Touch

by Laryssapascal

Touch can do so much to a person, can prove things that words cannot.

Panic

Sudden uncontrollable fear or anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behavior.

Attack

An aggressive and violent action against a person or place.

Panic attack

A sudden feeling of acute and disabling anxiety.

She had heard those definitions time and time again. By her therapist, by her coworkers, by herself. However, they never really fully described what was happening to her. To her, she felt like she was stuck in a small empty closet that was continuously closing in on her. Whenever she felt like it couldn't close anymore, it would. Her mouth would dry, her lungs would constrict, her head would pound, her heart would race, her knees would buckle.

In the beginning, right after Lew…, him, it would happen all the time. A wrong touch, a wrong sound, a wrong taste. As time went on, the triggers faded for her. Her therapy sessions decreased and her love life went as back to normal as it could. She was better. But better didn't mean she was normal. She would never be normal again. After something traumatic, being as normal as possible was just as good as it was going to get.

She learned to accept the scars in her mind and on her body. Learned to accept that bad things had happened to her. Learned to accept the fact that she was different because of it. She learned to love herself again, even if she wasn't one hundred percent normal.

As much progress as she made, as much as the triggers faded, it didn't go away. Sometimes certain tastes, smells, touches, sights, would bring her back to the very beginning. PTSD had a way of attacking her and as much as she was prepared, she was mortified every time.

That's what she thinks as she slowly strips her clothes in her bathroom. Reveling the small circular burn marks on her breasts, just like the burn marks she had seen on a young woman earlier that day. She remembers how badly it had hurt when he placed those cigarettes against her. Remembers the smell of her own burning flesh.

She tries to take a deep breath. Tries to do what Lindstrom recommended. Push the thoughts back and breath. Don't forget to breath, Olivia. She tries to keep her shaky breaths steady as she unbuttons her trousers and pushes them over her hips.

She tries to keep breathing as she shakily reaches for the faucet, turns the water on and steps in slowly. She's doing good, she tells herself. Just keep breathing. As long as she's breathing, she'll be okay. She can do this, she's done it before. It's just like last time. She breathes, closes her eyes, lets the hot water run through her hair.

One move, lights out. I'll do you cold.

No, no, no. She squeezes her eyes tighter, she feels her lungs constrict even more. Noah. She'll think about Noah. The curly haired, hazel eyed boy who was she was blessed with. He's about to have a dance recital. The first recital since Covid hit and she is just as excited as he is. He's so good, so confident, so uniquely himself and her heart starts to beat regularly again. She let him spend the night with his friend tonight, so she can have him all to herself tomorrow and Sunday. Her lungs take a deep breath of air. She sighs in contentment and opens her eyes, reaches for her shampoo bottle.

She's in her kitchen, wrapped in a towel. Her hair is still dripping but she doesn't mind. Her breathing is regular, her head has stopped pounding, but her mouth is still a little dry. She opens the fridge, reaches for the last water bottle in the back, unscrews the lid and puts it to her mouth.

You thirsty, sweetheart?

The bottle falls to the floor, water spills at her feet and she places her hands on her chest. She tries to breathe again, tries to feel herself breathe. Only she doesn't feel her own hands, she feels his. Groping her and hurting her. Using her skin as some sick canvas to mark up and destroy. Even with him dead, she still can't get rid of him because his mark is on her body, everywhere on her body. She slides down to the floor, sits in the puddle of water and tries, she tries so hard to breathe. It takes a few minutes of her lungs burning, her head pounding, her heart racing, for her to realize and accept that this time, she can't do it.

She can't do this one alone. It's taught to those with PTSD to call someone that they trust. But everyone she trusts has their own lives. Fin has Phoebe, Amanda has her kids, Carisi has Amanda.

Are you feeling sad? Thinking about someone you're never gonna see again?

She lets a sob rip from her, hoping that will help her breath, hoping that it will make it go away. She can't call him. There's no way she can call him. He has his own shit to deal with. His own PTSD, the grieving of his wife, the acceptance of being alone for the first time in his life. They haven't spoken since three weeks ago, the day Angela Wheatley was drugged at the hospital. He was so far gone again, in pain, in agony, in utter confusion, that he had once again told her to back off. She had listened and hadn't contacted him since. He hadn't tried to contact to her either, so she had tried to not think of him much.

Now, now, all she wants to do is call him. All she wants to hear is his voice. She tries to take another breath, lets another sob escape her, feels her lungs constrict even more. How does breathing work again? In and out? Or is it out, then in? She can't even remember and tries to do both, only succeeding in increasing the suffocation feeling within her.

Her hand fumbles around for her phone, only for to realize that it's not by her. She had dropped it on the entry table when she returned home. Her eyes flash to the table. In reality, she knows it's only a few feet away, but in her mind it's 100. Can she even make it that far without passing out? Why is she even still awake? The lack of oxygen is making her nauseous and dizzy but she isn't passing out. Maybe it would be easier if she could. The body's involuntary responses would allow her to breathe normal again and maybe, just maybe, when she woke up the panic would be gone.

She tries to stand, makes it about halfway and falls back into the puddle of water. The tears are cascading down her cheeks and she watches briefly as they join the puddle under her. Since walking is not an option, she lets her hands land in front of her and pivots on her knees. She's too old to be crawling around on her tile floor, but she's making progress, she thinks. The entry table still looks so far away. One hand in front of the other, one knee in front of the other. She tells herself as long as she's moving, she's getting closer.

When she finally makes it to the table, she lifts her hand and is thankful for her long arms when her hands land on her phone. She yanks it down and tries to take a deep breath as she looks at the screen. She can barely see, her tears and lack of glasses making the screen full of blurs. But she knows her phone, can find her contact list with her eyes closed.

She searches for his name blindly and clicks on one that looks like it. Before she hits the green button, she brings it close to her face, squints her eyes to double check she has it right. Breathe, Olivia, keep breathing. Her finger shakily hits the call button and she attempts to lift the phone to her ear. That's too much energy and she finds the speaker button quickly.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

By the forth ring, the tiny bit of composure she had conjured up on her journey to her phone, dissipates. Her sobs grow louder, her lungs constrict more and she really thinks she's about to faint. He's not going to answer her. Of course, he's not going to answer her. He wants nothing to do with her. He made that pretty clear. And those thoughts only make her current state worse. Usually it would downright piss her off. He's the one who left her and he had the audacity to tell her to back off, not once but twice. After he told her she meant the world to him and that he loved her? He's such an asshole. But yet, that asshole is who she wants, no needs, at that moment. Please, pick up. Please, just pick up.

