Warning: Some references to the *Lewis* storyline.
The title and lyrics throughout the story are from the song "Your Light" by Joshua Radin. I swear this man ships EO and ships them hard LOL. He writes the most beautiful love songs.
I own nothing. The Wolf Enterprise owns Bensler, and Joshua Radin has my immense gratitude for his continued inspiration for my fics.
Your Light
Where are you going?
Where have you been?
When will I see your face again?
I need to see those eyes once more
Come here and I'll unlock my door
She wakes up in a cold sweat. She doesn't remember the nightmare but inherently knows the demon that planted the seed in her soul tonight. It isn't the first time she's done battle in her sleep. She's weary, edgy, nerve endings raw and abrasive.
She rises slowly, carefully, as if the monster is hiding under her bed or lurking in the dense shadows. She can never be too aware of her surroundings and takes a full minute to let her eyes adjust to the darkness as she breathes through the terror clutching her heart. Avoiding the temptation of flicking on her overly bright bedside lamp, she grabs her phone and taps the screen, simply to illuminate a fraction of her peripheral vision. A notification catches her eye. Elliot. She unlocks her phone quickly to view his message.
Still awake?
She swipes to look at the timestamp and realizes he sent it an hour earlier. She leans back, deciding if she should respond. He's been out from UC for a week now, and they've been texting on and off. She hasn't seen him in the flesh except for a clean-shaven selfie sent to her midday Monday during a briefing with the Chief, and she had to hide her instantaneous relief and flushed cheeks as she internalized the symbolism of the moment. He was home. Eddie Wagner was officially and finally put to rest, and Elliot Stabler was re-emerging from the ashes. She still wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about it. Her role in his life right now was undefined. Complicated. Wasn't it always?
She hesitates for a second before typing a safe, quick response. Just woke up. You still awake?
Immediately, she sees the bubbles dance on her screen, and she feels her heart palpitate. Before diving into whatever the next minutes might bring, she sets her phone down and tiptoes down the hall to check on Noah. Still unnerved and a bit fuzzy from the nightmare, she needs to firmly connect back to reality and allow herself to chase away the remnants of the ghost that invaded her subconscious. She can't do that until she is one hundred percent sure that her son is sleeping soundly in his bed.
He's adorable, lightly snoring, sweetly, safely. She resists the urge to tousle his hair and kiss his head for fear of having two Bensons awake for the night. Instead, she watches him for a few seconds from his doorway and lets his slumber settle her soul. The traumas of her restless sleep and abrupt awakening are starting to dissipate, and she lets the nearby wall shoulder the remainder of the heaviness. She's exhausted, a prizefighter that did ten rounds with a formidable opponent. She's not sure who won this latest battle, but she has a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't her. She's glad that she can't remember. Sometimes PTSD is a blessing for the mental blocks alone, her brain casting a safety net to shield her from suffering.
The aftermath is still hard, regardless of the absent memories.
She glances at her bedroom, and her lips curve into a small smile. If nothing else, Elliot makes for a distraction from her current mindset. Stopping for a quick glass of water, she patters back into her room. There's something quietly calming about the darkness now as she settles herself against plush pillows and delicate thread counts. Her bed has never felt so soft, warm, inviting.
Elliot's message awaits her return. Definitely still awake. Actually out walking. Thinking. Can't shake Eddie's sleep patterns yet.
She frowns, internalizing the subtext of his words. Coming out from UC is a trauma in and of itself. Not only can he not shake Eddie's schedule, he can't shake Eddie. She knows Eddie did despicable things, moments that will stay with Elliot forever. Add a murdered wife, five worried and grieving children, and a feisty mother to the mix, and it's overwhelming. Torturous. Stressful. She bites her bottom lip in thought, bravery defeating her need for self-preservation. She types quickly and sends before losing her nerve. You close by?
There's a pause before the bubbles appear, then disappear. She furrows her brow as she sees this happen three more times. Finally, he sends her a confession: I shouldn't admit this, but I've been pacing your block for an hour. He adds a facepalm and winky face emoji, and she appreciates the gesture to break the tension of his words. He's struggling, he needs her, and he's afraid to ask. That's okay; she needs him too.
Come up.
