A/N:

I'm so deeply sorry for the months long wait. Holidays and illness and recouping and distraction. I hope this makes up for it. As today is Olivia Benson's birthday it felt more than right to post this today. Cannot thank my human whip enough for this. She's stayed on me every day and pushed me in good ways to stick with this and tell the story that I want to.

She also did this beautiful thing on instagram - follow shadesofolivia there if you'd like. It's an account from Olivia's POV for this story, a companion to this fic. There are links in the bio there too to the stunning videos eogotmelike has been making for some of the chapters. I'm beyond blessed for all of the encouragement from everyone. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Song (on repeat, it makes this chapter):

Burden, Foy Vance


(part ii: and the lights shine bright)

"A try at love is always worth a try…

for no love came without first a try."

- Atticus


She zips up the overstuffed suitcase and straightens. Her exhale must have been unusually thorough because she feels nearly dizzy in the seconds after.

Or maybe this is just the heady feeling of anticipation.

Olivia closes her eyes, knowing that he'll be here any minute. Her son has been given rare permission to answer the door, so she's got a few last minutes in the privacy of her bedroom to emotionally brace herself for what is to come.

Thirteen weeks.

He's been gone more than three whole months. He'd once been gone for over nine years, yet this last absence had rivaled it in terms of the ache it had left within her some nights. Elliot had met his unit for the first time, signed a lease on an apartment - kissed her in her doorway before Halloween - and two days later he'd been yanked by the feds for urgent depositions and debriefs in D.C., LA, New Orleans and Amarillo. Then they had shipped him back to San Diego, for two months of cases, of testimony, of loose strands on over a dozen concurrent cases.

He hadn't had a choice. All of the years he'd sacrificed had come to a head.

They hadn't even let him come home for Thanksgiving, and her heart had ached for what he had been forced to miss yet again. It had been incomprehensible that he'd been taken from all of them one more time, told to live in hotel after hotel away from his newly reacclimating family, from Eli. From his new unit.

From her.

Together, they had tried to find the silver lining, because it was the only thing that was keeping him sane. They had acknowledged that maybe it gave them all the time they needed to process his return. These last months weren't an absence due to an undercover, it wasn't him being hidden away without any way to contact them. To the contrary, he'd been consistent, dependable, nearly relentless when it came to the steadiness of his contact with each and every one of them.

He'd been gone, but he'd come back.

So had they.

What had started as some texts every day had grown, until she had come to rely on his Facetimes and calls at night. Sometimes his calls came early, when she and Noah would talk to him on the iPad at the dining table. Occasionally they came deep into the night, meant just for her, and Elliot would say too little.

Those were the nights she knew he had woken from the nightmares, and she'd never questioned the hour or the need.

Just the memory of weeks of their talks has her heart picking up its pace again. Her eyes land on her pillow. A place she had stared at the ceiling night after night, just listening to the intrinsically familiar cadence of his voice. Sometimes he'd tell her sanitized stories of his UC, sometimes he'd tell her about the bridges he was slowly building with his kids. Every single time he'd ask her about the hardest part of her day, and he'd ask her to give it to him, to give him the chance to simply understand again.

And through the passing days, they'd found something impossible. They had found a way to just laugh.

Benson and Stabler. Inseparable again, even with thousands of miles in between them. He'd brought her a growing joy, one that sometimes threatens to overwhelm her with the completeness of how she feels.

"Mom! How much longer?" Noah's voice carries through into her room. He might be just as excited as she is for the coming weekend.

"A few more minutes," she calls back, hauling the suitcase off the mattress. She fixes the comforter, staring at the old gray zip-up hoodie that sits on the bench at the foot of her bed. It had once been his, and on a bad night over a dozen years ago he'd given it to her to wear. She'd started to soothe herself by wearing it again over the last few months. She was going to leave it here, too embarrassed to let him know she still has it.

But he's earned the truth from her, the transparency of her need. She grabs the sweatshirt and shoves it into the front pocket of the suitcase.

A few more minutes.

Olivia closes her eyes, ignoring the fears that creep up suddenly these days. He's given her no indication he will ever disappear again. She can't punish them over the past. What's done is done.

Besides, he's trying so hard.

