Hello friends! I'm just now realizing this is chapter 39, which is insane, but it also means that the next is #40, which sounds pretty momentous, like I should celebrate by killing someone off or something...I kid. I'm not *that* terrible.

You all mean the world to me, and I know I keep saying that, but it's so very true. You make me laugh, you make me think...so if you've been lurking for a while, please feel free to say hello because I would love to 'meet' you. Also, if you are the person who left the anonymous comment a few weeks ago about condoms and Brian sleeping with hookers, you cracked my shit up and I'm dying to know who you are.

A/N: Warnings for sex, violence, and ambiguity. But mainly the last one. The ending is (purposely) ambiguous, so you will probably hate it...but the whole chapter has so much ambiguity that it seemed fitting. Plus, I admit I'm just totally curious to see what y'all think happened (or what *should* happen). There will be answers in the next chapter- along with the return of bensidy and nick being nick, but for now you'll have to wait.

title and all quotes from every breaking wave by U2.

{like every broken wave on the shore
this is as far as I could reach}

You're lying on your side, face turned away and keeping space in between the two of you. He knows better than to try and reach out. "Liv?"

"I'm sorry," you say, and it's a wonder he can understand you because you're fighting a giant lump in your throat and basically talking into the pillow. "I'm. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"What are you sorry for?"

"I promised I'd try not to shut you out and then...I go and do it anyway."

"Hey, no. You needed to be alone for a few minutes, that's all. Nothing wrong with that."

Your eyes open in surprise, having prepared yourself for anger or cold indifference and not knowing which one would hurt more. "I...yeah."

"I knew you'd come back," he said, echoing what he had told you earlier. I wasn't leaving for good. I needed time...but I was always going to come back. "And you did, and that's all that matters. You're here now."

"Yeah. I am." You shift so you're facing in his direction, letting him pull you closer until you're spooned up next to him.

He reaches out, fingertips hovering over your upper arm where it looks like you've been mauled by a meth-addicted cat. Somewhere underneath all the semi-healed scratch marks is a little red scar from a self inflicted cigarette burn. «do it or I fuck you». "That looks like it hurt."

"El...don't. We've already talked about it before and. I just can't right now, so please..."

"Can I just say one thing? And I promise, that's all." When you don't reply, he lets his forearm rest on top of yours and reaches for your hand again. "You keep punishing yourself and you don't deserve that."

You squeeze your eyes shut, glad he can't see your face. Goddamn him for being able to read you so easily sometimes. "If you tell me it wasn't my fault, Elliot, I swear to Christ-"

"Was it? Your fault, I mean. I wasn't there so you'll have to fill me in."

You sigh, shaking your head. "I know what you're doing, okay, so you can just stop right there. You want me to say I think it was my fault so you can try to prove me wrong."

"And why would I do that?"

"Do you think this is funny?" You wriggle out of his grasp, glaring over at him, and to his credit he isn't smirking in the way he usually does when he thinks he's gotten inside your head. "I already had to defend myself to a room full of total strangers, and look how far that got me. I'm either this desperate sex-addicted masochist or completely incapable of defending myself, depending on who you ask."

"So which is it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You said it depends on who you ask, so I'm asking you."

"Elliot, I already have a shrink, you can let him handle the mind games. That's what I'm paying him for, after all," you point out, not bothering to mention all of the things that the good doctor is still blissfully unaware of- the drinking, the hurting yourself, the fucking your married best friend, etc etc etc. "And it doesn't matter what I think, anyway, because the jury's already spoken and we both know how that turned out."

He doesn't respond right away, so you just figure that you're the winner of this discussion- but that doesn't last long. "Yeah. We did, and I know it hurt to feel like no one believed you. But part of me thinks you'd be even more hurt if the jury had gone the other way, cause it'd mean they saw you as a victim."

"Don't. Don't you eve- no. Whatever shit you're up to, it's done."

"I meant what I said before, you know. About how you're the one who got justice for everyone else. And not just that. If it wasn't for you...he wouldn't have stopped. He would've kept going. So you saved God knows how many other people...that oughta feed your martyr complex nicely."

