Olivia had the wherewithal to ask Lucy to take Noah for the night. As much as she wanted to see her son, in the aftermath of what had just occurred, she knew she couldn't face him.

When she walked away from Burton that afternoon in the chilly early spring sun, it hadn't quite hit her, but the further away she got, the heavier her oxblood leather jacket became. She felt like she was walking through wet cement and she didn't know how she made it to her car.

Once inside, she felt like she was suffocating and opened the car door, passersby a blur as she alternately gasped for breath and choked on the bile that wouldn't stay down. Her head hurt and the lines of traffic blurred in front of her and thankfully she made it home without incident.

Once inside, she shucked the long jacket and left it on the floor, unzipping her ankle boots and peeling the sweater and soft jeans off, discarding them carelessly as she walked to the bathroom. The hot steam of the shower was equally oppressive, so she turned the nozzle and gasped as the cold spray of water hit her directly.

It was what she needed.

Trembling, she toweled off and immediately thought about pouring a wine glass to the top—

Then she heard the phantom sound of glass shattering and she didn't know if it was Serena's vodka bottle or Burton's glass of whiskey against the door of his hotel room and she upturned the contents of a new cabernet into the kitchen sink.

Not tonight.

Olivia sits for close to an hour, hair half dried, wearing a pair of worn yoga pants and a loose fitting sweatshirt. She knows she has to tell someone, but she doesn't know what to say, where to begin…

Dr. Lindstrom works for the department, and even though he wouldn't turn her in to IAB, she's too ashamed to tell him about this. Maybe she should turn herself in, she thinks, suddenly wishing she hadn't gotten rid of the wine, wishing she had something to dull the edges.

There is someone she can call.

Simone Bryce. She's long retired, and they'd seen each other in passing, but they haven't really talked since Olivia called on Simone to represent the teenage daughter of an alcoholic mother.

—A girl who had then killed her mother and Olivia had begged Casey Novak to plead her out.

She had.

Olivia's fingers tremble as they touch the numbers on her phone. Simone Bryce's number was in a small address book she'd kept when she moved.

"Hello?"

The pleasant voice that answers isn't unlike Simone's, but it's a younger voice, one she doesn't recognize.

"H-hello" her voice hitches. "My name is Olivia Benson. I'm trying to reach Simone Bryce."

"Oh, I'm sorry, she passed away last year. This is her daughter—"

Olivia covers her mouth with her hand and swallows a sob. It wasn't as though they were particularly close, but the former court appointed youth advocate had been her lifeline as a teen, even if she was only a law student at the time.

She helped her survive her breakup with Burton and her last two years at home with Serena.

"I'm sorry, what was your name again" the kind voice in her ears says and Olivia startles. "I–I was a friend, and I'm so sorry for your loss."

The words rushed out in a breath she didn't know she'd been holding since she picked up the phone.

"Oh, thank you."

"How–"

Does it matter, Olivia wonders idly. Simone wasn't so much only than her.

"Cancer."

"Oh. I–I'm so sorry," she says again, remembering herself. "And I–I'm sorry to have bothered you. Have a good night."

She hangs up quickly.

Olivia's not herself tonight. She can't be Captain Benson. Lost, with no one to turn to, she sobs quietly, grabbing a handful of tissues and half reclining on the couch. She should be mired in guilt, and she is—but right now she's mourning the loss of everything she once knew to be true.

When Olivia awoke an hour later, she was sweating but she felt like she'd been doused in cold water, struggling to find reality in the nightmares that had plagued her short, restless sleep.

I hate you!

After she kicked her mother, she didn't get up and she was so scared—

Mom? Mom, I'm sorry…

Her face is wet with tears, the tears she thought she had no more left of. The tears of guilt and shame and everything that makes her feel like that sixteen year old girl who had no one again.

Olivia intended to spend tonight alone, pick Noah up in the morning and take him to breakfast, but she'd suddenly afraid to be alone. She hasn't felt this way since after Lewis, but it isn't the shadows that scare her now, it's her own mind, and she picks up the phone again, entirely unsure of why she's doing this and whether or not she should.

But who else can she call?

When Olivia called, it was after midnight. Her voice sounded small and far away and if not for her name popping up on his phone, Elliot wouldn't have known who he was talking to. He hadn't been sleeping, just scrolling mindlessly through his Netflix queue with a half finished beer on his bedside table, trying to forget a tough day at work.

