AN: Well.. this has taken an obscenely long time to write, it almost feels like a dream that I am finally updating this, thank you to those who are still here and for all your lovely comments.

In the meantime I'd like to do a shoutout to JessicaR who recently completed her epic multi chapter fan fiction "Breaking Point." If you haven't already read it I highly recommend you search and check it out as not only did it originally inspire Dust and Bone but it inspired me to write fan fiction in general (that along with MaddyM's incredibly amazing repertoire) - ergo without Breaking Point, Dust and Bone wouldn't exist! But please adhere to the warnings as it may not be for you, my twisty-twisty soulsister/slash partner in fanfictional crime.

That is all.


He's the first to rouse that morning and it's those few, surreal initial moments as his eyes adjust to the light that he notices her. She must have moved during the night because she's now lying on her back, no longer draped across his side.

His eyes move across her sleeping form as the rickety ceiling fan rotates steadily above them. He had always wondered what it would be like to wake up next to this woman and as the morning sun spills through the tattered motel curtains he cannot tear his eyes away.

He watches the light breaths fill her chest and as a few beats pass his eyes slowly move across to her cleavage. He spies black lace where the tank has fallen to the side, but it's the markings above the lace that he's focused on. The small, circular shapes that had kept him up for most of the night.

The ones she wouldn't explain.

The ones that could explain themselves.


He inserts the nozzle of the gas pump into the car and clicks it over.

"You want anything?" He asks her through the car window.

They had just pulled into their first gas station for the day and the heat was already starting to scorch the back of his neck.

She leans over the drivers seat and she squints up at him through the window.

"Sunglasses would be good."

His eyebrows lift with surprise.

"You're trusting me to pick out sunglasses for you?" He gives her an eyebrow raise, watching as she pulls down the sunshade in front of her.

"The sun is blinding Elliot," she says to her reflection. "I'm not picky."

The gas pump beeps and he pulls out the nozzle, returning it to it's bay.

"Noted," he tells her, before reaching through the window and grasping the envelope from the console.


He makes a beeline for the sunglasses stand when he sees it - a stack of newspapers piled chest high, the headline instantly catching his eye.

NYPD LIEUTENANT MISSING JUST

MONTHS AFTER HER ABDUCTION

BY SERIAL RAPIST WILLIAM LEWIS

On May 22 2013 Olivia Benson, a Lieutenant with the NYPD, was taken from her Manhattan apartment and held at gunpoint for four days at a remote beach house in Long Island.

"Can I help you?" The server behind the glass calls out to him.

He feels sick.

The voice continues to ask if he needs help but it's coming out like white noise.

He pulls his eyes away from the article and looks around the small roadside store.

"Um.. Pump four."

His voice is ghost like, his throat already constricted with the tears that are starting to bud behind his sunglasses.

He grabs a newspaper from the top of the pile, folds it under his arm and walks up to the counter.

The apathetic clerk looks up at him.

"That'll be $23.50."

He clears his throat, the cap he's sporting is covering the majority of his face and he's careful to stay clear of the cameras. He pays for the gas and paper with cash and makes his way back to the car tearing the front page of the paper clean off and dumping the rest in a trashcan. He folds the article over and over until it's small enough to shove into his back pocket.

His hands are shaking when he reaches the car, his chest thudding like a jackhammer. He opens the door, moves into his seat, drags the seatbelt across his chest and starts the engine without so much as a look in her direction.

But it's immediate, she can tell something is off.

"What happened?" Her tone is calm, but he can hear the concern in her voice as they slowly pull out onto the highway.

He doesn't respond. In fact he can't speak at all, he is inundated with imagery - violent, horrific scenes that his mind is conjuring up. He flashes back to that night in the warehouse as he shoved her up against the wall, his hands on her breasts, her ass - then in the trailer, grabbing her before she could leave, throwing her down on the mattress and pinning her down with his body.

Jesus Christ she had fought him.

She had fought him like he was a -

"El," she whispers, calling him back to reality. "Tell me what happened.. were you spotted?"

"No." He croaks back, hoping that will be the end of it. The end of the questions, the end of talking - the end of him having to speak right now.

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat but he cannot even chance a look in her direction for fear that he's going to break.

He had put on a show in front of Tony that night, that's all he keeps telling himself, he had no control - not where their lives were concerned. But then there was the trailer. They had been alone, not a soul in sight. She had slugged him harder than expected. She had tried to escape, she had tried to flee from his capture – from him.

Get off me.

No.

Get – off – me.

Her fear was real.

A few moments pass before he finally chances a glance at her, she is staring straight ahead, squinting against the sunlight that is continuously hitting her front on.

That's when he remembers.

"Shit," he sighs.

The sunglasses.

He considered lying to her, pretending they didn't have any but at this point he had already failed her in so many ways.

"I'm sorry, I forgot the glasses."

You don't make the demands.

You son of a bitch… get off me.

She is covering a portion of her face with her hand, the annoyance evident and it's moments later when she starts to move. He doesn't realize what's happening until she is attempting to take his own sunglasses clean off his face. He grabs her just in time, his fingers encircling her wrist, her breath catching as she stills against his brash touch.

"Liv don't," he whispers quietly across to her.

She swallows at the seriousness, completely caught off guard by his reaction and when he gently releases her wrist she slowly retracts it.

All she had wanted was his sunglasses, but what she didn't realise was beneath those shades his own tears were starting to spill.

TBC


AN: Never fear, I have purposefully written more so I don't leave you hanging for another 84 years.