A/N: Thank you all SO much for your reviews! This fic has completely taken on a life of its own, and I'm just following wherever it wants to go. Please review if you're so inclined!

T/W: Passing mentions of violence, rape, and abuse.

I want to know you, too

Olivia played those words over and over in her head, and every time, it made her stomach flip, first with excitement at the thought of reconnecting with Elliot, second with a jolt of fear. Before she got any deeper into this, she needed to know where he was when she spent four days fighting for her life. Did he know? And if he did, how could she ever forgive him for that?

No. That place deep inside her, the space where she unknowingly kept him all these years, knew that he didn't. And he deserved to hear it from her before he did from somebody else.

Elliot's heart skips a beat when he sees her as he rushes out of his building. He's been back for months, but every time he saw her, his breath caught in his throat thinking of all the times he thought he saw her in Rome, wished that it was her. Sometimes, it still didn't feel real. She was leaning against her car, a cup of coffee in each hand. He took note of her jeans, her casual sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders, and assumed she wasn't working today.

Their eyes meet, and she smiles a little and pushes off the car."I was in the neighborhood," she says, "I thought I'd give you a ride to work." His eyes crinkle at the memory. Olivia reaches out and offers him one of the coffee, "If you can stomach it," she says, and heads around to the driver's side door, without waiting for him to accept her offer.

Elliot chuckles, flipping the tab on the cup and taking a sniff, "Thanks." Without hesitation, he opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. Olivia pulls away from the curb, and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her to speak.

"So, is this part of the new deal?" Elliot asks, breaking the silence, "You're just gonna show up and drive me around? Not that I'm complaining," he adds with a shrug. He sips his coffee, winces, and drops it in the cupholder.

Olivia steals a glance at him, smiling softly, "I need to ask you something."

"Anything," he says, looking at her profile, trying not to stare.

Her heart pounds, but she needs to know. If she didn't do it now, she was afraid she'd lose her nerve. She speaks hesitantly, "May 2013. Do you remember where you were?" They pull up to a red light and she looks over at him, trying to read his reaction. There is no recognition, no guilt, just knitted brows and a question in his eyes.

"I'm not even sure where I was two days ago," he responds dryly.

Olivia's eyes are on the road again, "Just humor me."

Elliot inhales deeply through his nose and bites his lip, thinking. After 15 seconds or so, he speaks, "2013...was the year we took the kids across Europe. Maureen and Carl had just gotten engaged, Kathleen graduated college, so we had them all fly out after the semester ended. So I guess that was mid May. Kathy had always wanted to see Europe…" he trails off a bit.

Olivia is torn between trying to comfort him and getting to the end of this conversation. "That sounds nice," she pauses, "So, none of you were in New York?"

"Maureen and Carl came back uhhh… sometime in June? For work. But the rest of them stayed the summer."

Olivia wanted to laugh, the relief was so sweet. Maybe they truly didn't know. If no one told him, how was he supposed to know she needed him so badly to come back to her? Elliot felt whatever tension she'd been holding dissipate, and suddenly the air in the car felt lighter.

"What's going on, Liv?"

She glances at him, his eyes fixed on her, searching. "Elliot, since you've been back, has anyone said anything to you," a beat, "About me?"

They pull into the cramped space behind the warehouse where his task force has set up shop. He turns his body fully to look at her before he speaks, "No," he says, but it's almost a question.

"But?" She prompts. She turns to face him.

Elliot clears his throat before continuing, "Whenever your name comes up," he searches for words, "It's like everyone knows you. There's a moment of recognition. At first I assumed it was because of the work you do, you're a captain in the NYPD." He sees her eyes drop, and he knows there's something in them she doesn't want him to see. He continues, "But then it started happening with people who weren't on the job."

Olivia nods. She knows that look he's talking about. She introduces herself and there's a second of searching, the person's brain trying to place her name, and then, when it clicks, it's always a look of surprise. People think they mask it well, carry on with conversation, but she sees it. She knows they know, and that's all they're thinking about.