He was pleasantly surprised by the call, but the way she said his name when he answered the phone, saying El like a quiet plea raised immediate concern.

"El" she repeats his name, sounding more confident in it. "Yeah, yeah. I'm here," he hits the mute button on the remote "Liv, what's goin on?"

There are a few seconds of silence before he hears a shaky inhalation and she answers with a question.

"Can we talk?"

"Yeah," he says, "course we can talk. I'm right here." he turns the tv off. "No–Not over the phone." she protests weakly. "Okay. Hold on, don't hang up."

He puts the phone down, calling for Eli and when his youngest son appears in the bedroom doorway, half-asleep, he asks "Hey, where's Grandma?"

"Asleep?" he mumbles with a half-shrug, squinting at him under dark hair that hangs over his eyes. "You think you'll be okay here for an hour or so?" His father asks.

"Yeah, dad." he says, adding "what's goin on?" with a look of concern that has become too familiar.

He's too young to worry this much, Elliot thinks with regret.

"It's just–I'm going to meet a friend. Olivia." His son seems surprised, but doesn't mind. "Uh, kay, night." he turns to go, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Night, son." Elliot says, adding "I love you" before picking up his phone again "Liv?"

"Still here."

"I–uh, do you want me to come to you? I figured–"

"Please."

He has his car keys in hand before he can hang up, offering to stay on the phone with her, asking where Noah is and by then, he's halfway across the Queensboro bridge heading toward Manhattan.

Please.

She's not in a good way, but Elliot's glad he's the person she called. Liv had never–well, not since he'd come back–called on him for anything, and even then she never asked for help.

So if she needed someone, he wanted to be that someone, like he used to be.

Like he's supposed to be.

He had been making a conscious effort not to call, not to burden her with his work and his personal life, but whenever they were together, she seemed to prefer asking questions, never sharing anything about herself. Even when they'd worked a case together a few weeks ago, in some awkward place between friendship and flirting and nostalgia, he'd told her about how his father had staged a shooting, earning him a combat cross, the cross he was now made to bear.

But these weren't her worries and now, he's just worried for her. This whole year, he'd never asked her about her, for whatever stupid, selfish reason, depending solely on her instead. He was too fucked up to be any good to her then anyway.

He's finally in a place to help now, if–

Without realizing it, he'd already arrived at her apartment, finding parking without much difficulty, and was taking long strides toward her building, wearing whatever it was he'd thrown on before bed, which was a tattered t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

When he arrives at her door, Olivia opens it before he can knock and it's clear she's been crying. As if on instinct, he pulls her into his arms and she all but falls into them. Elliot feels like he's holding her up and his heart rate increases as he holds her closer still.

"What happened?" he asks into the crown of her head. "Just need to talk." she answers into his chest, glad of his solid hold on her. Liv's words are muffled, tears wetting his t-shirt.

"Okay," he pulls back, holding onto her shoulders as if to examine her, reminded of another tearful embrace in a church basement and it feels like another life. "Let's sit down, okay?"

She nods and lets him lead her to the couch, sitting close but giving her space to…talk, to tell him anything she wants to say. "Okay" he asks finally.

"Okay," she repeats, her eyes not quite meeting his. "I don't know where to start…"

"Just talk to me," he says, "whatever it is, you can tell me."

"Uh–" she hesitates and twists her hands in her lap, still avoiding his gaze as if trying to think of something to say. "Do you remember–it was a long time ago–do you remember that one time, when we talked about soulmates?"

Soulmates?

He doesn't quite remember. There were so many things they used to talk about…

"I told you when I was sixteen I fell in love with an older man," she reminds him, "he was twenty-one."

Oh.

"I remember."

It was related to a case, of course, and they had been diametrically opposed about the idea of an adolescent having a partner or a 'soulmate' or whatever at such a young and impressionable age. He remembers her arguing passionately, saying something like: soulmates come in all ages, shapes and sizes, to which he had of course disagreed from a moral, ethical and legal standpoint.

But this, Elliot now understands, was personal for her. It is personal for her. And whatever this is about, it's somehow related.

"He was a student of my mother's, at Columbia," she continues and Elliot listens, nodding along.

"He was my first…everything, my first kiss, my first–the first person I had sex with…"

His body grows rigid at that, the idea of—but still, he listens, resolving not to interrupt.