"What the fuck, Elliot." You push yourself into a sitting position, yanking the sheet up under your arms. "You think I'm glad that-"

"I think you'd rather be a martyr than a victim, so- whatever it takes for you to stop feeling like you failed somehow."

"And what makes you so sure I didn't? Were-"

"I know there wasn't anything you could've done differe-"

"Were you there?" you shout, earning a perturbed knock on the wall from the people in the next room. You lower your voice and your head, giving him your best icy stare. "No, you weren't. And neither was anyone else who's used that line to try and make me feel better, because if they had been, then they would know it's not fucking true!"

Another knock. Elliot reaches back and replies in kind with a fist still scarred from the dispute with his TV, but he never looks away from you, and his voice is quiet when he asks "Why not?"

"Because I froze, okay? Because I can't remember how many times I just gave up, I didn't even try to defend myself, cause even when I wanted to I couldn't." «that's it? that's all you've got? I'm kinda disappointed, detective, I expected more of a fight from you.»

"I couldn't move, I couldn't think...he killed Mr. Mayer. I thought he killed her too and I didn't do anything to try and stop it! I couldn't defend them, I couldn't defend myself...I lie awake at night and I think about all the things I could've done differently, so many times where maybe, if I had taken a chance, I could've fought him off..."

"Or you could've gotten killed." He reaches out cautiously, tries to put his hand on your shoulder, but you jerk away from him. "For one thing- yeah, you're right, I wasn't there, but I don't believe for a second that you never fought back. That's sure as hell not what he told me, and I don't think he'd make that shit up if it wasn't true."

"But it- still. It wasn't enough. I could've done more," you insist.

"Liv. You've got good instincts, I know that for a fact. You trusted them in the moment, alright, and that was enough for you to be able to make it out alive."

You groan in frustration, head tilted up toward the ceiling so you don't have to look at him. "Because that's all that matters, right?"

"I don't know. Is it?" he asks, and you have to give him points for not attempting to answer that question himself.

"I'm not sure! Maybe I would've rather died. Did you ever think of that? At least then I wouldn't have to hear people tell me 'oh, you're so strong, you're a fighter' and the whole time I know it's a lie because I'm not. I was so fucking scared. I was then and I still am."

"Jesus, Liv, I think I'd be more worried if you hadn't been afraid of him."

"It's not...it's not just him! I mean, it is, but- I lied. I lied about so many things cause I was too scared of everyone knowing the truth." You swipe angrily at your eyes with the back of your hand, but it's too late to stop the tears that are already streaming down your face and it's too late to stop the torrent of confessions flooding from your mouth. "I left so much shit out. I was honest about what happened but...I didn't want anyone knowing the details when it didn't fucking matter, okay, no one needed to know, and then it all got thrown in my face in front of everyone anyway." «would you say that you were aroused physically at any point?» "And you wanna know how fucked up I really am? Once he was down...I should've called for help. That should've been the first thing I did but I didn't. I thought he was dead. I thought I was dying but- I found the gun, the one he used when he...and I cleaned it off so no one would know. I was more afraid of everyone finding out than I was of dying."

You've been facing him all this time and yet not really looking, too terrified of what might be looking back at you. Even though you suspect that none of this is completely new information, that he's heard enough already to put the pieces together on his own, part of you still expects him to have a feeling of revulsion written all over his face like he's suddenly changed his mind about it all. About you.

But he doesn't, nor does he try to convince you that it doesn't matter anymore now that it's over, because he knows you and he knows just how much it really does matter when you feel like everything you knew about yourself was a lie. And this time when he reaches toward you, you let him pull you in closer until his arms wrapped around you are the only thing keeping you upright.

"I didn't want...I couldn't. It was hard enough to say that he...that he...so I said it only happened once. Because once, twice, a thousand times...what's the fucking difference? He wanted to humiliate me and he did! Fine, but no one needed to know that he, that I- what he did..."

"It's okay, hon, you don't have to say it," he promises, his mouth pressed against the side of your head. "You're talking about what happened in the bathroom, aren't you."