He'd teased her during the day, flirted with her at night. He'd showed her pictures of the places he had been; he'd sent her dinner to the squad room some nights when he was worried she wouldn't eat. He'd made it clear that he was trying his damned best to make sure everyone knew he was present and willing, if not physically then emotionally.

There were so many nights she'd drifted off in the middle of their talks, so deeply comforted that she had eased into sleep without warning. In the morning he'd text her some variation of you better get that snoring checked, and she'd burst into laughter as she got onto the elevator at the precinct. You won't ever be in my bed to worry about it, Stabler.

He'd wait for hours before he would text her back. Once I'm there, I'm not leaving, Benson.

Their new normal. A new baseline that isn't built on shock or pain, on tiptoes or in the midst of devastation. The weeks of conversation had forced them to find their rhythm, their strength, their honesty. There are caverns they have not shared with each other yet, but the trust is there again. One day, the stories will all come.

From both of them. When they are ready. When it is necessary. For now, this is more than enough.

It's so much.

Because now, the day before her birthday, he is finally home again.

In truth, he'd come back a couple of days ago and immediately taken a surprisingly willing Eli up to a cabin in the Poconos for a one-on-one trip. But all of the logistics had been planned for a couple of weeks. We should get a cabin and take the boys away for a weekend. It had been Elliot's idea; one he had broached right after Christmas. As if traveling together was a thing, as if it was something they always did, as if his son might even agree.

Eli had agreed. So had she. Noah had been beyond thrilled with the idea.

So here she waits.

He'd insisted on making the two-hour trip back to the city to pick them up this afternoon, ahead of the coming February snowstorm. Need a reason to drive the new truck, he had laughed easily. Her eyes take in the two suitcases, the bag of boots and the tote full of Noah's favorite snacks.

She's really doing this. They really are. Four days away after over nine years apart.

Together in a mountain cabin that Elliot promises has views of the vista beyond.

He'd assured her that he and Eli would have it ready by the time she and Noah could join them. He tells her there's a fireplace. He tells her she's got her own bedroom, and they've agreed to ease the kids into whatever this is. To let themselves ease in.

He tells her they might never, ever want to leave.

She believes him.

The door chime rings.

Her son's footsteps race to answer the door. Over the last weeks, Elliot had managed to charm her child, and for the first time she hasn't put the brakes on Noah's attachment to a man in her life.

This is Elliot, after all. She hasn't put her own brakes on, because two decades is long enough to wait. There are no limits to who or what he is in her life. Years of silence haven't broken them, and maybe nothing ever can. Olivia squeezes her eyes shut, determined not to let her emotions overwhelm her as she hears the door open.

The heavy footsteps tell her that he's home. Back. Again.

"Hey bud." Elliot's rumbling voice immediately fills her apartment. "Hope you've got some skills with a snowball because the snow is sticking up at the cabin."

Her son is already laughing, soaking up the rapt attention of a man about whom he has only heard heroic tales. "Not sure," Noah says easily. "Haven't really done that much."

She hears some shuffling, and then comes the sound of Eli and Noah launching into easy conversation. The boys know each other now, and while she is well familiar with their chatter, she knows that Elliot is not. Over the months he has been away, she had taken the boys over to his new apartment and together they had decorated it. They had filled it with furniture and kitchen utensils and towels and lamps. She'd managed to get some photos of the kids from Kathy, and she had set them in new frames throughout his place. Eli had helped create a room for himself, quietly and bravely telling all of them that he is willing to learn his father again.

She presses her lips together and lets the last of her worry go. They are all going to navigate this somehow. On wings and a prayer.

When she finally steps out of her room and into the hallway, she sees Elliot at the other end. He's wearing jeans and hiking boots and a thick snow parka over a blue-checked flannel shirt.

He's got his soft eyes locked on hers, and the corner of his lips lift in welcome. She knows he has horrors in him, but in this moment he isn't letting them show. Neither will she.

He looks like faith and magic. Like some sort of rugged miracle that is giving her hope, day by day and moment by moment.

Her toes curl in her own boots. Her cheeks feel warm, and she probably should grow up but she can't bring herself to think rationally. Her throat closes and all she can think about is how the last time he was at her front door, he had covered her mouth with his and shaken up her whole world.

Three months later, and she can still taste the mint and the beer on his lips.