Her phone immediately lights up with his name across her screen. She answers, and before she can say hello, he dives into an apology. "Liv, you don't have to do this. I-"
"Shhhh… Elliot, please come up. Really, it's okay. I can't sleep either. See you in a minute." She hangs up before he can debate her further, always finding a way to win their battles.
She heads to the living room, closing Noah's door on her way. She's unsure of the version of Elliot that will appear tonight, and she doesn't want her son to stumble into a disaster. Her mind flits back to the last time he was here, and she shudders. Not being drugged this time is a relief, but that doesn't mean it can't be worse. She swallows hard and puts on her bravest face as she hears faint tapping from the other side of her door.
I've never been perfect,
I'm sure you can see
There's probably so much wrong with me
Sometimes I think I'll disappear
But I keep on waiting till you're here
She opens the door quietly. "Hey."
Elliot stares at her for a blink. "Hi." He looks rough, all bloodshot eyes and dark circles and frown lines. She gestures for him to enter, realizing she probably doesn't look much better. She didn't even attempt to smooth over her hair or throw on a bra. Her cardigan and leggings hide enough for a 2 am visit. They can wear the shredded fragments of their traumas together.
She guides him over to the couch and sits opposite him on the chair, a reversal of their last altercation in this space. This time has to be different. She smirks at him, hoping to lighten the mood. "You look like shit. Glad the beard's gone, though."
He snorts slightly, the hint of a smile crossing his features. "Thanks. If it wasn't for Eddie, I might have kept it. Was nice to have some hair on my head." He winks to ease the mood and she snickers in reply.
"Want a drink?"
"Sure. Nothing alcoholic."
"How about coffee? I made some a few hours ago; it should still have its usual bite. It's not Italian or anything, but-"
"-I'll take New York coffee any day. It's home."
She inwardly cringes at the word home. She wants to believe that he's staying, has seen his apartment firsthand, and knows he shipped his belongings from Italy. He's staying in New York. Whether that means he's staying in her life is an entirely different scenario. Sometimes she feels like this city could push them further apart than the ocean that has separated them for a decade. Isn't that what happened the first time?
She rises to get the coffee, motioning for him to stay put. She could use a second alone in the kitchen to breathe and recenter. All of a sudden she's nervous having him here again in her hallowed ground.
She hasn't pretended that her time without him has been easy. However, other than their single conversation in the hospital about his decade-long departure and a slight admonishment about him ghosting her again for months while undercover, she hasn't said anything at all. He blew back into her life like a hurricane, Kathy died, he was consumed with the Wheatleys and bringing Kathy's killers to justice, and then made the awful decision to run away undercover for months. In the brief times they've interacted, she's felt waves of emotions. Confusion, worry, elation, fury, pain, comfort. Love. As much as it kills her, she's always loved him, and every other emotion takes root from this singular, consuming, and encompassing light.
He told her months ago that he loved her, and she believed him, even though the timing was pisspoor and the letter confused the shit out of her. Then he admitted that Kathy dictated the letter, aside from the last line that he snuck in. A line she's been obsessed with for weeks.
She returns with two steaming mugs and sets them on the table. He's standing, admiring some photos she has on display of her and Noah, Cragen, her squad. He's fingering one of the frames, lightly tracing the edges of a photo of Noah as a toddler. She expected him to startle when she came back into the room as if she caught him red-handed. However, He seems unaffected by her watching him take in the aspects of her life, a life he doesn't recognize.
"So, what woke you up? Did Noah have a nightmare or something?"
"Or something." She eyes him carefully before deciding what to divulge. "Actually, tonight I was the one with the nightmare. I get them off and on. Not much of a big deal anymore, other than the lack of sleep." He looks at her with concern and she immediately shoots one back, a look that screams please don't press this or ask me anything else tonight because dear God I can't handle it.
As usual, he seems to see right through her and changes the topic. "It looks like the undercover gig was worth it. The Albanians are going down."
She wants to scream at him. Was it really worth it, El? Because I see a broken man in front of me and-
She takes the safe road instead.
"I heard. I also heard about the drama in the courtroom. Everyone okay?"
Elliot nods. "Yeah, Reggie's mother. Let's just say she wasn't too happy about my involvement. Wanted revenge."
"Well, I'm glad she wasn't successful."
They sip their coffees in silence for a moment before Elliot chuckles softly to himself. She looks at him, puzzled.