"Liv?" She sobs in not only panic, but in relief. "Olivia?" She can hear the concern in his voice. When she sobs once more, she hears him curse. "Olivia!? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Please, Liv. Give me something!"

She tries to take a breath. She didn't think this far ahead. Didn't think about the fact that she didn't have enough oxygen to speak. She has to breathe, just enough to give him… something. She can hear him scavenging around, a door close behind him.

"OLIVIA! Please, please tell me where you are. Please tell me you're not hurt." She can hear the plead in his voice.

She takes the biggest breath she can, sobs once more and tries to say something, "I… I can't…"

She hears him curse once more, "Are you hurt, Liv?"

She knows he means physically. Knows he is thinking the worse. Probably thinks she stuffed in some trunk, oh god. "No. I… breathe." One word at a time, she can manage that. Maybe she can give him enough for him to figure out what is happening to her. He does suffer from PTSD, but he doesn't know she does also. Doesn't know why she knew what was happening to him as quickly as she did.

"You can't breathe, Liv." He says it with a knowledge. Like not being able to breathe is something he struggles with on a daily. "Are you having a panic attack?"

He doesn't know what happened to her. She doesn't want him to know. Especially with the way he's been acting towards her. Which means, he has no idea, no way of understanding, why she is currently suffering the same thing he has been suffering with. "Ye… yes."

"You have an iphone? Yes, it's an iphone. I'm gonna video chat you, Liv. You need to breathe. Try to breathe for me. In and out. Out, then in. It doesn't matter which one. You'll be breathing either way."

It soothes her. That he knows exactly what it going through her head right now. Exactly how to handle, how to remember how to breathe.

"I gonna video chat you, okay?" He repeats. She understands why. He needs her to know that he isn't abandoning her. At least, he isn't right now.

"Yes." The phone hangs up quickly. In and out. In and out. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. She tries, really tries, but even though she knows she's breathing, it's not helping her lungs unconstrict. If anything, it feels like they're constricting more. She sees her phone light up instantly and she presses the green video button.

He's in his car, breathing heavily, buckling his seatbelt when she answers. She's still leaning against her entry table, only in a towel and wet tousled hair. Her face is stained with tears, her nose is flaring, her lip is trembling. It's so dark on his side of the screen but she can see the look of concern in his eyes. "Are you breathing, Liv? In and out. In and out." He repeats it as she does what he's telling her. Watches him as he purses his lips on the camera, as he breathes with her.

It helps, until it doesn't. Until she feels her breaths go shaky again, until another strangled sob escapes her. She hasn't had one this bad in a long time. A very long time.

He's driving now and he curses when he hears her sob again. "Did you move, Liv?" She nods her head. Breathes again. In and out, in and out. "Shit, can you tell me your address? I want to go to you… Can I go to you?"

She hears the desperation in his voice. Like he knows that he's crossing a line. After three weeks of silence, he's asking to come to her. To come help soothe her. To be here for her. She wonders if he would be asking if he knew her address, or if he would just head over regardless. But breathing isn't helping her. And there's absolutely nothing more he can do over the phone. She nods, because that's the only thing she's capable of at the moment.

"Is your gps on? I can track you."

She doesn't even have to think about the answer to that question. After Lew… him, she had made it a point to keep her gps on. Just in case. She nods quickly, tries to breathe again. Feels the snot running out of her nose and she thinks she must look like a fucking nutcase at the moment. He's clicking around on his phone, somehow managing to drive, not hang up on her and locate her at the same time. She can't even tell him to pay attention to the road, to be careful. That she needs him to show up to her uninjured.

She manages an, "El…" before he says, "Okay, I found you." He repeats her address to her, ensuring that he's right. That he's making his way to the right place. She nods when it's fully correct. She wants to ask him how long of a drive it is. She knows how far his temporary place was from her place, but since then he's moved, she thinks. And she's not sure if he's moved farther or closer. Somehow, even through all the years they were apart, he can still read her. They can still read one another. "It says 25 minutes. I'll stay on the phone with you. Just keep breathing."

It turns out 25 minutes is a fucking eternity while in a panic attack. She is constantly looking at the clock on her wall, watching the minutes tick by. It feels like hours, when it has only been 5 minutes and she tries to focus on the sound of his voice. "In and out, Liv." "You're going to be fine." "Just keep breathing." "I'm coming, I promise you I'm coming." She listens to him as he curses at the drivers on the road, at every red light he hits. The way he has the camera angled, she can see his hands gripping the steering wheel in frustration, in desperation, in panic.

She wishes she could soothe him, like he is so trying to do for her. But she can't. The sobs escape her every now and then and she still just tries to focus on breathing, tries to focus on the fact that soon, she won't be alone. She wants to know how much longer, so breathes out an, "El…"

"Seven minutes, Liv. Almost there." She knows he must be speeding because, if her eyes are still working correctly, only eight minutes have passed since he told her 25. She breathes a little easier when she sees him take the keys out of the ignition. When she hears him say, "I'm here. Right outside. Do I need a code?"

She groans through another sob and sobs again. Her code. The code. How the fuck was he gonna get that.

"Just try to give me one number at a time, Liv."

She nods. "5…" a shaky breath, "2…" a sob, "1…1." As soon as he's in her building, she can see that he's running. She wants to tell him about the elevator, about what floor she's on, but she can't. And he knows she can't, so he eyes the map of the layout of her complex they have posted next to the elevator.

"20B, second floor?" He asks her. She nods and watches him as he enters the elevator. The lights glow and she can see him, actually see him for the first time on the camera. He looks different. His shaven head and beard a stark difference to the Elliot Stabler she is used to seeing. His breathing is heavy, there's circles under his eyes, his nose is flaring. When his blue eyes land on hers through the screen, her heart slows down. Even with the concern and his own panic sketched into them, they calm her.

She glances at her front door, at the distance she has to make to let him in. Keeping her phone locked in her right hand, facing her, she drops her hands in front of her again and starts her journey to her front door. She can see his eyes question her, until he realizes what she's doing. When she hears the elevator doors open on his side of the screen, she's almost to her front door.

"I'm right here, Liv. As soon as you get it open."