You nod. The only people who knew this part of the story were Elliot and Barba, by way of the infamous jailhouse tape recording. But of course it wasn't a confession- «just a hypothetical»- and besides, when Barba questioned you about it you resolutely insisted that nothing happened and it was all a lie. «what the hell kinda cop are you? how's anyone ever going to trust you once they find out that you couldn't even protect yourself? you barely even fuckin tried.» You couldn't help but whimper softly when he grunted one last time before pulling out, and he laughed when he heard you. «you think you're so special, sweetheart, you're just another pathetic rape victim» He dragged out the last two words, deliberately letting them hang in the air as he yanked on your hair again, almost sending you toppling over backwards. «on your knees. now.»

"He was right," you mumble to yourself. "Fucking pathetic...I couldn't fight back until he was completely defenseless, and then I couldn't even tell the truth about it all because I didn't wanna admit it was...I couldn't deal with anyone knowing. So yeah. I'm such a fighter, huh?"

"Do you think any of that shit matters to me?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't give a fuck whether you would've blown his brains out or if you had laid down and played dead for four days. I don't give a fuck if you told anyone the whole truth or not, because the only thing I care about is that you're here. You're alive and all the other shit..." He pauses, scrubbing his hand over his face. "I'm not saying what you went through doesn't matter. For me, it doesn't make a difference, there's nothing you did or didn't do that's going to make me stop lo- what I mean is, I know it's easy for me to say the only thing that matters is that you survived, because I'm not the one who lived through it. But to me...I'm not disgusted, I'm not disappointed, and I don't think you failed. And if I have to tell you that every day for the rest of your life in order to convince you, then I guess that's what I'll do- actually, no, I take that back."

"Oh, you do?"

"I really should say, for the rest of my life. Because I'm pretty confident you're gonna outlive me. And anyway..." He laughs to himself, lips brushing across your cheekbone. "I'm not really sure I want to live on a planet that doesn't have an Olivia Benson on it."

One corner of your mouth turns up in a little half-smile, even though he can't see it with your chin hooked over his shoulder. It really wasn't that much of a breakthrough, you suppose, but after so many years of telling other people that shame feeds off of secrets- maybe you were onto something. You'd gotten as far as acknowledging that it happened, and even if you never spoke of it again, at least now it wasn't wedged somewhere inside you anymore like a nail stuck in between the treads of an overinflated tire. Nothing's going to change dramatically just by pulling the nail out, but little by little the pressure keeps dissipating until one day you realize that it's all but gone.

"You don't believe me, do you," he muses later on, when you can feel his breath on the back of your head and his heartbeat in between your shoulder blades, when he's got one arm around your waist to hold you close to him like he's not still buried inside you.

"I'm not sure," you admit. There's not really a motive for him to lie (he's already gotten in your pants, after all, and he's sure as hell not the type who'd say whatever you wanna hear just to get laid). But any reassurances he can offer you are still melded together in your mind with so many other competing voices, some old- I need to know you can do your job and not wait for me to come to your rescue- and some new- «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.» "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize...I know how it feels, to not be able to forgive yourself. I get it. It's not something that anyone else can convince you to to do. But maybe..."

"Maybe?"

"You've been hurt enough already. Maybe one of these days you can find a way to cut yourself a break."

"Yeah. I...maybe someday."

{baby every dog on the street
knows that we're in love with defeat}

It wasn't like all you did was fuck for 36 straight hours.

You slept, of course, you ordered room service and channel surfed and talked about his kids and Nick the closet hipster. But mostly, you fucked. There was never any way of knowing when you were going to be able to see each other, let alone have a huge chunk of uninterrupted time together, so it was crucial that you took advantage of it while it lasted.

You weren't in the business of making comparisons, but in some ways sex with Elliot seemed less anxiety provoking, less potentially fraught with uncomfortable moments than it did with Brian. It's a lot like the first time you slept with Brian on your second go-round, where you were painfully aware that you didn't exactly have the same figure you had 13 years prior. In the end there was nothing to worry about, and if he was secretly disappointed, he had the good sense not to act like it. But there was still that extra layer of hesitation, the one that had you reaching to turn the lights off for a while until you could stop feeling like you had to compete with the past.