"Ah, Mama Bogdani, she reads coffee grounds."
"She what?!"
"The leftover coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup. Albanian fortune-telling. She read mine one day."
She giggles. "Well, don't leave me hanging. I'm dying to know."
He looks at her, and his demeanor changes as if she threw cold water on him and reminded him of a deep, dark secret. Instead of hiding behind it, he soldiers on. "She asked me why I haven't told the woman I love how I feel."
He catches her eyes and she can't help her expression. It's like the letter reveal all over again, and she's frozen in place. "Elliot-"
"Liv, I've missed you so damn much." His decree is painful, wistful, melancholic. "You have no idea."
His voice breaks and her eyes well. She thinks back to her French literature studies, an Alphonse de Lamartine quote that has plagued her soul for a decade: Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.
"I do, El, I understand. I've missed you just as much. Maybe even more."
Most my days I've wandered alone
Told myself I'd never find home but
I got this light inside and I'm saving it for you
I got this light inside and I'm saving it for you
She sighs at her honest reflection, too exhausted to put up her carefully constructed, unflappable exterior. "Elliot, you don't have to keep repenting for the last ten years. Stop adding more guilt. We need to move on."
He shakes his head, unwilling to let go, to let her let him off the hook. "It's my biggest regret, thinking I was doing the right thing by staying away. Every day I thought of you. Prayed for you. Hoped you were happy and safe."
She can't help but scoff at those words. "Yeah, well, some days those prayers worked better than others."
He stares down at his mug, taking a careful sip before continuing. "I know I've missed some of the best years of your life. Having a baby, three promotions. It's incredible and so well deserved…"
She notices his hesitancy. "But?"
"But…" He sighs and looks through her again. "Liv, I missed something horrible, didn't I."
It's more of a statement than a question, and she doesn't correct him. Apparently, her knowledge of PTSD and her vague commentary about the past has led them to this point. She remains stoic, cradling the warm mug with both hands, sipping her coffee in quiet reflection.
"Liv, I see your squad, hell, even my squad, look at you with fierce protection. It's not just that they adore you and respect you, they look at you like you've been through a war. Sloot stares at you as if you've walked on water. Bell has made comments in passing about 'everything you've been through. Rollins looks like she'd crawl through hot coals if it means keeping me away from you and keeping you safe. Even Fin takes care of you, more than a friend and more than just keeping an eye on his captain. Jesus, Liv. What the hell happened?" His eyes brim with tears in anticipation of horror.
She shakes her head and toys with her cup handle. "Not tonight, El. I can't."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push."
"No, it's okay. Eight years later, you'd think I'd be okay to discuss it. Most days I am. But," her voice drops to whisper, "with you, I just can't yet."
"Eight years?" She watches him then, his mind going to places that she accidentally allows due to her cryptic response. She jumps up and sits next to him to alleviate his fears.
"Elliot, no. It's not what you think. I wasn't raped." He looks up at her with bloodshot eyes as she pats his hand. "Noah's adopted, El."
"Adopted." He lets the word wash over him, his teary eyes sparkling. He exhales, placing his other hand on top of hers. "God, Liv, I'm so proud of you."
Her eyes well up now, realizing that she's been waiting years to hear him say that. She sighs, internalizing the strength garnered simply from his hand atop hers. With her free hand, she takes his fingers and trails them up to her neck, placing them on an indentation of puckered skin. She watches his face, expressions changing from confusion to realization to rage.
She closes her eyes— she can't watch him while she explains. "A key. He burned it into my skin. Branded me." She hears his sharp intake of breath, a mixture of a sob and a need for oxygen. "It's not my only scar. Keys, cigarettes, a coat hanger. I'm a mess."
"Liv, you're beautiful."
She shakes her head, continuing. "I was kidnapped. Held for four days. Drugged, force-fed vodka, and tortured physically and mentally. I finally broke loose from the bed and almost beat him to death."
"I wish you would have."
"Me too. He got me again months later. Played Russian roulette. He got the bullet, but shot himself with his other hand to try to frame me for his murder."
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"I wish. It was a nightmare, but it's over. I still have issues. PTSD. In therapy. But, I'm working through it. There's more, but…" she shakes her head and he nods in understanding. "You can access my file if you want."
"No. When you are ready, I want to hear it all from you. If you are never ready, this is enough."