Her lip trembles as she reaches for the lock. First the dead bolt, then the door handle. When she falls back against the wall, he turns the handle for her. Entering and locking the door behind him, she watches as he drops to his knees before her. She's still heaving, tears are still cascading down her cheeks, her lip is uncontrollably trembling. He has never seen her like this. Even in their 12 years of partnership, she never let him see her broken. Being broken was reserved for her shower. After a hard case, after he got Kathy pregnant again, after Calvin. He was never allowed to see this side of her. She can see it in his eyes. How broken he is that she's broken also. She knows that feeling. Knows exactly how she felt when he sobbed in her arms the day Kathy passed.

He reaches for her but stops, hands hovering over her. "Can I touch you?"

She doesn't answer him, just reaches for his hands. She needs him to keep her grounded, needs his touch to make her remember that she's in the present day now. Everything else, everything bad has passed. She's safe, here, with him. She's always been safe with him.

His hands squeeze around hers, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "You're okay, Liv. You're safe. You're not alone." She watches him through tear streaked vision as he brings her hands to his lips, places a soft kiss on each and places them on his heart. She can feel it beating through the thin tank top he has on and when she clutches to it, he releases her hands and slowly, very slowly, guides his to her bare shoulders.

Up until that point, she's forgotten that she's only wrapped in a towel. Completely bare underneath it and when his hands touch her shoulders, she jumps slightly. They have never touched as they are right now. The most during their partnership was two hugs, two times where they let the emotions between them win. Since he's been back, they've touched more than they did in 12 years. His touch is soft, warm and soothing and she feels herself relax under it immediately. He moves them slowly, softly, against her skin, up the sides of her neck, until he's gently holding her head in his hands. Each cheek in one, his thumbs catching the tears as they fall, his other fingers wrapping around the back of head. She finds herself leaning into his touch.

Touch. They're taught to not forget to breathe, call someone if it gets too hard, push the negative thoughts back, think of something that calms them, but they're not taught about touch. About how calming touch can be. No wonder babies liked skin to skin contact. She hasn't been touched by another human, like this, for years. She forgot how good it is. How good it felt. How calming it really is.

He must want to be touched during his attacks. This is what he must crave when he can't breathe. When his PTSD takes over him. Her hands slide from his beating heart, to his sides. She mimics his breathing, lets her hands tell her when to take the next breath. Keeps her eyes locked on his.

"You're safe, Olivia. You're safe."

She's safe. Here with him, under his touch, she's safe. She wonders if he's thinking about what has happened to her. What is going through his head when he sees her? Does he think she's witnessed something bad? Does he think something bad has happened to her? When he leans an inch closer to her, to allow the fingers wrapped around her head to press a little harder against the back of her skull, she realizes that even if he is going crazy thinking about what has happened to her, it doesn't matter to him. It doesn't matter if she simply hit a dog on the road and that incident alone has given her PTSD. She can see it in his eyes. He knows now that she suffers from what he suffers from and the cause for hers is of no relevance to him. It only matters that she has it and he wants to do whatever he can to pull her out of it.

Her breathing regulates but the tears won't stop falling. The sobs decrease but they escape every now and then. She's starting to think she's going crazy. He's here with her, she's breathing, he's whispering small words of encouragement but the panic is still flowing through her bones. But it doesn't deter him. He leans closer to her, wraps his hands around the back of her neck and tugs her gently towards him. She follows, wrapping her arms around his back and stops when their foreheads touch.

She feels his breath against her face, breathes the same air he's breathing, sinks herself further into him. His hands drop to her bare upper back, where he applies just the right amount of pressure to ease the tension in her body. A noise close to a whimper escapes her when he kneads the knot that's been in her neck since, god who knows when?

Her nerves are on fire. Her body hasn't been touched by anyone other than herself in years and this isn't just anyone touching her. It's Elliot… Ell-i-ot. The Elliot who just returned back after 10 years of silence, the Elliot who just lost his wife, the Elliot who has continuously been ghosting her, the Elliot who is here with her, the Elliot she's been in love with for the last 20 years.

She wants to tell him to stop. That his hands caressing her skin the way they are is making her heart hurt and her body ache in the most delicious way. But it feels too damn good. Instead of protesting, she finds herself moving her neck so he can massage another spot. Finds herself almost moaning when his thumb dips into the side of her neck. She's pretty sure the unevenness of her breathing now has nothing to do with her panic attack and everything to do with him. Everything to do with the liquid beginning to pool at the apex of her thighs.

When she knows the tears have stopped falling, she lifts her head from where it rests against his forehead and pulls back to look at him. Although he doesn't stop the movement of his hands, his eyes find hers immediately and he sighs softly, "There we go, Liv. You're okay."

She nods to acknowledge him and lets her forehead once more fall forward when she takes another breath. She's not sure where she expects it to land but when she feels his lips press against it, a small shiver runs through her. She sighs into it, leaning even further into him and he responds by pressing his lips more strongly against her. She's not sure how long they stay like this, but it's intimate in a way she has never before experienced. In a way that makes her feel as if her body would stay humming through the night, regardless if it went any further or not.

The rugged cough that escapes her makes him draw back from her. It takes a moment for her to realize how thirsty she actually is and he seems to realize it as well. As his hands go to release her, she stops him. She feels okay, for now but she felt okay after her shower and it came right back to her. Just the thought of his hands leaving her, of his hands not being there to ground her, makes her feel the panic once more. He looks at her knowingly, "Let's try to get you up, then we'll get you some water."

She nods and watches as he stands first. Age has been good to him. His muscles are bigger than she remembers. The white tank and sweatpants he has on does nothing to hide them. But she can tell that even though it has been good to him on the outside, on the inside he is aching just as she is. It takes him a second to push himself off his knees into the standing position once more, just as it take her a second to get off her ass. Being wrapped only in a towel makes the hike up a bit more difficult for her. The last thing she needs is Elliot seeing her lady bits, but would that actually be a bad thing? He has to feel this thing between them too, right? It's there, it has always been there and there is actually nothing that is holding them back now. It wouldn't be all that bad of a thing, well horny Liv, the Liv he was just rubbing on, doesn't think it will be.

One of her hands holds one of his, while her other one holds the top of her towel together. As she straightens her back, she catches it. His glance down her body and back up. The towel wrapped around her hits about mid-thigh and she has so much skin exposed. She tries not to notice the way he bites his lip slightly as his eyes glance at her barely covered breasts and allows him to lead her into the kitchen.

