A/N: Still at it, and just going to say this is an ongoing story now because who really knows when it will end. I miss seeing them on my screen every week, so writing helps. Thank you for reading! Reviews are very much appreciated. Same TW apply.

Liv recounts, in detail, what William Lewis did to her; what she was forced to watch him do to others. Rattling off specifics that have been stored deep within her subconscious for so long that they hardly feel like hers anymore. She wonders, more than once, if she's telling Elliot the truth or if her mind is filling in the gaps of her memory. Somehow, she stays grounded through all of it. Maybe it's because she's worried about him—about what this information could do to his already fragile psyche. Or maybe she's just self-aware and knows that slipping so far into the past only makes it that much harder to return to the present.

Elliot listens to her every word, taking breaks when he needs them and making sure she does too. He notices that she's watching him intently, monitoring his every breath. Like she's just waiting for him to lose it so she can shift the focus away from her and back onto him. Her empathy is, has always been, one of her greatest qualities. It's part of the reason she's a good captain, but also a tool to keep others out because she centers them in her own experiences. He knows this—has seen her do it so many times before. He understands her better than she gives him credit for, so he holds steady and doesn't falter.

He, of course, is battling his own demons. These days they present themselves in the forms of guilt and anxiety. Sometimes, he's so filled with angst over Kathy's death—over Angela and the kiss they shared—that he can't trust his own judgment and anger feels like his only outlet; the only constant in his life. Then, he thinks of Liv. He remembers that she's his, finally his, after all this time. He wants to do right by her, to make her proud, so he channels his rage and gets through the dark days. Maybe, he thinks, he can be that beacon for her, too.

There's a difference though, between the two of them: Olivia knows his struggles. Sure, he has secrets. He had an entire life in Italy without her. Still, she knows his demons as well as he does, if not better. Liv was on the scene when Kathy got hurt and in the hospital after she died. She was the first person to tell him he had PTSD when he was too deep in denial to recognize it himself. His kids reached out to her when they couldn't get through to him on their own, and everything else? He spilled it into a letter and handed it over like it was nothing. Like he hadn't spent years thinking about it—thinking about her.

In truth, there's very little that Olivia doesn't know about him and it can be overwhelming. Sometimes, he wonders if she's ever intentionally manipulated him, like she would a suspect or a particularly tough witness. She could, because she intuitively knows how to get people talking; how to get them to open up because it's almost impossible not to trust her. One knowing glance and it feels like she understands them—understands him—better than anyone else ever could.

When he told her he loved her, that very first time in front of his kids, he was desperate. Elliot was drowning then, and those three words felt like the only thing keeping him afloat. What he said was true. His love for her kept him going when he had little to cling to, but it wasn't how he wanted to tell her. He envisioned it differently, and hoped it would come at a time when she was ready to say it back. He blindsided her because she blindsided him first. Sometimes, he's bitter about it even though the intervention wasn't her idea. It hurts that he was so compelled to say something, anything, and that's where he landed.

Elliot recognizes that he's been at a disadvantage, not knowing her full story. It's what he deserves, he thinks, for leaving the way he did. For running without a word when he knew how much it would hurt her. If he stayed, he would have known something was wrong right away. If he stayed, he would have found her sooner. If he stayed, he would have killed William Lewis himself. The 'ifs' don't stop running through his head and he's not sure they ever will, even though she keeps telling him it's not his fault. She's forgiven him, somehow, for all of it, but these secrets are her last line of defense. Telling him, he realizes, evens the playing field.

When she's finished talking, Olivia is completely depleted. She doesn't discuss her past anymore unless she absolutely has to, so she's drained and exhausted and knows he is too. She can practically feel it as they lay in bed together, nestled under the covers, the darkness and quiet washing over them. She rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat while he holds her.

"You're quiet." She tilts her head upward, glancing in his direction. It's hard to make out his features in the dark, but her eyes adjust and she finds the outline of his face.

"Tired." He lazily runs his fingers through her hair, working out a few loose knots. "Imagine you are, too."

"Mm." She hums in agreement. "Very."

"Sleep, Liv." He encourages her because she needs it. They both do.

"Soon." She breathes into his chest. "Elliot," she pauses, waiting for an acknowledgement from him.

"Mhm." He slowly opens his eyes, knowing he may just fall asleep otherwise.

"Are you okay?"

"Me?" He asks, as if there's someone else she might be referring to.

Of course he's okay, he thinks. He isn't the one who was tortured relentlessly over four days by a sociopath, only to be taken by him again and tortured some more. He isn't the one who had his entire perception of reality—of his own safety—shaken by one man. He isn't the one who quite literally played Russian roulette with his own life.