The air is heavy again. Elliot runs his hand down his face, as the pieces start to fall into place. "Something happened to you while I was gone, didn't it?"

She looks up at him, a sadness in her eyes, "Yeah."

His stomach clenches, "Something bad." It isn't a question, but she still confirms it.

"Yeah."

Olivia turns to stare out of the windshield, afraid if she looks at him any longer, she'll fall apart right here.

Elliot closes his eyes and is suddenly met with a torrent of images, all of those worst-case scenarios that popped up over the years on the days he worried about who was watching her back . He was afraid to say the wrong thing, so he said nothing. He opened his eyes and he could tell she was deep in thought.

She doesn't look at him when her voice cuts through the silence, "If we're going to try and repair this and move forward, I think you need to know what happened. How I got here. Why I am the person I am now"

He was a bit shaken at her words. The Olivia he remembered was never one to openly talk about the things that hurt her- the trauma she carried around every day. Maybe she was right, maybe he didn't know this Olivia as well as he wanted to believe. "I'm here. Whenever you're ready, Liv."

Olivia looked at him and smiled. I'm here. The words brought her an unexpected peace. "Can I pick you up later? I have to drop Noah off at his dance class anyway."

Elliot smirks at her. "I hope for his sake he's a better dancer than you."

Olivia scoffs, but can't fight her smile, "Get your ass out of my car."

He laughs, and reaches for the door, but turns to her one more time, "What time?"

"Six-ish,"

Their eyes finally meet fully then. "Thank you," he says softly, and she knows he's not thanking her for the ride to work. Despite his best efforts, he can't stop himself. He reaches out and smooths a bit of hair behind her ear. Olivia's skin warms at the contact, and the feeling is so unexpected, so welcome, she nearly sighs. "Six-ish," he says, and then he's gone.

Olivia watches him walk into the building. She doesn't want to move just yet. She wants to linger in the scent of him in her car, hang on to the feel of his fingers, for as long as she can.

Olivia waits in her car, back in the small lot, eyes trained on the door, waiting for him. She tried to keep busy today, running errands, doing laundry, anything to occupy her brain. And she was almost successful, until she needed to go by the squadroom. She managed to slip into her office without getting caught up in too much of her squad's work, and closed the door behind her. With a heavy exhale, she walked to the low file cabinet behind her desk, and retrieved the thick folder she kept hidden in the recesses of the lowest drawer. She didn't check to be sure it was the correct one, didn't read the number. She knew what was inside.

Now the loathsome file filled with his face, his words, her body, her nightmares, rests in the backseat of her car. She hated having it this close to her. She had never had to tell the details of her story, not outside of the station or the courthouse, where she could speak in facts, in actions, in memories, not emotions. Any man she'd been with after those four days already knew what happened. They had never asked her to share more of her experience, and she had never offered. Even in therapy, she didn't always share the details of how she felt in those moments, she mostly spoke of the aftermath. So she'd give him the file. Let him read it, see it, and ask his questions later.

The sight of him approaching the car pulls her from her thoughts. He smiles and she can't help but smile back. To her surprise, the proximity of him as he gets into the car brings her some calm.

"Hey," he says casually, but his voice is tired.

"Tough day?" she asks, pulling out and starting toward his neighborhood.

He nods a bit, and looks out the passenger side window. He thinks of Angela Wheatly up in that cell, asking over and over to talk to him. It doesn't feel right to look at Olivia, while Angela is occupying his thoughts, so he skims over his day as best he can. "You know how it is after a big arrest. Lots of prep, lots of paperwork."

"Mm," she hums. She does understand, but she's too preoccupied to fake small talk.

As if he can read her thoughts, and let's be honest, more often than not he can, he says, "Liv, if you've changed your mind since this morning, it's ok. Really."

"No, no I haven't"

"Well something's on your mind," he says, peering at her. She looks over at him, and rolls her eyes at his knowing smirk.