And now you've come full circle, because once again you'll still only fuck Brian in the dark, where with Elliot you're not so self conscious. He's only ever seen you like this, so he has nothing to compare you to. He doesn't go out of his way to avoid your scars, but nor does he go overboard trying to convince you that they don't bother him, because he knows you won't believe his words the way you'll believe his hands and mouth trailing over them like they've blended into your skin. Like they're just another part of you, the burns and the bite marks and even the fresh self inflicted ones.

"I've been waiting for 15 years, you think a few scars are going to be a turnoff?" he jokes, lips brushing your earlobe.

Apparently it wasn't- because here you were again, straddling his lap while he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, teeth scraping over it lightly as you rock your hips against his. He's completely undressed, you're down to nothing but your underwear, and he's sliding that down over your ass when his phone rings. "Ignore it."

"Can't...I gotta take this," he says, holding it out to you so that you can see "Home" on the caller ID screen. "Hey...Eli? Hi there, buddy, what's up? Oh? You won the spelling bee? Alright! Yeah...I'll be back tomorrow. I'll be there by the time you're home from Sunday school, I promise...you be good for your mom, okay? I love you too, buddy, I'll see you real soon...oh, she wants to talk to me? Yeah, put her on."

You sit on the edge of the bed, picking at your nails and facing away from him. He reaches toward you, fingertips brushing the small of your back, but you just shake your head and get up to look for your shirt.

"Hi baby...yeah, everything's good. Just finishing some stuff up, tying up some loose ends- I know. But I'll be home tomorrow..."

You close the bathroom door behind you so that you don't have to hear any more of the conversation, careful not to make a sound. It's not a big deal, you tell yourself- or rather, you can't make it into one. You know he loves you. For Christ's sake, you're only the second person he's slept with. He barely even kissed anyone else the entire time they were separated because he 'felt like it was cheating.' You're not just one in a long line of conquests, because there's no way he would take a risk like this unless it really meant something.

Besides...you don't want him to leave his wife, but nor do you want to dwell on her existence. You don't want to think about him fucking her, to wonder what she's like- or what he's like, if he ever leaves your place and goes home and fucks her fast and hard and tries not to think about you while he does. You don't want any of this running through your head, but yet it still creeps in somehow and it never should've gotten this complicated, not if-

The door opens and he comes to stand right behind you, hands on your shoulders. "It's okay, 'm sorry. I just didn't want her to keep calling."

"You son of a bitch," you mutter, because it's all you can think of to say.

"I- what? Did I miss something here? I mean, it's not like you didn't know I was married..."

"Oh my god...fuck you. Just don't."

He lets go of you as you both watch one another's reflection in the mirror. "Seriously, Liv, what's going on? You know how I feel about you- but you're the one who said this is how it has to be an-"

"Ohh no. Don't you try and pin this on me. This is all you, because it wouldn't have to be this way if...we've been through this. We, you, had your chance for us to be something more than this. You had years to do something about it, and you didn't."

"And that was a mistake, but what am I supposed to do about that now? Weren't you the one telling me that I couldn't dwell on the past?"

You sit down on the closed toilet seat, the porcelain cold on your bare legs. "Doesn't mean I can't be angry about it."

"Yeah. By all means, get pissed at me for something that I can't change, that I've already told you I regret. Cause that's constructive. And why does this have to be my fault, anyway? Why did it have to be me putting it out there and not the other way around?"

"Because I was waiting for you to finally get over Kathy!" you say, irritated because this should be obvious. "When you moved out, you never even finished unpacking and yes, I know you're lazy, but it's not just that. It was always temporary to you, so why would I volunteer to be some sort of short term replacement?"

"You shouldn't have, and that's why...I wasn't gonna put you in that position. But I'm also not gonna apologize for wanting to work things out with her. That's fucking ridiculous."

"I'm not asking you to. I never was! You loved...love her, and she and the kids are everything to you. I get that. I...you're lucky to have that, and that's why I'd never try to talk you out of...I wanted you to be happy, and she makes you happy. I just don't like looking back and feeling like I'd been strung along all those years." The words of the last sentence all run together as you stare down at your feet, arms wrapped around yourself for warmth.

