hello! I'm back, spreading more Christmas cheer...or something. I do my best. This is chapter 28, which is mindblowing, and it's all because of you lovely people (enablers) and your encouragement and love (and threats). This is probably the last chapter I'll post before Christmas, so if you really want to make my holiday wonderful (and you obviously do), click on that little box at the bottom of the page and say hi. Especially if I haven't heard from you before...I want to 'meet' you!

A/N: this chapter is not what you're expecting, I can almost guarantee that. I can also pretty much guarantee that you'll be angry with me at the end. Ooops. Warnings for sex and (imaginary) violence. Title and quotes, for the final time, from one by U2.

Attention: for the purposes of this chapter, the paragraphs in italics are part of a dream sequence. You'll know it when you see it.

{we're one but we're not the same
we hurt each other then we do it again
you say 'love is a temple, love the higher law'}

He almost looked surprised.

He comes out of the bathroom after getting rid of the condom and you're lying in the same place you were when he got up, head resting on a pillow that now smells like a combination of three different people. You smile up at him, and he smiles back, but for one tiny moment he almost looks surprised.

You're not really sure what he expected- it's your apartment, after all, where did he think you were going to go?- but he recovers quickly, getting back into bed next to you. "You're alright?"

"You could say that," you joke, turning onto your back as you rest your head on his chest.

He reaches for your hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing your knuckles. "You're... amazing, shit."

You smile, nuzzling the stubble along his jawline as your hands rest together on top of your stomach, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

"You working Christmas, or do you and dumbass have plans?" he asks, and you roll your eyes even though you know he can't see you.

"Brian and I are spending Christmas day here. I'm off until after the...yeah. Not by choice, but...anyway. We're just keeping it low key. Christmas eve we're going to his mom's house because that's when they do the whole big family thing."

"You ever met the extended dumbass family before?"

"Not really. His mom, of course, and I've met two of his sisters, but just in passing back when he was staying at his mom's. They're like your family where everyone has about thirty kids, so I'm assuming it'll be a zoo." You look down at your intertwined fingers, at your thumb rubbing the back of his hand, and you don't want to talk about this anymore. "The twins make it home okay?"

He chuckles quietly. "I think- I picked them up at the airport and haven't seen them since. Well, they might've been home Saturday night, but I pretty much had their entire graduating class in my living room, so who the hell knows if they were actually somewhere in the crowd."

"You'll see them soon enough when they need money."

"Lizzie's bringing some boyfriend over tonight for us to meet him." He says the word 'boyfriend' with the distaste that most people reserve for talking about rabid dogs. Come to think of it, it's the same voice he uses when he mentions Brian. "A kid she met at school. He lives across the hall from her...you know what that means? They're sleeping about four steps away from each other. If that."

"Well, what can I say, you're obviously prepared to like him," you deadpan.

"God, you sound like Kathy. She tells me oh, he's a good boy, he and Lizzie go to mass together...I said great, there's one hour of the week they're staying out of trouble, now what the hell are they doing the rest of the time? Having his ass in the pews every Sunday doesn't mean he's a saint for the other six days."

A strange hush settles over the room, and even the sounds of your breathing seem muted somehow. You had been here before, naked in bed together and having these idle conversations about life on the 'outside'- because that's what it was, a separate place that didn't intersect with anything that went on between the two of you in private. Sure, he made the usual snide remarks about anything Brian-related, and sometimes you found yourself biting the inside of your cheek when Kathy was mentioned, but that's all it was. A moment's uneasiness.

But for some reason, it just feels different now, and you can tell you're not the only one who's noticed. You shift until you can press your lips against his cheek, trying to fill the space between you that seems to be widening with every second of silence. He turns over onto his side as well, and now your heads are both on the same pillow, as close together as you can get without going cross eyed while looking at one another. "You never answered my question, by the way. Is dumbass gone for good?"

"What? No, I meant he's gone to work. He'll be back tonight- at least, I think he will. I never know."

"I thought you said Tucker wasn't sending him under until after...everything's settled."

"You and me both. But it's okay. It's only been a couple of days here and there, I'm sure I'll get used to it." You weren't sure if you would ever get used to lying awake at night wondering where he was, what he was doing, if he was safe. You'd taken to just staying at work on those nights in order to keep busy, distracting yourself from the horrible scenarios that were so easily conjured up in your mind. Every time your phone buzzed, it felt like the moment of reckoning- was it him calling to say he was on his way home, or was it a grave-voiced stranger letting you know that your fears had become reality? "I'm alright."

Elliot looks like he's about to say something and then, in a rare display of discretion, thinks better of it. "But he'll be there when you're in court, won't he?"