She sees him look at the pool of water on the ground, at the empty water bottle still knocked over and she's thankful that he doesn't ask questions. Instead, he grabs a clean glass from her dish rack and fills it with sink water. When she takes the glass from him, she smiles slightly at their still joined hands and finally takes a much needed gulp of water. When she's confident that she's not going to throw it up, she downs the rest of it and sets it on the counter beside her.

"More?" He asks her as he reaches for the glass.

She shakes her head. She's not sure how strong her voice is at the moment. It's been a long time since she has sobbed the way she was just sobbing but she knows it takes her a little bit to get the sensibility of talking regularly back.

He nods his head in understanding and looks at her, his blue eyes connecting with hers. She sees it then, something that he has always tried to hide from her. Though she knows he's more concerned for her well-being, touching her the way he was had done something to him too. The slightest hint of heat registers in them and she can feel it in her bones. "You feel a little better?"

She's not sure if it's the look in his eye, but she doesn't have any issues forming, "Yeah, yeah… I think so." She's actually proud of the steadiness of her voice and takes a breath once more.

"Do you still feel it?"

She shakes her head, "Not currently but it went away in the shower. Happy thoughts of Noah helped. I thought it was over until I came in her and well," she gestures to the still wet ground around them, "I was wrong. Just hoping it doesn't come back."

He squeezes her hand, "Well, I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me too."

The last thing she wants him to do is leave. Really, in her current state, the only place she really wants him to go is her bed, or her couch, or anywhere really. She just wants him to touch her again. "No, I want you to stay."

He smiles, let his thumb rub along her hand. He's looking at her again, but not at her body this time. At her face, but not in her eyes and she can't figure out what the fuck he's glued on. "Where's your hairbrush?"

What? Her hairbrush? That is the last thing she expects him to say. She doesn't have the strength to question him at the moment. She's exhausted from her panic attack and her body is still on fire from his hands. "In my bathroom?"

He doesn't release her hand and takes her with him. She follows him, just as she always had and watches his head glance at the three doors in her small hallway. "To the right," she whispers. The right is her bedroom. In her bedroom, is her bathroom. In her bathroom, is her hairbrush. And that is still what he's looking for, even though she's still a little confused as of why, right? He nods, guides her to her room and into her bathroom. Her work clothes from that day are still in disarray on her floor, but she's past the point of caring what this man sees right now. Instead of finding the hair brush that is sitting on the counter, he picks up the wash cloth she has hung over her faucet. Watches as he turns the water on and wets the cloth. He still uses his one hand to ring the excess water out of it before walking closer to her and placing the warm rag on her face. She stands perfectly still as he washes her tear streaked face, under her eyes, against her cheeks, below her nose, across her lips. It's oddly intimate and she finds herself leaning in closer to him for more contact. Once he seems happy with his job, he places the rag back and grabs her hair brush off the counter. With it in his free hand, he guides her to her bed.

"Sit." It's spoken as an order but she knows that he knows that she will not do anything she does not want to do. So, she sits. After all, she is still a little, okay a lot, turned on and she is still terrified that if he lets her go, her panic will rise once more. He toes his shoes off in front of her and sits beside her. She waits as he effectively positions himself behind her, one foot on the ground, one propped up, knee bent on the bed. When he finally releases her hand, he runs it up her bare arm to her shoulder once more. She finds it sweet. That he knows his touch is bringing her comfort and is making sure she doesn't go without it.

It doesn't register for her what he's doing until she feels him gathering her hair in his hand. She whips her head around in reflex, "What are you doing?"

He laughs, "I'm brushing your hair. I thought that was obvious." She's not sure how to respond to that, so she allows him to turn her head straight again and glide the brush through the ends of her hair. The man has three daughters, so it doesn't surprise her that he's beyond gentle while brushing. He starts at the bottom and works his way up. Brian is the only other man who has brushed her hair. On the nights after her kidnapping, when she couldn't do it herself, he did. He was so good to her, Brian was. Changed her bandages, helped her with the basic necessities of life, like showering and brushing her hair and teeth, helped her cope and she feels guilty knowing that he did all these things for her, these things that Elliot doesn't know anything about because he had abandoned her. Feels guilty becasue she is enjoying her hair being brushed by Elliot more than she had ever really enjoyed being touched by Brian.

When the brush guides along her scalp, she sighs and when he abandons the brush after his last stroke and replaces it with his fingers, to rub through her scalp gently, she moans softly. Let's her head hang loose. Let's his hands and fingers guide it to where he wants it. She's not sure how long her scalp massage lasts, but it really doesn't matter because she's squirming by the end of it. She expects him, wait she doesn't really know what to expect from him now. Whatever he is doing, what they are doing is completely uncharted territory for them and she's not sure what comes next.

But Elliot seems so comfortable touching her like this, because his hands move from her scalp back to her shoulders and he's once again kneading the tension away from her muscles. She drops her head forward, takes the first deep breath since she's been home and reels in the feelings he's creating for her. His thumbs press deeply into her tissues and she's not sure if anyone has ever given her a massage so good. "El…" she whispers because it is quite literally the only thing she can get out other than a moan.

"Is this okay, Liv?"

His hands glide along her skin and she laughs lightly. She's actually grateful that she's sitting on her towel right now, because she knows there would be a pool on her comforter if she wasn't. "It's okay as long as you never tell me to back off again."

She hears him take a deep breath, "I only say that because I'm trying to keep you safe, Liv. Richard Wheatley is dangerous, even in prison. You saw. He knew who you were. Sent you a text from my phone number. I'm just grateful that his plan wasn't to hurt you. I wouldn't be able to live if something happened to you."

She nods. She knows this much already. But it doesn't make being rejected over and over again easy for her. The few months he's been back her whole world has been turned upside down again. Lindstrom tells her it's because all the emotions she didn't face back in the day, all the ones she tried so desperately to bury, never disappeared. No matter how hard she tried. And then he shows back up and his wife gets killed and she's so focus on keeping him together that she is continuously ignoring the emotions piled in her. She's good at that. Ignoring her own emotions and helping those around her. She hasn't even had a moment to yell at him, to tell him how fucked up his departure made her. How she has never been the same again. How much she hated him. How on some days, even now, she wants to hurt him for it. But she won't, because he's grieving and she just isn't the person to kick someone while they're down. "I thought I hated you." She's not sure what compels her to say it. If it's the intimacy going on between them right now, if it's the panic attack that he just pulled her out of or if she's just exhausted of ignoring it.