She wants that again. She knows he won't kiss her right now, not in front of the kids, but she matches the need in his eyes so that he knows. She's right there with him. She remembers.

She will never, ever forget.

"Hey beautiful," he says quietly, so gently she wonders if simply he mouthed it.

Her lips twitch in a smile. Her heartbeat slows down, heavy and present.

He's got charm, she'll give him that, because she's just wearing leggings and a big chenille sweater, her hair is curling everywhere and there's nothing fancy about any of this. But the way he's watching her, she might as well be something delicate and perfect that he's coveting in a store window. Her Echo chooses that moment to start playing some stupid acoustic love song, and she can't help but laugh a little because it's just so corny and ridiculous that any of this is happening.

"Hey yourself, stranger," she says back.

He came back home. She reminds herself of that again and again.

Other men have made her feel like this apartment was too small, but she so deeply wants to be close to Elliot that the hallway between them seems endless. Need wins, the throb of her skin demands resolve.

She's closing the distance before she can hold herself back.

When she slides into his arms, she feels the cold air that clings to his coat and the solid wall of him against her chest. The residual pain of his absence is deep, but the innate relief is deeper. "They can't have you again," she tells him. She fits her chin over his shoulder and settles into him. They don't need to go anywhere, so long as she can just stay like this for a while. She presses her eyes shut to hold back the evidence of her ache.

He groans a little, wrapping his arm around her waist as if they have done this a thousand times before. She fits instantly, and he will always catch her in the end. It's easy in a way that is both startling and reassuring. "No, they can't," he agrees solemnly, whispering the words into her hair.

And maybe everything really is that simple after all.

-o0o-

Just over two hours outside of Manhattan, the Poconos ramble over the northwestern portion of Pennsylvania.

On the eastern side, the hills and generously named mountains begin at the edge of the Delaware Water Gap, and they extend west towards Williamsport. It's a sleepy region, filled with river beaches, lakes, campsites and old bridges. Reaching only a few thousand feet in elevation, the area is flooded in the summer with tourists in for fishing, bird-watching and boating. In the fall, the area is lush with foliage and trails for hiking.

But it's in the winter, when the cabin rentals and resorts clear out, that he thinks it is most spectacular. The hills are endless and covered in untouched, virgin snow. The lakes freeze and the pine trees remain thick, lining the pristine sheets of white glass like stalwart, unshakable soldiers. The small towns are lit with rudimentary holiday lights that stay up until late March, and it is so quiet that the sound of tires crunching on the frozen roads fills the air.

He'd brought his kids up to the area back when they were young, and he'd spent weekends at the scout camp in Resica Falls with Dickie when he'd been a little boy. It's why he'd searched for a cabin in the area, just a few miles away from the camp. It's an area he's familiar with, and he'd needed both the history and memories to ground him again.

They are still forty minutes out because of the detour on I-80, and the roads have begun to narrow and rise, curving through Sparta and Lafayette, through Stokes National Forest and south again through Bushkill and Winona Lakes. The snow is coming down, but he'd bought himself a new Explorer, and it's hugging the slush-covered concrete with ease.

It's nearly six-thirty, yet the truck interior still smells like the vanilla latte she'd made him stop for back in the city. She'd lowered the radio volume early into their drive, and while the faintest hints of music still filter in, it's the sound of the boys talking in the back seat that echoes soothingly in the small world they inhabit. Eli and Noah had apparently long since found a commonality in the games they both played on their Nintendo Switches, so despite the age gap they have found the easy friendship only afforded to children.

Olivia's head lolls to the right, her heavy eyes on the terrain as he drives. She's lost in thought, and a few times he even thought she might have fallen asleep. A few miles ago she must have realized he'd been checking on her periodically, because without moving otherwise, her fingers had trailed over his right hand and settled there. Her breathing hadn't changed while his hand found her palm and he entwined himself.

Touching her isn't something he takes lightly. Not when the need has kept him up more nights than he can count. The smooth skin of her cheek, the tousled locks of her hair, the flat of her fingertips. He will take what she will let him have and be infinitely grateful.

"You okay?" he finally asks, keeping his voice down so the boys aren't inclined to pay attention.