"Yeah. I mean, he will be, but I don't know that I want him to take all that time off. He's gonna be there whatever day I have to testify- not in the room, but waiting for me outside. That's the most important thing to me. The rest of the time...I'll be okay on my own."

He again seems to be wrestling mightily with whatever's on the tip of his tongue. "I know that...you don't want me there, but if you change your mind, or if he can't be there for some reason and you don't feel like being alone. You just have to call. Even if all you want is someone to go get you coffee- I mean it."

You know he has good intentions, but you want to talk about this even less than you want to talk about wives and boyfriends and whatever the hell it is that Brian does all day. There's too much that's still unresolved, lingering in the air of the world beyond this room like a low-lying fog obscuring everything surrounding it. But the sky seems to clear when it's just the two of you, even though you can sense the storm that's building in the distance, the one that sounds like I didn't want you to know and I'm gonna have the fuckin time of my life and it feels like being raped all over again.

"I. I do too, you know," you blurt out, and you wanted to change the subject, but that wasn't really what you had in mind and you've got no clue what possessed you to say it. "I mean...what you said before. I do too."

"I know," he assures you once more. You wonder if you're letting him down by not being able to say it so casually- hey, I love you- because no matter how much you might genuinely mean it, there's still far too much weight attached to the words. Maybe someday it will come easily. Maybe when it does, it won't even be directed at him. But for now it's something you'll keep tucked away, saved for those moments of raw honesty when nothing else will suffice. For now, you'll just lean in and kiss him.

His hand's still resting on your stomach as he kisses you back, fingers smoothing across your skin as your tongues seek each other out inside your mouth. The pad of his thumb brushes over your belly button, lightly enough to have been an accident, but you know it was deliberate because he knows it elicits a moan from you every time. His hand travels upward until it's covering your breast, massaging slowly. "Oh. God that feels good."

"I can tell," he says, fingers on both hands busy playing with your nipples, and you can't even fault him for being so smug, not while you're straddling his thigh and grinding against it shamelessly. "Something you want?"

"Yesss," you sigh, leaning back against him so you're at a better angle when his hand slips between your legs. You can watch what he's doing this way, can see where his finger slides inside you, and you're almost more turned on by the sight than the sensation itself.

"You're so fucking wet for me," he mumbles against your neck, teeth scraping lightly over your skin. You'd make a comment about his skill in pointing out the obvious if you weren't so distracted by the way his dick is rubbing against your outer thigh, giving you an idea. "What're you doing?"

"Take a guess." You're settled down between his legs, palm wrapped around his cock and moving up and down leisurely.

"Liv..."

"You don't want me to?" you ask, embarrassed by the hurt that you can't completely hide from your voice. You thought you'd already succeeded in convincing him that you were okay with this, and he'd definitely enjoyed it last time, so you know where his hesitation comes from now and you don't like it.

"Liv. That's not what I mean, you know that."

Your head is still ducked away from him as you bite your bottom lip. "So trust me that I know my own limits?"

He pauses for a moment, considering this, and then one corner of his mouth turns up in a smile. You'll take that as a yes.

As a general rule, you don't give head, but it doesn't mean you won't use your mouth at all. You keep one hand around the base of his cock and the other on his hip to remind him to stay still as you take your time exploring, licking and kissing and sucking the tip into your mouth before releasing it with a wet 'pop'.

"Good?" you ask as you sit up, climbing into his lap. You grin when he looks slightly dazed and gesture toward the nightstand. "Hurry up, I need it."

"You're so demanding." He makes a point of opening the condom wrapper as slowly as possible, muttering something about how that box doesn't seem any emptier than it did the last time he was here, and you ignore him because, well, priorities.

You take a few drawn-out breaths before you start sinking down onto him little by little, holding onto him to steady yourself as you do. This was your preferred position once upon a time in your 'past life', being on top- like Elliot himself said, you're bossy. You like being the one in control; or at least, you used to. Now just the idea makes you feel too self-conscious, too exposed. Too many chances to potentially make eye contact. But now your eyes are closed while he kisses you, hands on your hips as you start to find a comfortable rhythm, and you think about what he told you that one rainy night as you sat in his car.

This is real. And that's when you finally give in and let yourself fall, allow yourself the luxury of feeling nothing but warm and safe and loved. It's not a leap of faith. It's more like a plunge, like a jump off the high dive where you'd better know what you're doing because the force of the impact is going to hurt like hell if you fuck it up.

You're out of breath and a little lightheaded by the time you surface again, opening your eyes to find him sitting at your feet and looking back at you. He's not staring- more like watching intently, drinking it all in like he didn't see you every day for thirteen years. "El..."

"Sorry, sorry," If the lights were on, you're sure you'd catch him blushing. "Guess I can't help it."