"Why would you...I never promised you anything."

"Exactly! Can you honestly say you didn't...you knew how I felt. I would've much rather had you look me right in the eyes and say it was never gonna happen. It would've hurt but at least I'd know where you stood instead of this back and forth game."

"Hey, no. No. I can't be responsible for you seeing something that wasn't there," and oh, if only you had the power to turn someone to stone with just a single look. He sees the way you're glaring daggers at him and groans. "Jesus, Liv, that's not what I meant...if you felt like I was leading you on, I'm sorry. But it was never intentional. And just for the record- you don't get to put this all on me. I don't know how you expected us to have a conversation like that when you shut down as soon as we started talking about anything remotely serious. So, if that's what you wanted, you could've made it a little easier on me."

"A conversation like what? Like one where you told me it was a mistake, choosing me, and you wouldn't do it again- but oh hey, by the way, you're all I have? What kind of fucked up...and it wasn't even true! You had your kids, you technically still had your wife- I'm the one who was all alone except for you-" you say, forcing the word out like it's a poison, " and you were the one who wanted to unload all your anger about Kathy on me, like it was my fault, and then you call me in the middle of the night or show up at my apartment and wanna be my best friend again because you're lonely-"

"Hey, you didn't have to open the door."

You frown, shaking your head in confusion, and for some reason that stung more than anything because- really? Of course you did, and you're offended that he thinks you would've ever considered otherwise. He wouldn't have hesitated to do the same for you...or would he? "I didn't want you to be alone. I'm used to it but...you weren't."

"Liv..." he says, voice softening somewhat. "I'm sorry, I promise. If it felt like I was blaming you for Kathy leaving- you didn't deserve that. You didn't know."

"Know what?"

He rubs the bridge of his nose, obviously regretting having said anything. "That she...there were a few times when she told me I had to choose, that I had to either change units or..."

Oh. "Because of me."

"No," he says firmly. "And that's what I told her, that it wasn't fair to any of us when you weren't the problem. It was between me and her and I wasn't gonna let her pin that on you."

"Oh."

He watches you fidgeting uncomfortably and takes a step in your direction. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything but-"

"Yeah. Maybe you shouldn't have...but I get it, okay, I get why you'd resent me and...we don't need to talk about this anymore." You're not sure what bothers you the most, having it confirmed that you were a factor in their split or knowing that he'd refused to give you up even with her ultimatum. Either way, you're far past done with this trip down memory lane.

"But do you see why I...okay. You're right. I always kept hoping that she and I could work it out, but more than that...I fucked up the one thing I really, really wanted to get right. Being a husband, a father...can you see why I'd hesitate to start something more with you? I couldn't risk dragging you through the same shit if I fucked things up again. Especially when...it's like you said. You didn't have anyone else."

If his earlier revelation had bothered you, this one made you go absolutely fucking ballistic. "Oh, so what, am I supposed to thank you for sparing me from...I don't even know what! You want a fucking medal? Because you sure as hell must've forgotten all about that when you walked out on me and didn't even have the balls to say goodbye! You owed me at least that much, I don't give a shit about whatever else was going on with you. After everything we'd been through- Christ, remember when we used to joke about our joint retirement party? I thought you really meant it. Not the party, but what happened to 'we're in this together and we're going to end it together'? Because I believed it all. Every word you said."

"Olivia- why are we having this same conversation again? I mean, what do you want me to do about it now? I told you it was a mistake and I'll regret it 'till the day I die. I apologized. If you don't accept that, if you're still angry- I understand why. I don't blame you. But to keep bringing it up over and over again like that's going to fix anything, like you expect me to keep begging for forgiveness so you can do...what, exactly? I know you've probably got Cassidy trained to play your game, but I'm not him."