She rolls her head towards him, and that's when he can tell she's just fine. She isn't mulling over haunts, there is no tell-tale sheen to her eyes. Her lips lift a little. "I can't stop listening to them," she whispers reverently. "I keep trying to catalogue every minute. I don't want to forget any of it."

If he didn't have his eyes on the road too, if his other hand wasn't required on the wheel, he would have reached for her. He knows she is worried that one day this will all be memories, but she's also brave enough to leave herself open to living in the minute. He wants to assure her that he doesn't have any intention of leaving ever again, but they both know that it's the unexpected which costs people the most.

He has to keep her focused on the here. The now. The future. It's how he's getting himself through, even on the days when he's drowning in all that he lost.

"What you did with the apartment -" He stops himself. There really aren't any words for what she had done over the last few months. He'd asked her for help, but he hadn't expected her to make it a nightly project with Noah. The hours she had spent sending him pictures of ideas, colors, purchases he would reimburse her for. The fact that she had invited Eli to participate, and that his son had been expertly made comfortable enough to join her.

Then there are the photos she had managed to get from his ex-wife; Maureen's wedding, Eli's football games, Kathleen's first day in her new place, Dickie and his younger brother horsing around, Lizzie sitting on the front step, lost in thought.

Moments he had missed. Years and milestones he doesn't deserve to see. Yet Olivia had brought them into his home. She had made it a respite, and he doesn't deserve any of it.

She is an anomaly to him, yet he knows her better than he knows anyone in the world.

At this moment, she should hate him. Instead she's smiling at him softly, nearly half-asleep. "You like it?"

He grits his jaw to hold in the emotion that overwhelms him. There are no words for what he had walked into a few days ago. It had been after midnight when he'd finally landed at LaGuardia, and when he'd made it back to the place he had left nearly empty months ago, he had turned on the lights.

He'd been rendered still.

The bones of his place now held a soul.

Olivia must realize that he can't speak yet. Her hand squeezes his and her words are nearly whispered. "Seven years is too long to be under, Elliot. To be roaming like that…It was time you had a place that was worth coming home to."

The motels, the infested apartments, the torn mattresses – they had filled too many of his nights while he'd been under. His life had fit into a couple of duffel bags, and he had learned to never get attached to anything or anyone along the way. He had been forced to discard everything, including his wants, his needs, his identity.

He'd even tried to let go of his memories back then, but they had come to him at night without permission. Her. The way she walked in sync with him, the way their silence was never quiet.

She gives him everything back too easily.

"Why, Olivia?" He's saying exactly the wrong thing before he can stop himself. But the words he wants to say are not coming easily. They are locked in his throat and his head, and he prays that because this is a moving vehicle with her son in it, that she won't force him to stop the car to let her out. "Why'd you do it? I left. I fucking left, and you keep giving me things I don't deserve."

He should have just said thank you. Instead he's asking questions where he should just be counting his blessings. Christ, he fucks up sometimes.

The woman he'd walked out on a decade ago had been full of fight. She'd been tough and fiery, her walls had been fortified by years of battling for everything. But this Olivia – she's quieter, more introspective, patient in a way that he hasn't figured out yet.

She keeps her voice down. "I had to forgive someone who hurt me deeply once. I had to let their faults and failures go and realize there was hope yet for their life if I just let go of the recriminations and the blame."

His eyes narrow in pain as he focuses on the road. The truck headlights eat up the black tar, illuminating the bare trees and guardrails as they head closer to Resica Falls. "Me," he says definitively.

Her laugh is soft and amused. "No. Me."

He feels the bottom drop out of his gut. He turns his head quickly to glance at her. "You don't wrong people, you fix them. You give until you end up sacrificing yourself. What in the hell would you blame yourself for?" He lowers his voice again, realizing he doesn't want the boys to pick up on the intensity of their conversation.

Only the intensity is one-sided. She drops her chin, uncharacteristically examining her lap. Olivia's hair falls forward a little bit and he fights the urge to thrust his hand into the waves of it and just hold onto her. There is a gentleness to the woman he came home to that he hasn't been able to easily predict yet. She's more open to her emotions, she deliberately leaves herself more exposed to his gaze, his ideas, his questions.

Except there are very specific questions that haven't been asked or answered. The few times he's alluded to them, she's changed the subject and respecting her avoidance on this one subject - it's been the only thing he could give her so far.