He's kneading the sore muscles in your thighs and you know it's just a distraction technique, but it's also a highly effective one. Unfortunately, it's also short-lived. "Hey, no, I didn't say you could stop."

"Since when do I take orders from you, Benson?" He's motioning toward the bathroom and you grudgingly let him go, his lips brushing the top of your head as he gets up.

"That's Sergeant Benson to you now," you remind him. You hear him laughing and decide to give in and close your eyes for a minute while you wait. By the time he returns, you've already fallen asleep and started to dream.

{did I disappoint you or leave a bad taste in your mouth?}

You're sitting on the edge of your bed, the beam of light from the lamp on the table beside you illuminating the photo that lies in your lap. It's one of your mother, taken when she was a teenager, a smiling girl in the middle of a group of friends who are all in prom attire. Your mom's dress is lacy and white, her hair teased up into a beehive at the top of her head and a rose corsage around her wrist. The other girls are all dressed similarly, each one's hair bigger than the last, while the boys stand behind them looking lanky and awkward in ill-fitting suits.

You hear a noise and look over your shoulder at Elliot, who's sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed with his back turned toward you. "Over here, sweetheart."

Your head whips back around toward the sound of a voice you recognize all too easily. You try to scream, but nothing comes out but a whimper. "How the hell did you get in here?" you ask, finding yourself unable to stand up or kick or even take a swing at him with your fists.

"You let me in, baby, did you forget?" He's in an orange prison jumpsuit, but he seems to have already healed from the injuries Elliot had inflicted on him just a few days ago. Come to think of it, he's not even bearing any of the scars you were sure he must have after the beating you yourself gave him. "I've been hanging around this place since the day you moved in."

"I wouldn't do that," you insist, painfully aware that you're still naked and, unlike him, still scarred. You hunch over and wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield as much of your body as possible from his view.

"Oh, you didn't have a choice." He sits down beside you, nodding toward Elliot. "So that was interesting, huh?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Elliot's still sleeping, peaceful and unaware of anything going on next to him.

"Does that line ever work on *anyone*? You're a shitty liar and besides, I saw the whole thing." He gives you one of those awful grins of his, teeth shining in the lamplight like a wolf examining his prey. "Come on, it was all for me anyway, so why shouldn't I enjoy it?"

"It's between me and Elliot, it has nothing to do with you."

"And that's where you're wrong, sweetheart. But it's cute, you trying so hard to prove that I was wrong about you and him. So what, now that he fucked you and told you he loves you, this whole thing's for real?"

"He does love me. You don't know anything about us," you say, chin lifted defiantly. When you look down, the picture on your lap has changed. Now it's a shot of you when you were barely more than a toddler, sitting on your grandparents' lawn and looking uncomfortable in a frilly pink dress, clearly longing to take off running after the cat in the far corner of the photo. In the other corner is your mother, unaware of the camera and staring blankly at something outside the range of the picture.

"I don't? I know he's not going to leave his wife and kids for you."

"I've never asked him to. And I never would."

"And yet secretly you want it. But when he wakes up, he's walking out of here and going right back to them, and you're gonna pretend it's all good and you don't care if things stay like that forever. Which they will. Why would he give up his perfect little family for you? What do you have that would make it worth it? To him, you're just a good fuck, nothing more." He shakes his head at you, still smiling. "You think he sees you as someone he'd marry? That he'd want as a mother to his kids? How's he gonna introduce you to people- 'hey, meet the woman I was screwing behind my wife's back'?"

"He's my friend. I want whatever makes him happy," you insist, trying in vain to get your limbs working again.

"Oh yeah, some friend. All you are to him is an ego boost. He had his chance to have a real relationship with you, and he didn't take it. You know why? He doesn't want you like that. If he really saw you as a 'friend', as an equal- he wouldn't be fucking you right now. I hate sounding like your asshole of a partner, but no guy cheats with a woman he actually respects. You know that, you've been through it all before."

"That's different. I was young and dumb and mad at the world..."

"And two out of three of those are still true, Olivia, I hate to break it to you," he says. "He betrayed you. He went behind your back- do you think he would've ever fessed up to it if someone else didn't tell you first? No fucking way! So why would you trust anything that comes out of his mouth? You're angry, he screws you and tells you he loves you, and somehow you actually believe- what? That he's sorry? That he doesn't see you any differently? Is that what you really think?"

You don't reply, don't look at him. The picture in your lap has changed again. Now you're 16 or 17, wearing a bikini top and a pair of shorts that you've rolled up as far as humanly possible. You're giving the camera an irritated look because you know just how much trouble you'll be in if a snapshot of you dressed like that falls into your mother's hands. Hell, the only reason you're at a pool party in the first place is because you lied to her and said there wouldn't be boys there. Mom won't even let you go over to female friends' houses if she knows their father will be home, for God's sake.