His hands stop moving momentarily and she feels him take a shaky breath behind her. Maybe this is what he's really been ignoring her for. He doesn't want to talk about. He doesn't want to explain himself. He doesn't want to discuss the letter that he wanted her to read but refused to talk to her when she was at his hotel willingly. As she feels his hands squeeze once more, he speaks, "You have every right to hate me, Liv."

"Yes, yes I do. But for some reason, even though the last ten years I thought I had, I don't. I don't feel hate when I look at you, El."

"You don't?" He's relieved; she can hear it in his voice.

"I don't. And I know you're trying to protect me but I don't need your protection anymore. I can handle myself. So the excuse of trying to keep me safe is a cop out, and you know it. You want to talk to me Elliot, talk to me. If you don't, just tell me you don't. But do not think that ten years can be swept under the rug like it didn't happen." She's actually proud of herself. Proud of her voice. Thirty minutes ago, she was a mess on her kitchen floor, leaning on him to ground her. But now that she's grounded, she just wants to figure out what the hell is going on between them. What has always went on between them. A person's touch will do that to someone, she decides. Get a hint of how good it will be, it will push conversations in the direction they need to go.

He sighs, "Where do you want to start?"

"I don't care. Anywhere you want to start."

"Noah isn't here?"

"No, he's at a sleepover. Probably won't be home until four tomorrow. Friend's mom wants to take them to the park, enjoy these last days of spring before the heat hits." She makes it clear that they have plenty of time to hash it out, if he wants to.

"You sure you want to do this right now, Liv? You were just suffering a pretty major panic attack. I don't want it to happen again."

"It's not going to happen if you're here." She knows what he's trying to do here. Trying to push it off on her current, no past, state. If she realizes she's not stable enough, she'll back away from the conversation herself. This time, it pisses her off. Good, she thinks. She's glad her mind is finally going back to normal again. "Like I said Elliot, if you don't want to talk to me then don't. But let me make it clear, that this will be the last time you touch me if you don't." She's kind of ashamed of herself for using her body as a coy. What definitely doesn't need saying between them is that they're attracted to one another. They always have been. And with no boundaries between them anymore, no wife, no partnership, just two single people who are connected in every way but one, they're bound to fall into bed. It's going to happen, she accepts it. But it's only going to happen if they can successfully get through everything they need to get through.

He groans, a groan that she has never heard from him, and it makes her proud of herself. His fingertips trace her clavicle lightly and she shivers in response. She's almost terrified that he's categorizing what touch he has been able to give her to accept the fact that he will never be able to again. "I wrote the letter in Italy. Kathy was asleep in our bed."

It shocks her. The letter had been, sort of, a declaration of his feelings for her. Of what she had become to him over their twelve years of partnership and what she still was to him. "Would you still have given it to me if she was alive?"

"That was the point of writing it. I just wanted you to know, finally know, how I felt about you, even if I was married. I left you without a word and I was coming back, to your award ceremony without a word. After ten years of absence. I wanted to leave you something. I just, I wanted, or I want, you to know." He chuckles softly, slides his hands down her arms, to her wrists, "I swore to her that I didn't feel anything for you anymore." She knows he's talking about Kathy and her heart rate increases. "I didn't want to come to your ceremony. I didn't want to see you again, I mean, I did but I knew seeing you, I wouldn't want to leave. I don't know what Kathy's plan was, but she made me come to prove to her, like the last ten years of silence did nothing to prove to her that I was hers, and not yours. Sometimes, I think that she wanted to see me with you. Wanted to prove to me that I was wrong and that I was still as in love with you as I was when I left. I don't know how that would have helped her. I tried to give her the life she always deserved when I left. I loved her, took her around the world, watched Eli grow with her. She was a good woman, a noble woman, a saint, someone who deserved so much more than a seventeen year old boy who got her pregnant, married her and devoted his life to his work to provide for her and the kids at home. Both of you deserved so much more than me. But I loved her, so much. Thought I was in love with her," he pauses and she feels the tears as the slide down her cheeks, her eyes blink rapidity and she tries to get them to stop but the light kiss he plants on her shoulder only makes them intensify, "That was, until I met you. And you did nothing, Olivia. You did absolutely nothing to make me fall in love with you. You were just you and that's all it took."

Leave it to Elliot Stabler to be a romantic also. He had left her to save his marriage. Kathy was his wife, after all. He belonged to Kathy, not to her, no matter how much she had wanted him to. But he had loved her, just as she had loved him. And he still does, he still is in love with her. Is that even possible? To still be in love with someone after ten years of absence? It obviously is, because she's still in love with him. But ten years can do so much to a person, could change someone so much. It's amazing how the human heart works, she thinks. When she first started this conversation, she thought they were gonna need all night, they should need all night. But who needs all night after a confession like that? She turns her body slowly towards him, lets him keep his hands on her as she moves. Once they're face to face, she realizes that she is not the only one who has been crying and lifts her thumb up to catch the tear currently escaping his eye. He does the same thing for her, using his thumbs to rub soft circles on her cheeks. "So, you still love me?" Another thing she's not sure why she asks but she does anyways.

He smiles, a warm smile that almost melts her on the spot, "Of course I still love you, Liv. I never stopped loving you."

She smiles, catches his eyes drop to her mouth for a second before they raise back to her eyes. She's not sure who leans in first, but it doesn't really matter, her top lip is captured between his in a second. His thumbs are planted on her cheeks, his remaining fingers wrapping around her head, tangling in her hair. His lips move against hers like an ocean and it feels so good, he feels so good. But she needs more, wants more, and she can't help herself when she rubs her tongue against his bottom lip. The contact makes him jolt back from her and she looks at him horror.

What the hell is wrong with her? The man just lost his wife and even though he did just confess his love for her, that didn't take away the fact that is newly widowed. She clutches the towel around her breasts tighter and goes to stand. His hands on her waist stop her and she brings her eyes to his. They look like they're full of want but maybe she can't read him as good as she thought, because he did just stop her from deepening their kiss, didn't he? She doesn't have time to question him before he's speaking, "You sure that's enough talking for now, Liv? I don't want you to regret anything later."

She huffs in annoyance, and in relief, "Jesus, El. I thought you were stopping me because I was moving too fast."

He chuckles and she really doesn't see anything funny at the moment. Her nerves are on fire and she just wants to know if she's going to end up under him by the end of tonight. But he doesn't answer her. He just caresses the side of her face again to draw her back in for a kiss. A deep kiss. A kiss so deep, that she's not even sure this type of kissing existed. It's all tongue and lips and teeth and he takes from her what she takes from him. His beard adds an extra sensation to her cheeks and it only stimulates her more. Just as she feels like she running out of oxygen, he backs up enough for both of them to take a breath and then he's right back on her again.