"And he–he asked me to marry him, and I said 'yes' because I just wanted to get away from Serena and because I loved him, I really did. He was my first love."

The words tumble out once she starts to really tell him and Elliot can only listen as she talks to him about a short lived teenage love affair. It isn't what he remembers hearing, because at the time, they were talking about a case.

But they're not talking about a case or a vic, they're talking about Liv and statutory rape. She's the vic and he's never heard any of this before and he has no idea how to get right with it.

But he'll have to do that at another time.

Olivia is visibly trembling recounting the story and Elliot reaches for her hands, taking them both in his, reassuring, urging her to continue though he's not sure he wants to know any more because it hurts. He hurts for her.

"What happened?" he asks, his throat having gone dry. "I mean–my mother–" she hiccups, swallowing a sob "she made me break it off and I hated her for it, but she said if I didn't, she'd have him kicked out of school and I–I ended…" she stops and closes her eyes tight, a visceral reaction of hers ``I ended it. But I fought with my mother. I kicked her, I hurt her."

"Okay." he nods, his calloused thumbs run circles over her knuckles and it's almost grounding. "Okay, Liv, take a breath."

She follows his inhalation and exhalation and he asks another question, dreading the answer because she hadn't called him in the middle of the night just to talk about her first romance.

"Why's all this coming up now?" Olivia sighs deeply. "He, this man–he showed up again–maybe six months ago."

Elliot reels. He was…six months ago, he was undercover as Eddie Ashes, but–

"And it just felt right, you know?" He doesn't, but he nods in agreement. "It felt like…" she exhales. "It felt like a second chance at first love." As hard as it is to hear, he knows it's harder for her to tell so he keeps listening. "We went for a walk and then we had a drink, and we ended up spending the night together in his hotel and I…I don't know, I was–stupid. God, I'm so stupid."

Elliot interrupts then, his low voice gentle yet firm. "Hey, you are not stupid, okay? It's okay."

It's not okay. Not at all. He wants more than anything to make it okay for her. But she doesn't need him to do anything but this. Listen. Elliot is the first person she's telling any of this to.

For tonight, he's not a cop or her partner or her friend. He's her outcry witness, and he's only here to know, to listen and to validate her experience. No more. No less.

Olivia tells him how the events had unfolded, the women coming forward, the rape accusations, how she had to recuse herself and let her squad investigate, the cassette tape, the confrontation in his hotel room, the glass of whiskey shattering when it hit the door as it closed behind her.

When she's telling him about the women he rapes, she doesn't include herself.

Elliot's jaw tightens. His fingers open and close and he balls them into fists involuntarily, ready to go after whoever the fuck this sonofbitch is because it's inexcusable, all of it, and he has to do something, but—

God, there's more, he thinks.

"A few weeks ago, he asked to meet with me, and we went for coffee." Elliot's expression says it all and she looks away. "He's in AA and he wanted to make amends, so I–I heard him out."

When she says it out loud it sounds even worse than it is and she shields half her face behind her hand after pulling it out of his grip.

After a few moments of listening to her uneven breathing, he prompts her again "Yeah?"

"I, uh–I went to one of his meetings, and we started talking again. I thought I was helping him."

Elliot can feel his stomach drop wondering what it was she's trying to say–is she seeing him?

No, he thinks, there has to be more or he wouldn't be here.

And there is.

A woman had disclosed to Olivia that Burton Lowe, that's his name, had raped her in the same hotel room Liv had been in when she'd gone to confront him. The way she told it, the fucker tried to make amends with her too, and she recorded it, used it as evidence against him and Elliot can't help but intone "Good for her." before he realizes what it is she's trying to say and how hard it is to do.

Her face burns with shame as she tells him that she went to him and talked to him, putting her personal feelings before the needs of the victim, and it's something she'd never done, something he never imagined she could do, but then, he couldn't have known any of this, and he was supposed to know her better than anyone else.

Maybe she expects to hear him say that it was wrong, but that's nothing she doesn't already know, and it takes everything in him to fight the urge to take action and be what she needs, to say what she needs to hear, even if she knows, even though she says it to others all the time.

"Liv, it's not–"

He hates to frame it like this, but if his time with the brotherhood has taught him anything it's that not everything is black and white. Yes, she'd done the wrong thing, this one time, but she doesn't deserve the kind of punishment she's inflicting on herself, because she's a victim too.