It's the way she worries her lower lip now that makes his skin crawl. The fury that he tries to hold at bay starts its familiar crawl through his veins. He should have been there for her. Seven years of missing everything in the lives of his children, yet leaving her at the hands of a monster is the thing he would change if he had the choice to undo one single failure. "Liv. Look at me."

That's the other thing. This Olivia doesn't hide from him. She lifts her chin and faces him, even as he does his best to keep his eyes on the road. He glances at her, and that gives him all he needs to know.

Of course the first time he thinks she might talk to him about the horror, they can't discuss anything. With the boys in the car, she's found just enough safety to open the door on the subject just a little bit.

He sees the flecks of pain, of haunts. The shadows of past guilt. She does her best to move past them by lifting her lips in a sad smile. "People were hurt, El. People died. But I had to forgive myself because I was worth forgiving. You are too. Can't let myself off the hook and blame anyone else. Least of all, you. I'm not a hypocrite."

The sheer number of things he wants to refute pile on top of each other faster than he can unravel them. He'd chosen to leave. She'd been taken against her will. There was nothing at all similar about their experiences. She had no reason at all to ever feel guilty about the terror she had once endured.

"You're gonna say you chose to leave. But you didn't, Elliot." Olivia leans back into her seat once again, turning her head to look out her window. "If they told you that there were women and children who were in danger, then they as good as took you too. They used your dedication to the job against you and held you hostage to the fight just as if they'd thrown you in the back of a car."

No. She's wrong on every count. He'd taken the initial assignment as an escape. He'd abandoned people because his head hadn't been screwed on straight. Had he been stronger and stayed, there is no damned way he would have left her alone long enough to have even let her abduction take place to begin with.

He can't dissect it with her right now. He knows that. This isn't the time or place.

There is too much to argue. He wants to go back in time and debunk every fallacy she had believed years ago. He's wants to talk to her about the ordeal, he wants to absorb every fucking memory she's got of it and erase them altogether, but he can't. He'll never be able to.

He can't even try to talk to her right now.

The boys.

He cracks his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension that is coiling between his shoulder blades. His fist tightens on the steering wheel.

"Resica Falls," she murmurs, staring out her window. "Tell me about when you used to bring Dickie there."

He knows what she's doing. She's leading him out of the darkness yet again, handing him a path into the light.

He needs her to know that one day, one day he's going to push her to tell him the truth. "Olivia," he stops. Takes a deep breath and exhales. "One day, we have to talk about this."

Next to him, she nods. She's pensive, her voice stays soft and calm. "One day, we will." He feels her straighten, as if physically shifting her train of thought. She turns to look at him, the shadows forcibly sidelined as she smiles. "But not on my birthday weekend."

He thinks back twenty years, to days when she'd sit shotgun with him. She'd been antsy back then, always ready to jump out of the car and keep moving. If someone had told him back then that two decades later, Olivia would be contentedly sitting in his truck and looking at him like this – with their boys in the backseat - he would have had a lot more faith along the way.

He's alternately looking at the road and her face, and then his eyes drop to her mouth. He can't help himself. He wants to kiss her again more than he wants anything else in the world. He wants to taste the vanilla on her lips, feel her sigh against him. He wants to kiss her forehead and touch every inch of her face with his fingertips.

She laughs softly. Knowingly. "Me too," she says under her breath, winking at him.

The wheels are eating up the distance.

The miles between them and everything ahead get shorter.

-o0o-

She stands in the kitchen, holding onto the countertop as she closes her eyes.

She needs just a moment alone to process where she is, and what this is.

Perfection, she thinks. It's a perfection she didn't know existed. There is a small voice within her that says this is quicksand, and it will fall through her fingers, but she silences it. Her fear can't have this, not tonight. Not this weekend.

The cabin is bigger than she thought, beautiful and cozy beyond her wildest dreams. The few days he'd spent up here alone with Eli had given Elliot a head start. The fridge is full, the firewood is stacked next to the now cracking fire. There are three bedrooms, one with two twin beds for the boys. One for him. He'd left the master for her, and there is a tub in the master bath nestled beneath the window that has been calling her name since the moment she first saw it.