She needs to touch him, so her hands instantly go for wrapping around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. He thankfully doesn't deny her the contact and definitely one ups her when his arms wrap around her waist and her body is being pushed on her back, with him above her. Her legs instinctively open for his hips to settle in and she moans against his mouth. He groans against hers and that's all the pretense she needs.

She can't remember if kissing ever felt this good. If it ever felt like she was on the brink of falling apart just from someone's lips on hers. She needs more, needs him inside of her, now. Her hips lift up at the same time her hands fall in between them in search of him. She knows he's hard, evident by the bulge she feels when her center makes contact against it but his hand is quick to snatch hers by the wrists and pin them above her head. She whines against his mouth in frustration. What the fuck is going on right now? Is he fucking with her? Because if he is, she's personally going to kill him. "Elliot?"

"Patience, Liv." His hands are instant to release hers and he tries to reconnect their lips once more.

Patience? That's what he's going to say to her after 23 years of throbbing for him. She groans in disapproval and although she allows him to reconnect their lips- because really, how can she can deny them- she attempts to reach between them once more. When he grabs her hands again, she curses, "Goddamnit, El!"

Finally, he pulls away far enough to look her in her eyes, "I've dreamt about you for years, Liv. I want to cherish you, show you how much I want you, how beautiful you are, how much I love you. If you touch me, like that, this won't last. It's supposed to last. I'm supposed to touch you and kiss you everywhere." His eyes are desperate, like he's pleading with her to allow him to explore her.

Her eyes well with tears. Touch. Touch can do powerful things to a person. And he wants to, finally, not only tell her, but prove to her, how much she means to him. At her age, a fast fuck against a wall was not on her list of things to do anymore but she has never really imagined their first time to be slow and gentle. But obviously, he has. And probably, if he is anything like her, he's imagined it thoroughly throughout the 20 years they've known of one another's existence. Knowing that, knowing that his fantasies have always included him taking her time with her makes the heat between her legs increase. The thought of his lips, everywhere, does nothing to deter it.

But there's one problem with his lips everywhere, his eyes will be everywhere also. Her mind flashes back to what her body looks like bare. She remembers a time when she was confident. Short dresses, belly shirts and tall heals that would accentuate her legs. But her body has changed with time and although she's not embarrassed of her wider hips, larger thighs and heavier breasts, she's not sure if Elliot knows anything about what happened to her while he was gone. The marks on her body have faded with time but they are visible. They can be seen. They can be felt. And the thought that once he sees them will kill the mood all together, terrifies her. She's not ready to have that conversation with him yet. She already feels the panic start to come alive in her veins once again.

He must be waiting for some sort of response, because he prompts her gently, "Okay?"

She takes a shakily deep breath and can see the second it registers for him that she is starting to feel the panic once more. His lips connect to hers, his tongue sensually sweeping against her own and she allows herself the moment to get lost in his lips. Elliot's lips, the lips that have already perfected how to move perfectly, so perfectly against her own. When she moans against them, she feels him smile before he sits up between her parted thighs, disconnecting their lips slowly.

She looks into his eyes, allows her own to portray to him the walls she has built around herself and feels his hands land against her hips. "Turn around, Liv."

What? What did he just say? "Wh..what?"

"Turn around, on your belly."

It registers for her then. He may not know why she's uncomfortable with the thought of him taking his time with her but it doesn't matter to him. He's willing to ignore his own want, his own desire, to please her. To show her that it doesn't matter how insecure she is, he's going to try his hardest to make her secure. His eyes tell her to trust him and she finds herself holding onto to that trust as she allows his hold on her to assist her in turning.

She's not sure what his plan is now and she jumps slightly when his hands land against her bare shoulders once more. His fingers squeeze and his thumbs rub against the back of her neck and she swears she's melting onto the bed underneath her. She's not sure she ever realized how tense she is, how tense her muscles are until he slowly relieves the tension from them. A moan escapes her mouth and when his hands stop, she damn near whines at the loss of contact. "El?" She can't see him, can't touch him, has absolutely no idea what is going on his head, and all she really wants is for him to start rubbing her once more.

"Where's your lotion? Or body oil?"

The whimper that escapes her lips is completely involuntary. "In my bathroom. The top drawer." She feels the bed shift as he gets up, hears him opening and closing her drawer, sighs when the bed dips under his weight once more. She's not sure which one of those two things he has decided to grab, but she knows as soon has his oiled hands connect back to her. Her oil allows his hands to glide along her skin freely, his fingers to push that much deeper into her muscles, makes it feel that much better. She can't remember the last time she has gotten a massage, even professionally. Her spa days only occur when she needs to cover her greys or when she feels like it's time for a mani and pedi. Her skin is off limits for people to touch because touching means seeing and she doesn't want anyone to see.

She bathes in the moment of his fingers against the back of her neck, groans when they slide over the exposed skin of her back, squirms when they dip into the towel slightly. She doesn't wait for him to ask. Her skin, she, craves more. She wants more. So, she unhooks the towel herself, pushes it down her back, reveals to him one part of her he has never really seen.

He's only seen her without a shirt on once, when their lives depended on it and she remembers how long it took her to get the feel of his hands off of her bare skin after that night. She hears a low growl escape his lips behind her, feels the towel being moved down her back, stopping just above her ass. Hears him growl once more when his hands land on her lower back. And shit, shit, it feels nice. Feels nice to know that even at her age, he's attracted to her. That just the sight of her back is enough to get a response from him.

It's been so long, too long, since she's really felt like a woman. Even with herself, the want, the need, isn't there anymore. She still has a few toys stashed away from Noah's finding, just in case the mood rises within her but they haven't been touched in a while. Just his hands gliding expertly across her back are awakening pieces of her that she has tucked away. She can feel it, can feel her body coming alive again, and the feeling makes her hands tighten against the bed sheets, makes her moan a little louder, makes her hips start rocking slightly.

When his hands land on her upper thighs, she almost jumps out of her skin. Her face presses deeper into her pillow and she gasps loudly. They squeeze along her flesh tightly and this time when she's remembering how to breathe, it has absolutely nothing to do with panic. His fingers slide up, and when his thumbs brush against the underside of her cheeks, she spreads her legs instinctively. Every pass of his fingers, causes her clit to throb in tune to her heart beat. She knows she must be dripping and knows the second he feels the remnants of her arousal on her inner thighs because he groans once more behind her and squeezes her more tightly.

