Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in updating. This was a weird chapter to write, because I knew exactly where it had to go, it was a matter of how to get it there.

Hopefully this is the last chapter where I have to mention the Lewis storyline.

It was freeing beyond measure to know that Elliot knew now what she'd been through. And the fact that he hadn't turned away from her, but instead, drew closer to her, was enough to make her want to cry. For so many years, she'd privately worried about his reaction should he ever somehow find out what happened to her; she knew his anger issues, and the rage that simmered not too far below his surface. The thought that he would either turn that anger outward and find a stand-in for Lewis to take his wrath, or take it inward and cause himself so much undue mental torment and anguish – neither was acceptable at all to her.

And now that Elliot – the only remaining person who she'd ever wanted to tell about her ordeal – knew the details, in a more intimate depth than anyone else she'd had to tell, she never wanted to repeat her story again. It'd taken every bit of strength she had inside her to do it once.

Now, that bastard could rot in the ground where he lay. She had a life to live, one she'd fought to her very bones and marrow to preserve.

And increasingly, she felt like Elliot was going to be a continued presence in whatever her future life looked like, which was a comforting feeling. She'd learned through everything that she didn't need him, not in the codependent way that many people may have previously associated with them, but that didn't mean she didn't desperately want whatever part of him she could have.

Knowing that he would protect her with everything he had in him, that was an added benefit, especially if what he believed was true and she was a prospective target. If she was to categorize Elliot's faults, intentional dishonesty wasn't one that would make the list – in fact, he was almost always painfully, achingly honest, especially after he'd come back from Rome. It was as if he'd lost his last filter somewhere around the time his world fell to pieces.

"So, what do we do next?" she asked, as she eased into his touch and rested her chin on the edge of his shoulder, feeling his warmth and sturdiness radiate under her. He could continue to hold onto her hands all night if that was what made him feel more grounded in the moment – that she wasn't some fleeting trauma mirage that would flicker into the night, that she was warm and real and alive and there with him.

He sighed, and cleared his throat, and Olivia could tell that whatever he was about to say, it wasn't going to be easy, "with your permission, Captain, I'd like to request protective detail for both of us."

"You can't really think that they'd try to get to me when I'm at the precinct surrounded by officers? You know my squad would rain fire and brimstone on their heads if they tried to get near me."

"They blew up a car rented to a NYPD detective and his wife, with a temporary NYPD decal in the back window." The evenness of his words cloaked the emotion beneath – for a moment, it was as if they were talking about any other case, not one that had come to their doorstep and robbed them of their peace and serenity. "I'd say nothing's off the table for them."

"Point taken." She shuddered at the mental image of Kathy being loaded into the ambulance – she didn't want that to be her, or any of her squad, for that matter. "So if nothing's off the table –"

"Then we have to be prepared for anything."

She gnawed at her lower lip and pressed her eyes together. This was the most uncertain she'd felt about her own personal security since Lewis was still alive – they weren't targeting Captain Olivia Benson, head of Manhattan SVU. No, they were targeting Olivia Benson, someone who was close to Elliot Stabler and cared about him. "You think the protective detail would be effective?"

"That's what they're there for, Liv," he said, massaging the pad of his thumb against the thin expanse of skin between her thumb and index fingers. "Protecting us."

"I know." She exhaled softly and leaned into him further. He would literally protect them if he had to, but there was always strength in numbers. "Okay, you can request it. But I insist that we can check their jackets before they officially start – I don't want some rogue causing problems and putting any of us at risk."

"Might I remind you that by your impeccably high standards, Captain Benson, yours truly would be considered a 'rogue?'"

"You're different, Detective Stabler," she said, laughing despite the uncertainty she felt brewing inside, "I know I can trust you." The mental image of him in a Jack Sparrow-esque pirate outfit as a dashing rogue was enough to send convulsions scattering down her insides, and she couldn't tell if it was the laughter or something more akin to lust.

"That's good, because I'd never put you in harm's way. I'll literally be your detail myself if I have to be. If anything happens to you, it'd be because I'm dead first."

"You don't have to do that. I'm sure the brass will find us suitable candidates." She couldn't bear the thought of Elliot putting his life on the line for hers, even though they'd done it for each other time and again as partners. There was something more fraught and tense between them now than there ever had been then, and it wasn't as though they hadn't been very closely entangled in what she not-so-affectionately had termed the time before. "I'm more worried about Noah. He's back in school now, no more virtual learning, and it would be a lot easier if he was still taking his classes by Zoom."

"He's your kid, he's going to understand. And if he doesn't, we can introduce him to my kids and they can give him a whole series of crash courses leading to a diploma in 'how to be a cop's kid.'"