Traffic is heavy and slow moving. Her patience wears thin and she turns her lights on, speeding past a particularly congested stretch. "I'm worried," she confesses, "Elliot, the things that...happened to me…" she stops, changes direction, "You've been through so much the last few months," she trails off a bit.

Elliot's brows knit together and he blinks a couple times, jolted by her sudden shift in the conversation, "Okay?"

"I know you. I just," she pauses, "I don't want to make things worse for you. I don't want you to blame yourself."

Too late. He was already feeling guilty. All day long he thought about what possibly could have happened to his former partner. What could have been prevented if he had stuck around, if he had checked in, if he had still been there for her.

"I don't want to share this with you, if it's going to set you back. I don't want to hurt you." She doesn't look at him, but he can hear the worry in her voice. Even after all he's put her through, after he had caused her so much pain, she's still thinking about what's best for him instead of what might be best for her.

"Don't do that, Liv," his voice is low, nearly a whisper, "Please, don't put my needs before yours. Lord knows I've been selfish as hell when it comes to you," She doesn't reply, doesn't disagree. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll do my best to keep it in mind."

"Okay," she says, but she knows he won't. She sees an empty spot at the corner of his block and pulls over.

Olivia reaches into the back seat and retrieves the file. It's thicker than most. She holds it in her lap for a moment, tapping her fingers rhythmically against it, eyes fixed on the steering wheel. He can practically feel her heart pounding.

"Liv, if you're not ready," he starts, but she shakes her head.

"I'll never be ready, " she says softly, "so why not now?" She takes a deep breath and looks at him, her eyes sad and serious. She opens the file and pulls out a smaller file she's tucked inside, "This is his," she hands it to him, then wraps her hands tightly around the larger one, "And this is mine." Elliot's eyes take in the size of the case file. This is more than an assault, more than a stalker. Whatever she endured, he has a feeling it's worse than the scenarios in his head. Olivia continues,"Elliot, the things in here… they changed me. They changed…the way people see me. The way they look at me." She swipes at a few stray tears.

He watches her, presses his lips together. He reaches out and touches her cheek, "Liv, look at me," his voice is steady, his hand warm and soothing against her skin. She raises her eyes. "No matter what is in this file, I promise you, I will always look at you like this. I will always see that strong, stubborn, passionate young detective that I fell in love with." She studies his eyes, commits the tone of his voice to memory. No matter what he says, this could be the last time he looks into her eyes and sees that version of her.

She reaches for his hand then, and moves it from her face, "Elliot, stop," she sighs, "You can't promise that."

"I can, Liv-"

"There are things I did… things I endured, that you'll never be able to un-know," she squeezes his hand. She hadn't realized she was still holding on to him, "If, after you know the whole story, you still think you love me," she pauses, "Then, we'll go from there."

He smiles. He can't help it. Since that night he blurted out his feelings in front of his children, this is the first indication she's given that, maybe, she loves him, too. Elliot frames her face with his hands.

Olivia's eyes slide closed and she gives up, letting her tears fall freely. "Deal," he says quietly, then moves carefully and brushes his lips against her forehead. But unlike last night, he doesn't rush to pull away. He stays there, pressing his forehead to hers, feeling her warm breath against his skin. It takes every ounce of self control he has not to close the gap between them, to kiss the tears on her cheeks, to steal the breath from her mouth.

Olivia leans into his palm and opens her eyes. She pulls back slowly, and with shaky hands, slides the file into his lap.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he says and she nods. He leaves the car and starts to walk down the block to his building. She watches him, counts his steps. Before she realizes what she's doing she's out of the car, calling his name. He stops, turns.

Olivia takes long strides toward him. She doesn't hesitate, doesn't stop, until she is only inches from him. She stares directly into his eyes, and he feels her reach for his free hand at his side. She lifts her head slightly, slowly, then her lips meet his, just a ghost of contact. Elliot lifts their hands between them, and rests hers against his heart. She leans into him further, her lips parting his gently. The kiss is soft, slow, almost like a goodbye.