When she feels his fingers glide up further, she feels them make contact with the rough patches between her thighs. Her breath hitches, her body tenses and she squeezes her eyes closed. Please El, please. She inwardly begs for him to understand, begs for him to not ask questions, begs for him to just continue cherishing her. And as if he reads her mind, his fingers drag over the patches softly and his thumbs rub just the spot between her inner thighs and lips. She relaxes in his arms and whimpers. She's not sure if it's his hands or the fact that he seems to understand or a combination of both but she has never, in her life, been as turned on as she is in this moment.

She's not sure how much more of this she's supposed to take but her patience is wearing thin. She enjoys the slow build up, always has, but she's at the point that if she doesn't get a release soon, she may explode from the pressure flowing through her veins. Her hips tilt up slightly as she reaches around herself to pull the towel the rest of the way off of her.

She's bare now, her backside completely exposed to him and she knows with the way her ass is currently angled, he can see all of her. When he doesn't make a sound behind her and his hands do not pick up any pace against her, she whimpers lightly. "El, please."

The whine of pleasure that escapes her lips when both of his hands palm her ass fully couples perfectly with the squirm of hips. He squeezes her harder and says, "Relax, Olivia."

The tone he just said that in, one she's not quite sure she's ever heard from him before, one that is full of sex and want, makes a wave of heat flow through her. "That's hard to do when I'm fucking throbbing, Elliot." She's almost to the point where hitting him doesn't seem like too bad of an idea. How dare he? How dare he deny her now, after she's suffered from wanting him for twenty fucking years?

But again, just like always, he reads her perfectly and she almost jumps up from pure pleasure when his fingertips glaze over her center softly. It's not going to take much, this she already knows. So when his index finger and middle finger rub her clit in slow circles and his thumb penetrates her slightly, it's not surprising to her that she's already groaning loudly into the pillow beneath her. The fire within her erupts before she even has a chance to think and his name is escaping her lips on a deep exhale. She relaxes underneath him and smiles when she feels his lips press against her cheek.

When her eyes open, she's met with an awestruck Elliot staring at her. "You're beautiful, Liv. So beautiful."

It dawns on her then, that he must have watched her face as she came and the thought alone makes her want him even more. For she had spent years dreaming about him making her come and he had spent years waiting for the opportunity. Her body is still humming when she lifts her head back to connect her lips to his and the turn of her body underneath him is almost instinctual. She needs to feel him pressed against her, needs to know that he's actually there with her and this isn't one of her random dreams about him. She's so deliciously distracted by his lips that are currently moving along her jawline and down, by his hands that are once again moving along her body like he is trying to etch every single detail of her into his memory, that she doesn't even remember the scars on her body until she feels him pause his mouth on her chest.

Her eyes squeeze closed and she can't control the tear that escapes from the right one. She won't open her eyes, she can't look at him, she doesn't want to look at him look at them. Doesn't want to see the pain and the hurt on his face. She just wants him to want her, the way he always had.

She's not sure what she expects from him but he exceeds every expectation when he raises his lips back to hers and kisses her with so much affection, so much love, that her heart almost jumps out of her chest. She follows the pace he sets with his lips, allowing her hands to slide under his tank top to finally, finally, feel the hard planes of his back. He disconnects their lips to allow her to pull the offending garment over his head and when he leans back against her, his bare chest pressing against her, his forehead falls against her own.

She looks into his eyes then. The piercing blue eyes that are portraying everything to her. How sorry he is, how much regret he feels, how much love he has for her, how much he wants her. But he must know that she is not ready to talk about it because he smiles gently at her and repeats what he had said earlier, "So beautiful."

Her lips curve up into a smile also and she moves the palm of her hand against his cheek. "Thank you," she whispers. For not only thinking that but for not demanding an explanation she is not ready to give. She pulls him back down to her, connecting her lips to his once more. He sinks that much further into her, cocooning her body with his own, and she has never felt so safe in her entire life.

Their kiss is soft and sweet, until the fire ignites in both of them again and before she knows it his lips are moving down her body once more. Only this time, he doesn't stop. His lips keep right on going. Down her neck and across her chest. She feels his lips tracing the trail of her scars, feels him placing open mouth kisses against them and as he gets closer to her nipple, her moans grow louder underneath him. The scratch of his beard adds an extra sensation against her skin and when it skims along the underside of her breast, she giggles lightly.

He laughs against her, skims his chin along the same spot once more and when she giggles this time, his mouth closes around her nipple. She lets a sound between a laugh and a moan escape her and she's not sure if she's ever made the sound in her life. When his tongue flicks against her hardened pebble, she arches hard against him. More, more, more. She wants more of herself in his mouth, more of his hands everywhere, more of everything. Every scrape of his teeth along her, every suckle, every lick, sends a more intense throb to her aching sex and she needs some friction.

Her hips rock up against him and luckily, for her, he seems to get the point that it's time to move along. As his lips travel down along her belly, she widens the spread of her hips involuntarily. It has to be involuntary because she's having a hard enough time processing the fact that Elliot Stabler, bearded Elliot Stabler, is about to go down on her. If this wasn't a fantasy that helped her along on a lot of lonely nights.

She's has to force herself to take a deep breath when she feels his breath blow against her center. When she doesn't feel any other movement from him, she looks down her body to see him openly gazing at her. His eyes pivot from staring at her, what she's more than sure, glistening folds, to up her body and into her eyes. She can't help but fill with warmness when he gives her the biggest cheeser she has ever seen on his face and throws her head back in a mixture of embarrassment and humor. "Are you just going to stare?"

"I'm just enjoying the view, Liv."

"Well, the view wants some action." She's practically panting and is definitely not too good to beg him at this point.

He laughs once more and places an open mouth kiss on her inner thigh, "You already had some action."

She sighs at the recollection of her first orgasm and looks back down into his eyes, "I want more."

His lips have already once begun a torturously slow movement along her thighs and he whispers against her skin, "Gladly, baby."

He nips and sucks at her skin for a little bit longer but she's thankful that he once again doesn't linger to long. When she feels his breath once more against her, her hips rise towards him. Asking, seeking, wanting. She feels his hands slide under her, grabbing handfuls of her ass to pivot her hips right where he wants her before she finally, finally, feels his tongue slide through her folds.

