AN: Oh wow it's the big 4-0! This is the longest relationship I've ever had with a fic! And we still aren't even close to the end. Thanks so much for hanging in there with me this has been an intense ride, one that I've been really excited to be a part of.

We still have a little ways to go until the end, there are still more questions to be answered and conversations to be had etc but for now this goes out to Lyricara who's birthday it is today! Woohoo. Happy Birthday Lyric, I rushed this one out of the gate in a mad panic just for you so it's probably riddled with typos haha. X


They lay together in the dark, the flicker of the neon sign bouncing off the window.

The bed seems smaller than their last, she is more within reach in this one, like he could just move an inch and their hands would graze.

He catches the rise and fall of her chest in his peripherals and after a few beats he feels her start to shift back and forth beneath the covers. That's when he remembers her shoulder and that somehow in the mix they'd forgotten the icy hot tonight.

He thinks about offering his chest to sleep on like he had the night prior but after the course of the evening's events, he knows she's unlikely to take it - even if it would mean her only other option was to writhe around in pain. He wonders if the cream is within reach on the bedside table, he knows it will help her sleep. Or better yet if he could source some actual ice that would help the swelling - he's pretty sure there is an ice machine a few doors down, he'd heard something crashing about earlier making a God awful noise.

He is moments from mentioning it when she turns onto her side moving away from him, the material of the sheet ripping across his wound in one debilitating motion.

"Fuck!" He rasps, doubling over with the sheet, cursing into his pillow as he yanks the sheet back to him. She knocks back into his chest in the process as he tries to dislodge himself from her.

She realizes what has happened and is rolling over immediately. "Shit… did I?"

She lifts up hovering over him, a bright light spilling into the room as she switches on the lamp. She drags the sheet downward, batting his hand out of the way so she can inspect it closely.

"Let me see."

He bites down on his lower lip trying to ride out the pain, but it feels like a knife has sliced clean through him. She peals the bandage back so she can inspect the damage.

"How bad is it?" He rasps through gritted teeth, his eyes still pinched closed, a string of curse words sitting ripe on his tongue.

She lowers the bandage even more to expose the deepest part of the gash and he waits for her response, a roll of nausea taking over.

"I don't see any blood."

Well it fucking burns, he wants to rasp, but somehow he refrains.

She returns the edges of the bandage to his skin and when he finally manages to open his eyes he finds her staring at him. He expects her to say something to him then – anything but it's just a host of concern reflecting back at him behind her irises.

He knows what she is thinking. He has no legal access to medical aid now that Jackie isn't close by. If his wound were to bust on the road what would he do? Would he be able to close it himself? What if it got infected? What if he bled out? What if..

"Can you pass me the painkillers please?" He motions over his shoulder, refusing to let her go there.

She moves her gaze off his and reluctantly starts to lean over him, grasping the medical pack off the bedside table and zipping it open. He watches as she twists off the painkiller bottle cap and taps two into his palm.

"More." He tells her and she gives him a strained look before tapping another two into his palm. She leans over him once more, grasping the water from the bedside table and handing it to him. He wastes no time knocking the handful of pills back and taking a generous sip. He closes his eyes as he swallows, letting out a noise of discomfort as he tries to muster the strength to dispel the pain.

"Have we got any vodka left?"

He is half joking, half serious but she doesn't react, in fact she just continues to stare at him with the same distant, fruitless, vacant expression, her concern growing by the minute.

"Liv.. it's fine." He tries to reassure her. "I'll live."

But he can see it beneath the layers, he has just unlocked the vast pit of anger that had been lying dormant in her for years.

"No," she whispers coldly. "You won't."

He watches her as he wordlessly acknowledges the truth of that statement and he sees it all culminate for her in that moment. He'd spent years running from the truth of that reality and now the stark redundancy of his life was mirroring back at him in the vacant abyss of those almond eyes.

All that he had lost.

All that they could have been.

His inevitable ending that was yet to come.

"Liv I'm.." his voice cracks mid lie and his words taper off because he can't even lie to himself anymore let alone her.

Liv I'm..

Fine.

Sorry.

Fucked.

He doesn't even know anymore.

He presses his eyes closed, a pit of emotion starting to rise in his chest and gather in his throat. He tries to dispel the overwhelming sense of grief that was threatening to overtake. His ex-wife, his kids, his partner, gone, gone, gone. He cannot do this right now, he cannot break here in front of her, he's kept it together for so long. He knows he has to say something, anythingto wipe that look off her face as if the world was ending tomorrow.

His world.

Her world

Their world.

"You should turn yourself in."

The comment lands between them like a heavy brick and he can see the swell of moisture that's gathered beneath her eyes. He watches her for a few moments, their eye contact burning like the shot of vodka he was denied. He can't go there with her, he just can't, he doesn't even let himself go there most days.

You should turn yourself in.

He had registered the deflation in her voice, the way her throat had caught mid way as if this were his only option left, his end game.