Her eyes felt suddenly wet and she had to blink back the tears that threatened to fall. Not only had she missed this – the way he made her laugh, without even trying – but he was so cavalier about introducing his kids to Noah. It was as if the meeting of minds was inevitable, and the only question was how it was going to happen. "He's done well with it, yeah," she finally managed to croak out. "I'm so lucky the judge approved the adoption."

"You mean –"

"No, Elliot, he's not biologically mine." She lightly swatted at his arm with her free hand. "But I've raised him since he was a baby, so I'm the only mother he knows."

"I thought – he looks like you - Porter – "

"You know, Elliot, I swear, you memorized the names and faces of every guy who ever looked at me twice or dared to acknowledge I'm a woman. No, that's his biological mother's last name: Ellie Porter, may she rest in peace."

The implication that he hadn't acknowledged her femininity in any way stung at him – but she had a point, as hard as it was for him to admit that. In his efforts to tamp down any and all of his feelings toward her, he probably had reversed course a little too hard and tried to treat her like she was anything but a very desirable woman who any guy – let alone him – would be damn lucky to have in their life.

"Only the ones I thought might get close enough to you to break your heart," he said. "I had to know who to go have a friendly 'chat' with. Broken-hearted Benson has never been my favorite version of you."

He preferred her when they were undercover, when they both were and weren't themselves at the same time; her intrusion into the Bushido case had fueled many a lonely night's fantasy. Or in the quiet moments, like now, when it was just the two of them spending time together – talking optional. Her presence was enough. Or when she was badass, because he'd always found it incredibly and awkwardly sensual to watch her take down a perp. There were so many sides to her that he found appealing, and the broken-hearted one only served to make him sad.

"I didn't know you were so worried about the state of my heart," she said, quietly, and her soft, warm breaths against his shirt sent chills down his spine. They were so close, only breaths of air separated them, and it wouldn't take much to seal her off from the outside world entirely and protect her in all ways: mind, body, soul and heart. "Some might accuse Italy of making you soft, El."

"It put some things in perspective for me," he said. "And I can make a mean carbonara now, among other things." And by things, I mean what you mean to me, but there were some things he couldn't say, even now.

She tilted her face so he could see her out of the corner of his eye, and he swore her eyes were sparkling. "I would love to see that."

"One of these nights, I'll have to make it for you."

"Carisi's shared some of his family's recipes with us. You two could fix an Italian feast for all of us, maybe Tamin could contribute something from her Lebanese culture, Rollins would probably bring in a peach cobbler, or something peachy, at least –"

"And what would be your contribution? Chinese takeout?" He knew her cooking options had likely changed since having Noah; no child should have to live on takeout alone, but he wasn't sure.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Stouffer's Salisbury steak with freezer burn, if we're going with food from my childhood." She thought for a moment. "No, yeah, I like your takeout idea better. I can bring the fortune cookies and eggrolls. Noah knows that my cooking isn't the greatest."

"Every kid likes something their parents make, though, since it's made with love."

"Yeah, he seems to like the spaghetti I make, but I'm sure whatever fancy spaghetti recipe they taught you in Rome would make mine pale in comparison."

"I'll have to show you a trick or two, then." He liked this, the two of them talking, quiet and low, and they could veer between the serious and the casual without either seeming out of place. It was almost as if nothing had changed, even though he knew so much had. They stayed together on the couch, trading stories back and forth as the night crept onward.

Eventually, Olivia fell asleep against his shoulder, exhausted from the emotional toll of the evening. He was too reluctant to move in any way – if she was able to find her rest with him beside her, then he wasn't going to budge an inch. "Sleep well, Liv," he said, nuzzling a small kiss into the top of her hair and allowing himself to rest.

It wasn't too long after he allowed himself to let down his guard that he heard a frantic knocking at his door. Olivia stood up with a start, as if she hadn't realized what she had done in her tired state, and he made his way to the door. "Dad! Dad! Open up!" a very familiar voice called out, more frantic than he had heard it in a long time.

As he opened the door, his daughter Liz practically fell into his arms. "Lizzie? Honey, are you okay?" he asked, as he did a quick scan of her – there were scratches and a nasty bruise forming on her left arm, and her face had a ring of dirt, as if she'd tried to scrub at it but didn't get all of it.

"They tried to kill me, Dad," she said. She clutched his shirt, buried her face in the folds of fabric, and began to openly sob, her body shaking under the weight of emotion.

The look Olivia and Elliot exchanged with each other spoke more than any words could say in that moment: the threat is real.

-to be continued -