzle piece into its spot.
He made her whole.
She did the same for him.
And they needed to relish in this moment while they were able, because the trouble with finally being complete, was that there was now so much more danger of being broken.
A/N: Another case threatens to break them, and a conversation with Novak reveals secrets. Next