The old wood floors are covered with worn rugs, the couch is wide and deep near the brick enclosed fire. There are nooks and crannies everywhere, places to read, to sit, to think. The main part of the cabin is an A-frame, with high arching ceilings and wooden beams that seem to guard over them. The house is flanked by a generous wraparound veranda that Elliot must have recently brushed of snow.

Around them there is…nothing else. And everything all at once.

It's just an endless view of pines – eastern hemlocks and red cedars, sugar maples and white pines. Untouched snow that stretches for acres, dotted only with the footprints of deer. There is a small hill behind them, and the way the cabin is perched above it makes the valley feel miles away. She knows it is only a few minutes into the small town, but as far as her eyes can see, they might as well be the only people on earth.

They had come in, and Elliot had insisted on bringing all the luggage and the to-go pizza they had grabbed in town into the cabin. She had unpacked some things in the kitchen, and he'd started some music and the fire. The boys had been instantly running throughout in their thick socks, playing with the VR goggles Elliot had indulged Eli with upon his return. By some miracle there is WiFi up here, and a few televisions – and she thinks about how Elliot had made sure they had every amenity.

Down to her favorite wine.

She's got a glass of it in front of her now. She lifts it to her lips, savoring the cabernet. An air bubble in one of the logs pops in the fireplace, and she finds herself smiling where she stands. The dichotomy of those first days after he had left the unit come back to her. She had held on so tight to their partnership, unwilling to believe their run was over. She'd been utterly lost for months and months after he had quit, unable to process that there had been no goodbyes. No ending.

Now she knows why they had never called time of death on them.

Because it had never died between them. They still stood, despite time and space.

She grips her wine glass tighter, pressing her eyes closed. Her chest is heavy, too full with the here and now, too bruised from the rough edges of the past. Healing, she thinks, isn't simple or linear. It isn't painless, it isn't something to coast through. It's a fight, and she should know this more than anyone, but when it comes to him, she is always learning something new.

Her lips part as she takes a breath, drawing air into all of the dark spaces within her. There are still caverns within her that haven't come back, and they are awakening inside now. It's the sound of Elliot, horsing around with her son. With his. It's the laughter that emanates from the boys' room as he finds his way back into fatherhood.

It's standing here, finding her way past being a only mother or a cop. With him, she's a woman again, with wants and needs and daydreams.

For the first time in a long time, she lets herself go. In the privacy of the kitchen, she lets the tears come. It isn't grief, it's letting go of pain and they are two different things. She sets her glass down on the counter and covers her face with her hands.

Her palms are wet too fast. Her chest is burning.

Elliot, you're too slow to catch me!

Her child's voice. Just around the corner, her son is freely giving and taking from the man who has owned everything inside of her for as long as she has known him.

I got him, Noah!

The once-quiet teenager who had lost half his childhood with his father, braver than all of them combined as he lets his dad back in day by day. As he lets her son in. As he lets her in. A boy she'd held before his parents had, a baby who had once cried on her shoulder first, as he had entered this world without any idea of what lay ahead or what the journey would look like.

And then Elliot, groaning as he laughs. I'm too old for this.

She lets out a choking sound, shaking her head to herself. She'd once thought she was too old for all of this. To ever feel this way again. She'd had love for her son, but she'd parented alone. She'd gone to sleep alone. She'd woken up alone. She'd gone through her days without anyone really ever to share her life with.

And now this. With him.

Her face is soaking – maybe it's hope, maybe it's relief – and she can't do this in front of him. She can hear Elliot winding down in the other room, so she's got to grab a paper towel and clean herself up. He's going to be in here in seconds.

Only she can't see. Not past the non-stop blur in her eyes. His footsteps are coming closer, and she has to hurry. She's struggling to tear off a piece of paper from the roll when she feels him in the kitchen, behind her.

Then his hands are on her waist. Strong and steadying. Pulling her back from the counter.

"Use my shirt for that," he rumbles quietly.

She gives up on the paper towel. Need overwhelms her. She turns in his arms and then, in the temporary cocoon of the kitchen and his body, she buries her face into his shoulders. He had stripped down to his t-shirt once the cabin had warmed, and she can easily feel the muscles of his arms, his chest, his back. He's big, bigger than her fears or her aches. Her fingers trail over the curve of his neck and she lets her face dampen the cotton beneath her eyes.