"Yeah." She exhales, interrupting his thoughts. "I realize it's...a lot of information at once."

"Don't do that." He smooths his palm over her upper arm.

"Do what." She blinks.

"Make this about me."

"El, this—it's always been about me." She says, twisting his words. "Maybe I'm tired of it."

"I mean, what do you want me to say?" He sighs. "You already know I'm not okay. It's killing me, knowing what he did to you. Not being here when he did. My own damn fault, but still." He traces his fingers down her spine. "It's gonna take some time for me to process all of it, you know? And yeah, I feel guilty. Like shit, really. But, Liv," He takes a long breath. "You gotta know, I'm so proud of you." He feels her tense, presumably because she's surprised by his words. "You fought like hell. To survive. To get your life back."

They're both quiet, for a moment.

"I never got my life back." There's a rawness in her tone that's somehow more heartbreaking than anything else she's said so far. He pulls her in tighter, brushing his lips across the top of her head.

"He took a lot from you." Elliot says. "And your life, maybe it's never gonna go back to the way it was before." He props himself up on his elbow, leaning over her. It's dark, but he knows she sees him. "But now you have Noah, and you're an incredible mom to him. He loves you. I love you." He's sure to emphasize that part. "And look at you, Captain Benson. You did that." He gently kisses her forehead. "So, yeah. William Lewis took a lot from you, I know he did. But there's so much he didn't take, and it's not because he didn't want to. It's because you didn't let him."

Her eyes sting because she's never framed it that way. Maybe Lindstrom did, but he's said a lot of things during their sessions and honestly, it's hard to remember. She's spent so much time—so many years—thinking about everything Lewis took away from her. How she's traumatized and different and scarred and how it's all because of him. How the world looks duller now that she's experienced pure and utter terror firsthand. He wanted to end her life and she never gave him the satisfaction, but it hadn't occurred to her that there's so much more of her that he didn't get. So much that he wanted, but that she didn't give him.

"You've gotten soft on me, Stabler." She teases to lighten the mood, but her voice is thick with emotion.

"Yeah," he settles back down on the bed. "Blame my shrink."

"I love you." She whispers, craning her neck until she finds his lips. "So much." She deepens their kiss until he slowly pulls away.

"I love you, too." He breathes into her, closing his eyes. "Don't think I've ever loved you more."

"God, you really have gotten soft." If she weren't so tired she might laugh. "I'm telling your squad."

"Please, might make me more likable." He smiles, but then sobers. "You gonna be okay tonight?"

"My hand finally stopped throbbing." She deflects and feels him shift beneath her.

"Not what I asked."

"I don't know." She answers truthfully, burying her head in his shoulder.

"Nightmares." He states it as fact because he understands. He gets them too.

She nods into him. "They can get—El, they can get really bad." She exhales. "And talking usually makes it worse, so. Fair warning."

"What can I do?" He asks earnestly.

"What can you…" her face twists. "I dont—no one's ever asked."

"What do you mean, no one's ever asked? How many people were you having nightmares with?" He makes light of her comment but there's clearly a hint of jealousy laced in his tone.

"You think I sat around ten years waiting for you?"

He's being possessive and it isn't cute, but she's too tired to fight about it right now. Maybe one day, when she's feeling particularly bold, she'll tell him about her relationships with Brian Cassidy and Ed Tucker. Tell him exactly how much they helped her because he was gone and she needed to move on. Or maybe, she thinks, some secrets are better left buried.

"Forget I asked." He groans. "Just, tell me. Should I wake you up? Does that help or will it make it worse?"

"Honestly? I have no idea." She yawns. "What helps you?" His nightmares are no secret to her, so she asks.

"You do." He shrugs. "Other than that, I don't know. I guess it helps when I don't wake Eli screaming bloody murder. Helps when I don't scare the crap out of my son."

"That's still happening?" She instinctively reaches for his hand. She knows about his bad nights but thought they were getting better.

"Not as much but, sometimes, yeah."

"We should talk about it. Not now," She clarifies. "But we should."

"Fine." He placates her though he has very little interest in actually discussing it. "But tonight, Liv? For you?"

"Right." She says. "I guess, if I wake you, you wake me?"

"I can do that." He rubs slow circles on her back. "Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so. Just—" She cuts herself off. "Nevermind."

"What?" He presses.

"Just don't...leave." She hates how small she sounds, but she's so tired and vulnerable and needs, more than anything else, to feel secure.

"Not going anywhere, okay?" He whispers into her neck. "Get some sleep. I love you."