"Ohhh no. No. We're not talking about Brian. But that's just it, see...I have a life now, one that consists of more than just you, and it took a long time and I did a lot of stupid shit along the way," and you leave out the part where 'stupid shit' included more than a few random men who you took home, fucked, and kicked out five minutes later, "but it was finally starting to come together. It forced me to grow up and maybe that's what I needed, to figure out how to do things- hell, that I could do things- on my own, without your input. But. But that doesn't mean I didn't miss you, because I did. How could I not? That's what I didn't get, you know...if I was hurting that badly, how could you not be? Unless...unless you just didn't care."

"You know that's not true."

"I didn't then!" you say, standing up and resting your palms flat on the counter, head turned to avoid catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. You look tired, you already know, you don't need to see it for yourself.

"I wasn't planning this, Olivia, I never intended to interrupt this perfect little life you had going here."

"Well, you did."

"I don't even...I still don't know what your point is or what we're even arguing about. I honestly have no fucking idea what you want from me."

You bite back a smile, laughing under your breath, and you don't know why other than this whole thing is so fucking absurd. "I have a real, 'grown up' relationship for the first time in my life, you know? We bought furniture together. We went on vacation together- I'd never done that before. I didn't realize that when you do...you're with that person 24/7. Everywhere you go. Everything's a joint decision- should we get up now, where are we going to eat- but ten days went by, and I could still stand to look at him when we got back to New York. The only other person I've ever been able to put up with like that is you, so I thought maybe this was gonna work out. Not that I was planning our wedding or anything but...I was happy with where we were at."

"And...? Don't get me wrong, you know I love hearing stories about dumbass- next time maybe you can tell me all about why he's the greatest fuck of your life or something- but what am I supposed to do? Congratulate you? Apologize for...what?" He watches you silently for a moment and sees how you're shivering in earnest now. "Are you seriously that cold?"

"Yes, I'm 'seriously that cold'!" It came out harsher than you intended, but he just nods toward the door and you follow him out of the bathroom, sitting down on the bed and pulling the blanket over your legs while you hug your knees to your chest.

"Better?"

"Yes."

He sits at the foot of the bed in order to keep some space between the two of you, watching you out of the corner of his eye. "Liv. Tell me the truth. What's this really about?"

"Do I even have to say it?"

He stares out the window, twisting the gold band on his ring finger.

"No."

{if you go your way and I go mine
are we so helpless against the tide?}

The alarm on your phone buzzes and you reach out blindly, shutting it off and trying to disentangle yourself from Elliot's grasp without waking him up. You desperately need to shower but you don't want to stick around here any longer than you have to, so you settle for putting on clean clothes and brushing your hair in the dark, watching him to make sure he doesn't start to stir.

"I'm leaving first thing in the morning," you had told him a few hours ago as he came out of the bathroom. He kissed you on the top of your head, but you could still smell the cinnamon of your toothpaste on his breath and you gave him a grateful little smile. "So that I'll be gone before...I can't say goodbye. Don't make me do it. Pretend you're asleep, whatever, just don't make me do it because otherwise..."

"You won't," he supplied. You nodded as you turned onto your side so that you were halfway on top of him, skin to skin, and typically you're uneasy about falling asleep this way. But right then it felt warm and safe and it hadn't been a typical night to begin with, starting with that goddamn call from Kathy and ending with you coming apart from the feeling of his tongue inside you.

"Yeah. It's like you said earlier...one of those things where I can't think too much about it."

"It's not like we'll never see each other again."

"I know. But the next time we do, it won't be like...this."

"No. But you're still mine, and that doesn't change," he said, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you into closing your eyes. "You think we're making the wrong choice?"

"Probably. That's why I can't think too much about it...but if what you mean is, do I feel badly about it, then- no. Because I know this is how it would end up anyway, so it's better we figure it out now rather than waiting until..."

"People get hurt."

"Yeah. I'd rather us be the ones that sacrifice."

"We're already used to wanting things we can't have," he said, and you don't think he had any idea how true that really is.

Shaking your head to bring yourself back to the present, you do a quick once-over of the darkened room before padding softly over to his side of the bed. You know he's not asleep as you reach out and brush his cheek with your thumb.

"Hey, I...I love you."

You take a deep breath and walk away.

{are we ready to be swept off our feet
and stop chasing every breaking wave?}

So- questions? comments? concerns? predictions?