She notices that his hand hasn't left her neck, and he's tracing featherlight circles around and through her scar. She melts into his touch, closing her eyes and steadying her breath. She looks up at him and his eyes are ablaze in a cerulean glow, pupils slightly dilated as he gazes at her. He pulls her into an embrace, and she folds into his arms. She can count on one hand how much they've touched since his return, but it's more now than over their twelve years of partnership. It's cathartic and necessary, ten years of absence encompassed in touch and rediscovery. She's missed him so much, and she's tired of the world crashing down around them, telling her this is somehow wrong. She doesn't care anymore; she needs him.
"God, Liv. How can you even look at me?"
She sniffles. "Because you're my partner for life, remember? And, as angry as I was, and still am at times, you're my best friend. Always."
He grips her tighter, and now she hears his stuttering breaths. They stay like this for seconds, minutes, a half-hour, just holding one another, letting the silence and solace heal them.
She's the one to break their embrace. She looks at him and takes his fingers and trails them down her chest, gently tugging her shirt to reveal the tops of her breasts, placing his index finger on a circular scar. Taking a chance, cautiously letting him know that she inherently trusts him, and she wants to feel him, craves his touch in all of her most vulnerable places. He swipes gently over her skin, and they are forehead to forehead, drinking in each other's breaths.
He trails his hand upwards to cup her face, and she nods permission. They are undone, stripped to their raw, exposed roots unearthed from the rubble. And yet, their timing is perfect, inevitable, because this is them.
You and I have waited so long
Here with me is where you belong
'Cause I got this light inside and I'm saving it for you
I got this light inside and I'm saving it for you
They meet each other halfway, equal parts of a whole, and the kiss is tender, slow, reverent. It's shared grief, forgiveness, desire. They groan as the kiss deepens and years of hostility, confusion, and sorrow melt away.
Surprisingly, Elliot is the first to break the kiss. "Liv, I don't want you to think this is why I came here tonight. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."
"Shhh, Elliot…"
"I have so much to atone for. So many things to explain, and-"
She seals his sins with a kiss, not allowing for apologies. "We have a lifetime to have these conversations. Right now, I just want to… will you just… will you hold me?"
He smiles at her vulnerable request, understanding the gravity of what she's asking. She stands and takes his hand, gently pulling him towards her bedroom. He pauses, gently pulling her hand back, looking at her in awe and confusion.
"Don't get any ideas, Stabler. I figured my bed is much more comfortable than the couch."
He chuckles with a flirtatious grin. "I'm at your mercy tonight, Captain."
She grins and elbows him. "I usually prefer 'Benson' in the bedroom, but 'Captain' has a nice ring to it."
His jaw drops in mock surprise, and she kisses away the laughter on his lips. They enter the bedroom hand in hand, and she pulls the covers down. Noticing his jeans, she reaches into her closet and tosses him a pair of sweats. He eyes them in shock and casts the same look into her eyes. "Uh, are these mine?!"
She grins, sheepishly. "The one and only perk of Cragen forcing me to clean out your desk and locker— I kept all of your stuff. Don't ask me about your hoodie— I wore it so much it fell apart after year five."
She knows how bittersweet that all sounds tumbling out of her mouth, and she puts a hand up before he can launch into another apology. "El, not tonight, remember?"
He nods and quickly discards his jeans, throwing the sweats on in their place. "Are you sure about this? What about Noah?"
"El, I'd like for you to stay with me tonight, and I'd love for you to meet Noah in the morning and join us for breakfast. If you can't, that's okay-"
He stares at her for a second, his eyes misting with gratitude. "I can. Eli is at Maureen's tonight, and she's taking him to his soccer game in the morning. Would you and Noah like to come to the game with me?"
"That sounds wonderful."
They fall into her bed, emotional, exhausted, sated by mere lips touching for the first of many times. She wants him, all of him, but they still need time to talk and heal. For now, this is enough, finding refuge in each other's arms. She settles her back to him, wrapping his arm around her waist. Eyelids heavy, she's lost in the safety of their togetherness and memories, the cadence of Elliot's even breathing creating a lullaby in her ear. For the first time in a decade, she feels a piece of herself illuminate, a firefly dancing through the darkness. A peacefulness washes over her as she drifts off into a soothing, dream-filled slumber.
Come get your light, I've been saving it for you