With each slowing breath, the familiar smell of him permeates her lungs. Memories assault her mind – looking at him over her gun in a warehouse, over the bodies in their squad room. She thinks about him out there alone for endless days and months and years. She remembers the terror of being trapped in the back of a car, regrets and futility threatening to crumple her will to live. But it isn't the horror that she remembers. It's how despite all of the destruction around them, they had somehow survived.

They are survivors.

Her fingers sink into his shirt, gripping him tightly. "How did you manage all of this, Elliot?" Against him, her words are pressed into his clavicle. She can feel the muscles in his neck jump. His pulse is steady, a drumbeat. She lifts her face, until her mouth is against his jaw. Olivia's fingers wander, until they are at the back of his hairline.

He's stiff, unmoving. "Had seven years to plan this. On the nights I couldn't sleep during the UC, I'd look up cabins. I probably know every one in the area. The part I never imagined was…you sayin' yes to comin' out here."

The three people she loves most in the world are under this roof right now, and she can feel the weight of that fact rooting her. Her strength comes back. Intensifies. Her need to protect all of them – this formidable man against her included – solidifies. This is her world, and she has to keep it intact this time.

The fireplace crackles hard again. The flames are as strong as ever. The sound of it burning, the crunch of the snow beneath their boots outside – these are the sounds of salvation.

"I said yes because I learned the hard way that you can focus on the things that tried to break you, or you can focus on the fact that you survived. You can't have both." She shifts, and his mouth settles on her forehead. "We get to choose. And when it comes to you-" Olivia pulls back a little bit, so she can run her fingers over the edges of his face and make sure those blue eyes are on her. They are. And they are full of pain and apologies. "I am going to choose to focus on the fact that we are here. You and I? We survived."

He's on her then, spinning her until her back is against the counter. He says one word on a rasp – Olivia - and then his mouth covers hers. He's hungry and she's willing, and as he tastes her, she exhales, letting her body acquiesce. His tongue swipes along her lower lip. A reminder that he's home, that he's present and that he wants her as much as she wants him.

She kisses him back, hard. Her eyes close, his grip slides possessively up her back, and then off, until he's holding her head in his hands. He's demanding, groaning against her lips. She wants him, and she runs her hands up under his t-shirt, until her fingertips slip across the small of his back.

The need in her explodes, until she moans throatily, desperate for more of him. She wants to absorb him into her, strip him of his –

He abruptly tears his mouth off of her. "Christ," he bites out, stepping back. He looks stunned, shaken. "If we don't stop, I'm gonna lock the boys in that room and break every promise I made to you about takin' it slow this weekend."

It's humbling to see the effect she has on him. She can't stop watching every nuance of his tortured expression. He's coiled, ready, and yet disciplined as hell.

He gives her back her confidence when it comes to this. He used to make her feel strong, capable, fearless. These days he's added to his influence over her – now he makes her feel seductive and feminine and flirty. He wants her, and he's making sure she knows it. Olivia reaches around behind her and grabs her wine glass, taking a slow slip and making sure he's watching her mouth on the rim. Savoring the thick, rich liquid.

"I thought that was my birthday present." She shrugs. "Must have got my signals crossed."

God, she doesn't know where the teasing comes from like this. It takes hold out of nowhere and is fully accompanied by a drop of her chin while looking up at him through her eyelashes. The wine must already be getting to her.

His eyes narrow suspiciously. "It's not your birthday until tomorrow."

"So I get my presents tomorrow?" Olivia feels the laughter bubble up in her throat. Just like that, the fear and loss recede. "Good to know," she retorts a little too smugly. She tilts her head a little as she looks at him, tracing the edge of her glass with her finger. She feels sexy.

For him.

His gaze darkens with want and her pulse speeds up. She can think she's in control, but it's really his ruthless control and gentleness that will keep them on a safer pace. "Fuck, Olivia. I know it's your weekend, but have some mercy," he grates. "Jesus."

He's so noble, he will kill them both. But he's right. They agreed nothing would happen this weekend, especially not with the boys in the house. This was supposed to just be reclamation. Restoration.

She slips out from between him and the counter, heading to check on the boys while holding her wine glass.

As she pads across the living room floor, she can't resist one last tease. "Happy birthday to me," she calls out.

In the kitchen behind her, she hears him swear.

Loudly.

-o0o-