She arches hard at the contact and she's thankful that he has such a good hold on her because he's able to pull her back slightly so he can comfortably continue his ministrations against her. His tongue dips into her, twirls inside her, tastes her, and her moans fill the air around them. She clutches at his head, tries to ground herself against the overwhelming pleasure inside of her. Her thighs squeeze hard against his face and she knows there is absolutely no way he is breathing correctly. But still he continues on and before she knows it she's clenching hard around his tongue. He groans loudly against her and it only results in more of her arousal spilling into his mouth.

When she once again relaxes she whispers, "Jesus, Elliot," and can't help the loud moan that escapes her mouth when his mouth latches on to her clit. He sucks hard and she can, quite literally, feel her eyes roll back into her head. When he adds a finger, she mewls in response. She's not sure why she's surprised at the fact that he seems to match the rhythm of her hips perfectly. He lets her response and her body guide him and when he hits the spot, she almost yells, "Right there!" Her orgasm, her third orgasm of the night, moves through her in waves and it's one of the most intense orgasms she's ever had in her life. He stays against her, his mouth tight on her clit and his finger trapped inside of her, until her high settles down inside of her. The laugh the escapes her mouth is involuntary. Only Elliot Stabler can give her something like that without even being inside of her yet.

As she draws her eyes down to his, she smiles widely at him. He smiles back, licks up her slit once more and brings his face back up to hers. Her heart is still thrumming in her chest and she's still trying to get her breathing under control when he whispers, "Three."

What the hell is he talking about? It takes her a minute and she rolls her eyes slightly. Still a cocky son of a bitch after all these years. But she's not upset at him for it at this moment. No, as long as he keeps doing what he's doing, she probably will never really be upset at him again. "How many you going for?" she whispers back. Their lips are so close, almost touching but not.

"What's the max you've ever had in one night?"

She blinks her eyes at him in disbelief. Does she even know the answer to that question? She furrows her brows trying to remember. It has been so long since she's had sex, let alone thought about sex and never, never, has she had someone ask her a question like this.

"Olivia, answer me."

His lips inch closer to her and he kisses her briefly. She almost curses him when he pulls away from her. The max she's ever had. "Um, I don't know. Maybe two or three? I'm usually not a multi-orgasm type of woman, El." Even with those who she's had more serious relationships with never gave her more than that in one session.

"Hmmm, well I'm gonna change that."

She laughs at his cockiness but she looks at him seductively and says, "Go ahead, Stabler. I'm not gonna stop you."

She smiles smugly when he curses and then his lips are on hers and her hands are in between them pushing his sweat pants and drawers down his hips. He has already gotten his fill of her, so she doesn't even wait until he pushes them the rest of the way off before her hand is searching for him. The look on his face when she takes ahold of him is impeccable. He's big, just like she always knew he would be and she sits up enough under him to take him in. Everything she ever pictured Elliot Stabler would look like naked feels like a disappointment because him, the real him, exceeds everything she could have ever conjured up in her imagination.

His magnificence makes her self-conscience. Not only is her body branded by a monster, it has changed with time. Her hips are bigger, her thighs are larger, her breasts are heavier and her belly curves in a way she never thought it would. She lets her head rest back against the pillows under her and she tries to hide the insecurity flowing through her.

But Elliot, is Elliot. And like all tonight, he is able to read her. "Don't, Liv. You're perfect. No amount of pain or age can change that for me." She tries to nod under him, tries once again to push her thoughts away. A gasp escapes her when he clutches her thigh to open her up wider to him, and she arches and moans when the tip of dick catches against her clit. She watches him as he reaches down and clutches her hand that is still around his hard cock. He squeezes himself over her hand and whispers against her lips, "Do you feel how hard I am for you?" Oh yes, yes she does. She nods and experimentally pumps her hand up and down the length of him. Through her ministrations, he chokes out, "I want you, so bad. I've always wanted you."

His voice gives her confidence and she lifts her hips under him at the same time she aligns them. "Then show me, El. Please, show me."

He doesn't make her wait any longer and begins to slide into her slowly. Almost too slowly. But she's grateful because he's big and she's tight and his slowness gives her the perfect amount of time to stretch around him without any discomfort. They groan simultaneously when he's buried to the hilt inside of her and when she opens her eyes to look into his, she finds the same emotion brewing in his that she knows are brewing within hers. He leans down to connect his lips to hers and his elbows by her head cocoon her. It's them, finally them, connecting in a way that they were always meant to connect.

Her legs hook around his waist as he withdraws almost completely and slams back into her. "Fuck, Elliot. Again." She's thankful that he doesn't tease her and he keeps his slow pace within her until she's withering and clenching underneath him. She's barely coming down when his hips pick up the pace and she moans loudly. Never has she orgasmed as much as she is right now and she's actually a little scared of what she's going to feel like when he's done with her. When she comes undone once again, she almost sobs, "What the fuck, Elliot!"

She would slap the grin off his face if she wasn't so overwhelmed with ecstasy. But she knows he's close and she knows he's trying to hold off as long as he physically can. If he can make her come undone as he pleases, she can give him the same treatment. So, she uses the hold she has on his hips to draw him closer to her and wraps her arms around his neck. Her lips skim his ear when she whispers, "Come with me next time, Elliot. Please." She's not even sure if that's possible. Never has she come at the same time as one of her partners but Elliot is teaching her new things tonight. "That's possible, right?"

His blue eyes look into hers and he kisses her so softly, such an opposite of the movement of his hips. "Yes, baby. That's possible."

His hips pick up a frantic rhythm within her and when she feels the first wave of pleasure within her again she pants almost desperately, "Now, El. Come inside of me, now." All those stories she ever occupied her mind with were right. Coming undone at the same time the man she is in love with does, is the most incredible feeling she has ever experienced. She arches, moans and tightens while he grips, groans and twitches. They ride the wave of pleasure together and when he finally collapses on top of her, she sighs in complete contentment. "So good," she whispers.

"Better than you ever imagined?"

"Who said I've ever imagined it?" She laughs at the look of disbelief on his face, "Way better than I ever imagined it. And definitely worth the 23 year wait."

He hums in response and pierces her eyes with his, "23 years. I promise you I'm never leaving you again, Liv. I'll spend the rest of my life making up those lost years to you."

Touch can do so much to a person, can prove things to a person that words cannot. And when his lips once again connect to hers, she wholeheartedly believes him.