"You weren't thinking like a cop," he continues. "You–you didn't want to believe it." She nods but is quick to point out. "But I did."

"Liv, listen, you had to tell yourself it was okay, because if it wasn't–

"I was a victim." Her admission is hardly a whisper. "You were just a kid." He argues.

"I'm not anymore. I'm a cop, I'm a mother. I know better than–"

"Liv, you know better than anyone how a predator like that operates" Elliot interrupts. "He manipulated you. Of course you would still be–of course you would still want to believe him."

"I want to forgive him."

She appears both confused and ashamed by this admission but he'll be damned if he'll let her feel either.

"Well, that's gonna have to be up to you," he says, taking her by surprise. "I don't know if I can forgive myself."

"You'll get there."

"Promise?"

"No."

Olivia is wrought, emotionally, physically drained by all of it, but…relieved, thankful that Elliot had answered and that he came and stayed, and he wasn't judging her. He was just there.

He's still there, and he doesn't look at her with pity, but with the kind of compassion she remembers in him and in this moment, it's everything she needs.

"He says he was in love with me" she tells him, sniffing.

The rough pad of Elliot's thumb brushed a tear from her lower lash before it fell.

"That's not love." he says gently, and she knows this, but it still hurts. "It was for me."

"I know."

He'd raised three daughters and he knew what their first loves and their first heartbreaks had been like. Now Liv is coming to terms with the fact that her first love wasn't real love and that despite everything she knows, she still wants to believe it.

"He probably did love you." Elliot says and it's contradictory to everything he wants to say but he knows he's right. "That's how a predator justifies doing something he knows is wrong."

Through fifteen years as a special victims detective, Elliot understands the psychology of grooming to an extent and so does she, much more so, but if he has to remind her, he will.

"Liv, you know exactly what he did. You were a…a beautiful young girl, but you were alone and that's how he got to you. You didn't have anyone and he built you up, made you feel special and loved and that's everything you were looking for back then, everything you didn't get at home."

He didn't know if any of this resonated but it seemed to. She knew he was right.

"I hated her," she whispers, hugging herself. "I knew she didn't want anyone else to have me, but–" her voice breaks, and something inside her breaks. "What if she was trying to protect me?"

"Maybe it was both" he offers and holds that in the silence between them. "Yeah" she nods.

The last thing she expected from Elliot Stabler in that moment was grace. It wasn't something she felt like she deserved but she took comfort in it and held onto it, like a life raft in an angry sea.

They sit in that comfortable companionable silence like they used to during long stake outs or late nights when one or both of them needed to decompress without talking, and words weren't needed. Liv's said everything and she couldn't talk more if she tried.

He gets it.

"Can I make you a cup of tea" he offers finally, the urge to put himself to more use nagging at him. "You can do that" she replies, skeptical, a hint of amusement playing out on her tear stained face.

"I can do that." Elliot confirms adding "You stay put" when Liv gets up to follow him. "I can…wait."

There are a lot of different teas in her little collection so he decides on chamomile.

"Thanks," she replies, grateful, really grateful. "I wish I had…" she doesn't keep beer in her fridge anymore, and the wine is gone, so she doesn't have much to offer. "Juice?"

"I'm good," he chuckles, relieved to see some color returning to her cheeks. "Tired?"

"Yeah, I must look—"

Beautiful, he thinks.

"You're fine," he covers her with a light throw blanket and squeezes her knee reassuringly. "You want me to stay" she raises her brow in question and he doesn't want her to misassume his intentions, so he adds "until you fall asleep?"

"Okay" she agrees, setting the mug aside and stifling a yawn with the back on her hand. "Thanks."

"You don't have to thank me for—"

"Just keep this," her eyelids are growing heavy already. "Between us?"

"You don't have to ask."

Elliot glances down at his watch. It's after two am but he doesn't care. Liv doesn't seem affected one way or another by his presence. Being who he is, he wants to say more, do more, inflict some kind of biblical punishment on the man who had caused her so much pain—

He'd left special victims and she'd endured because she knew how to do the job in a way he couldn't. Everything he'd done in his time there didn't justly punish the insidious monsters who preyed on those most vulnerable they way they deserved. It never felt like enough.

But when he watches Liv now as her features relax, her breathing deepens, he knows he's done all he can do for now, as an advocate, not an avenger, and he knows she will be okay.

He also knows he'll stay all night, just in case.