"Look at me!" he shouts, grabbing a fistful of hair at the top of your head and yanking on it until your neck tilts back as far as it can go. How Elliot has managed to sleep through all this, you're still not sure. "He knows all about you, he knows what a little slut you are. Why do you think he finally decided to fuck you now? Because he knows it's easy. You'll do anything."

"He's not like that! You think you're so fucking smart but you have no goddamn idea who he really is, just like you don't understand anything about me. Did you hear that? *Nothing*."

"Nothing at all? I don't think you're giving me enough credit here, sweetheart. He can tell you whatever he wants, but it's all a lie. I can guarantee you...he'll say it's not your fault, but there's still a part of him that thinks you could've done a little more, fought a little harder. He knows you can defend yourself. So don't you think he wonders? Wonders if maybe you get off on being this helpless victim?"

"He'd never doubt me like that," you say, trying to sound as firm as possible even as your voice is wavering and your eyes are watering from the pain of having your hair pulled.

"You don't sound so sure of yourself there...face it, he knew you were fucked up before and he didn't want you then, why would he want you with all this extra shit you have now? If he thinks he does, it's only cause he doesn't know what it's like being with you day in and day out. Why would he wanna deal with all that, just so he can fuck you, when he's got a nice, *normal* woman he could bang at home? Someone who he knows exactly where she's been? Cause he's a pretty possessive son of a bitch...you don't think it bothers him that you've been around the block a few times? It's not like he's gonna forget. Every time he looks at you he'll remember that you're damaged goods. That you were *my* girl first."

When he finally lets go of your hair and you're able to look down again, you're not surprised to see yet another new photo. This one was taken about six months after you started at SVU, when the squad was at some sort of department function. You don't remember who it was for, what it was celebrating- all you remember was that there was an open bar, and that some of you had stayed long after the 'important' people had left so that you could continue partaking. You're smiling drunkenly at something the camera can't see, your chin hooked over Brian's shoulder while Elliot keeps a watchful eye on you from over at the next table. You have a vague recollection of Elliot escorting you home, making sure you weren't taking any stray gentlemen along with you, and the next morning you woke up on your couch to a bitch of a headache and a note that simply said 'you're welcome'.

You look back up to find your tormentor still looming over you, still grinning. "Why are you even here? Why can't you just leave me alone? And why the hell do you care so much if I'm fucking Elliot or not?"

"Hey. I don't remember saying you could start asking questions," he warns, his face so close to yours that the smell of alcohol on his breath makes your stomach churn. "So I would shut that pretty mouth before it gets you in trouble. Again. God, it's like you never learn, huh?"

Your limbs are still completely immobile, but you manage to turn your head enough to see that Elliot has yet to wake up or even move in the slightest. You try to call his name and the words vanish before they can get past your lips.

"See, what'd I just say? You don't learn, baby, he's not comin' to save you. Time to get used to being alone again, cause that's where you're headed. Your little fairytale's about to end and then what are you gonna do? How long do you think it'll be until your loser boyfriend finds out everything? Just because you won't tell him doesn't mean...all he's gotta do is ask around, pull a couple files, whatever, and there it is. It all starts unraveling. How's he gonna react? I mean, your fuckbuddy over there already knew you're no saint, but that dumbass still thinks you're a good girl. What's he gonna do when he finds out that you beat the shit out of me and then left me there on the floor to die...while you're busy destroying evidence because you're too humiliated to admit what happened to you? He'll think you're a monster."

You can't speak, can't do anything but close your eyes and shake your head and mouth 'nonono', trying to block out his presence.

"Oh yes he will, baby. He'd never forgive you...and that's even before he finds out you're a lying, disgusting whore."

"No. 'm not."

Your voice is so soft that you didn't think he could even hear you- that is, until you're being backhanded across the face. You instinctively try to bring your arms up to protect your head from any further blows, but he's quicker than you are and he's got your wrists in his hand, pinning them down while he sits on your legs to keep you from moving. He leans down to hiss into your ear, grabbing at your bare chest roughly as he does. "No one loves you. How could they?"

And then he's forcing your legs apart and you can't help but cry out in pain, even though you know it'll just make it worse, and you hear the clinking noise of his belt buckle...

"Get off me! Get the fu- no, no, I'm sorry! I mean it, I'm sorry. I'll be good, I'll do whatever, just...please, stop please you're hurting me oh god it hurts-"

Not for the first time, you're jolted awake by the sound of your own screams.

{you ask me to enter
but then you make me crawl
and I can't be holding onto what you've got
when all you've got is hurt}