She takes a step back, "I needed to do that just once," she whispers, then echoes his words, "While I'm still that person you fell in love with."

Elliot's fingers hold hers as long as he can, before she turns and walks back to her car.

Elliot tosses the files onto his dining room table, eyeing them as if they were a bomb that might explode . He toes off his shoes, and loosens his thinks about taking a shower, changing out of his clothes, but he's too impatient. He can still feel her hand on his chest, taste her faintly on his lips. He aches to hold her, to know her fully and completely, to understand her heart. And in order to do that, he needs to know the rest of her story

He sits heavily and slides the first file in front of him. Now he knows her shadow's name; William Lewis. He opens the file and sees the man's face for the first time. He studies him intently. Is this what you see in your nightmares, Liv? Elliot reads report after report, all of Lewis' arrest records. With each one, his stomach starts to turn. Torture. How is it this man escaped prosecution over and over again? Rape. Was he that charming, that cunning? Murder. Decades. No convictions.

With every new arrest record, the knot in his stomach tightened, his breath shortened, his heart rate increased. What did Lewis do to you, Liv?

When he got to the last record in the file, his hands began to tremble. May 2013, New York City. The kidnapping, torture, and sexual assault of an elderly woman. Victim died of a heart attack. Case dismissed.

That was the last case Olivia included in his file. Elliot knew what was coming next. He slams Lewis' file closed and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He prays for strength. Then, with a shaky breath he reaches for the next file.

He picks it up, and something flutters out and falls to the floor. He stands and walks around the table, squatting down to reach where it landed under a chair. For a moment, his eyes cannot take in what he's looking at, the way an object morphs into a monster in the middle of the night. But this is not his brain playing tricks on him.

Her face stares back at him, beaten and bruised and bloodied. Her eyes, those eyes he looked into less than an hour ago, are unrecognizable. They are dark, empty, devoid of life, as if her very being had been sucked out of her. His head swims, his vision blurs, and his heart pounds in his ears.

A sound, low and desperate cuts through the quiet apartment, growing louder every second. It isn't until he falls to his knees that he realizes the sound is coming from him. He crumples the photo in his fist, and pounds it heavily on the floor. For a long while he is frozen. He doesn't move, he barely breathes, the pain he feels is all-consuming, so complete that he fears it may never go away. Through the fog, one thought forms, Imagine how she must've felt.

When a victim is killed in a particularly gruesome way, they always try to shield loved ones from seeing the body. They identify through DNA or birthmarks or tattoos. They want the victim to be remembered as they looked in life, not how they ended.

He can't remember what she looked like an hour ago. All he can see is that picture, her eyes, the deep cut on her forehead, her split lip, her cheekbone stained a bright purple. He doesn't entirely remember how he ended up outside her apartment, but when he comes back to himself, he's knocking at her door. He hears the lock click, and suddenly she's there in front of him, and she's perfect.

"El," she says, surprised.

He doesn't say anything, he can't just yet. Instead he reaches out with both hands and tilts her face up to his. He runs one thumb softly over her cheekbone, then pushes her hair back and moves the other across her hairline, feeling a scar beneath her hair. His eyes search her face frantically, then come to rest on hers. She's watching him silently, sadly. She knows what he's doing, and she doesn't stop him.

"I didn't read it, Liv," he says gruffly, "I will if you want me to, but," he moves his hands to her upper arms, "I don't give a damn about lab reports or IAB statements or court transcripts. I care about you. I want to know your story the way you remember it, the way you felt it. Facts are facts, Liv, but it doesn't feel right not to hear it from you."

Olivia's eyes are glassy. She should've known. Maybe on some level she did know the file wouldn't be enough. Maybe she was hoping he'd care enough to ask.

"It doesn't have to be now, Liv," he continues, "It could be years from now. I'll wait."

Olivia exhales slowly, "Tomorrow, " she says, "After work, I'll come by."

"I'll be there." He runs his palms down her arms until his hands find hers. He squeezes them gently, and starts down the hall and out into the night.