He reaches out and slips the medical pack from her hands, ignoring the heat of her stare and pulling the tube of Icy Hot out because he needs to change their focus.

Distraction.

Deflection.

That was one thing they were always good at when things got too real between them.

"I don't need it," she tells him.

But he doesn't listen he simply begins popping off the cap.

She moves forward, stilling his hands.

"Do you know what I do need Elliot?"

He doesn't respond.

Because he doesn't want to hear it.

"You…" her voice cracks. "Alive."

He holds her stare for a few moments until his eyes fall down to her attire.

Distraction.

Deflection.

She is in a tight t-shirt and from what he can see, she's wearing a bra beneath and that's not going to work. He does it without thinking, moving upward, squinting a little as he manages to drag his shirt over his head in one clean swoop before he drops it to his left with a grunt. He doesn't give her much time to react before his hand comes out for her wrist, his touch is light but purposeful as he draws her forward, she goes with the motion dropping down onto her good elbow, her breath catching as their faces draw closer. He can tell she thinks he's about to kiss her but his free hand instead goes for the lip of her shirt and he starts to slide it up her torso until it reaches the base of her bra.

"What are you doing?" She whispers but she isn't stopping him, that's what shocks him, she could easily reach out, pull back but she just stares at him as he gathers the material in his hands and begins to lift.

"Swapping our shirts." He finally gives her as he continues to drag the material up and over her breasts. He expects surprise to line her features, or at the very least a hint of nervousness but all he sees is submission. His fingers bump underwire and he wastes no time pulling it further upward after that, careful not to tug at her shoulder before he removes it completely.

She is bra clad, her hair in disarray, her cleavage resting at his eye line but he doesn't look. Instead he grasps his crumbled shirt and drags it over his chest, tugging her forward. She doesn't resist, letting him move her down until she is sinking into the shirt barrier he'd created between them.

He pops the lid open one handed and waits a few beats before he squeezes a generous portion onto her shoulder. He starts to lather the cream into the crook of her neck, their eyes meeting briefly as he extends it down to her shoulder blade. He slips her bra strap down to gain access and continues rubbing, the cool gel making his fingers tingle. His chest slowly rises and falls beneath her breasts, a sound leaving her throat as he presses into the sensitive muscles of her collarbone. He moves his hands up the curve of her neck then, still lathering the cream in, tilting her head absently until their eyes suddenly lock, then he feels it, it's like a ticking time bomb.

"I wanted more," she whispers.

A few beats pass as it registers what she is saying.

Perfect world.

He can't believe she's actually voiced it, but there it was, loud and clear.

In a perfect world ..she wanted more.

He's blindsided by her honesty, in fact he can't think of a damn thing to say in response, he has stopped rubbing her neck and she is so close in that moment. He waits only seconds before he lifts his head off the pillow, drawing her forward, grasping her lips between his, holding her in a firm lingering peck, counting the beats before he gently and reluctantly releases her mouth.

She lets out a breath, their eyes locking, both of them trying to gauge the mindset of the other. He can see compliance in her stare and it's moments before she is lifting upward, her mouth returning to his on her own accord, grasping his lower lip between hers and sucking. His mind is reeling, they'd kissed before – in the trailer, last night, but there was an intensity in the room now that was borderline palpable. She moves against him, his t-shirt dropping to the side, her lace bra scraping his chest and he grasps her cheek in response, tilting her face and sliding his tongue between her lips.

She moans, as if surprised by the sudden escalation but he needs her to know that in a perfect world, he wanted more too, far more than their lifetime of deprivation.

Her bra strap is still half way down her arm and with each breath she takes he can feel the death defying scrape of lace against skin. He runs a free hand down her bare back all the way to the base of her spine before it moves upward once more. A few waves of silence pass between them when only slick kisses and breathy exhales can be heard. There is a clumsiness to their kisses, as if they both know this isn't going to last long but they're going to take what they can get.

His hands are roaming across her skin, testing, teasing, fingers knocking underwire but he knows their touches can only be superficial - limited. She pulls back with a slick pop, a sound leaving her throat as if she is just as frustrated by their constraints as he is and they just stare at each other.

Then the words fill his throat until he has no choice to voice them.

"I still want more." He feels her swallow against his palm, the air between them grows tensely silent. He watches her gaze drop down to his swollen mouth, then it's just intermittent breaths that pass between them as he continues to trail his other hand lightly down her torso.

"Always have," he whispers quietly. "Always will."

She doesn't have words for him in that moment but he knows deep down there aren't any.

She rises up again and he thinks for a moment she is going to move clean off him but she surprises him, her mouth descending on his once more. His eyes slip closed as she nudges his lips back open, nipping his lower lip before catching his top lip between hers. He can feel it within the depths of their silence - a quiet desperation, she isn't pretending a future with him is possible, but as her lips slide across his he feels for a split second that it is.

That she is his.

And he is hers.

TBC