Chapter 24- Elliot

Saturday November 4th, 2006

He awoke alone in his partner's bed. He sat up, running his hand over his bare chest as his mind rearranged everything that had occurred the night before. He'd called her. He'd come to her apartment. He'd told her his secrets that he'd wanted to share with her for so many years.

He hit me.

His wife didn't even know. She might suspect it from what his siblings and mother had told her over holidays dinners filled with tension. The first person he'd really told was Rebecca Hendrix and telling her had only made him wish he could have told Olivia instead. He'd cried against his partner, and she'd held him. Now she was nowhere to be found.

He swung his legs out of her bed, pulling her comforter up as he stood. He listened for a moment, hoping he'd hear her moving around in the living room, but his ears were only met with silence.

"Olivia," he called as he walked into her living room. Everything was still, aside from the morning light coming through her windows. Her kitchen was empty too. He felt panic flare up inside him. She was gone, again.

He went back into her room and grabbed his phone off her dresser. He hit his speed dial and was overcome with more nerves as he heard her phone ring out from the living room. He walked back in there and picked up her phone where it sat on her coffee table. He flipped the buzzing device open to see 'El' staring back at him. He smiled for a moment that his contact was his nickname in her phone before his brain returned to worry. He dropped her phone and clutched his own, knowing that his normal routine of calling her a second and third time wouldn't serve any purpose, aside from making him more insane.

Where was she without her phone? It wasn't even 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Jesus Christ.

He didn't know what to do, so he walked into her kitchen, trying to look for signs of where she might have gone. He was clenching his fists when his eyes landed on a post-it note stuck on her fridge.

Out for a run, no need to wait for me to get back.

He plucked the blue paper off the fridge and examined her writing. She'd scribbled it quickly. Who goes for a run at 7 a.m.? Someone who's running.

No need to wait for me to get back. He knew what that translated to; she wanted him gone by the time she returned so she wouldn't have to face him. He laughed as he crumpled the note. He hadn't heard her leave. He didn't consider himself a heavy sleeper, and it seemed strange to him that he wouldn't have woken when her body heat left him. She must be some kind of master at slipping out of bed, making sure not to wake whoever she'd shared it with the night before. Oh Olivia.

He stood shirtless with no direction in her desolate kitchen. If she wanted him gone, he'd leave, but if he knew anything about her, he hoped that wasn't what she really wanted. She'd let him stay last night; hell, she'd undressed him. He knew she probably didn't know what to say to him this morning after everything he'd unloaded onto her last night. He wasn't sure what he should say to her.

He uncrumpled the note; she'd given him an out. The message on the paper was for him as much as it was for her. Maybe she'd written it for him, thinking that was what he'd want.

He glanced to her doorway, memories of their past flooding his mind and making his body stir. He should leave. Before he could commit to walking out, the door cracked open.

She stepped in, her eyes on the ground. She was distracted with her headphones in her ears. He took in the sight of her before she could look up and catch him. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, her bangs sweaty against her forehead. She was wearing a black sports bra, skintight leggings that left little to his imagination, and laced-up running shoes. The strip of her abdomen that he'd kissed the night before was exposed.

He put two fingers into his mouth and whistled to get her attention. She jolted up, yanking her headphones from her ears as she frowned at him.

"I told you not to wait," she said through narrowed eyes, assessing why he was still standing in her kitchen, as she moved around him, opening her fridge and pulling out a pitcher of water.

"I saw," he said as he tossed the crumpled note into her kitchen wastebasket below the sink. She turned around to face him, pitcher in hand. She angled her chin towards the cabinet behind his head.

"Grab me a glass," she commanded, and he smirked at her. She was still a little out of breath.

"You know the three things we tell women not to do when going for a run?"

"Spare me," she said as she took the glass from him, pouring water into it as she waited for him to demonstrate that he wasn't going to listen to her.

"Don't go alone, don't be distracted with headphones, don't wear a ponytail that can be grabbed," he listed quickly, and she looked up at him with an angry glare.

"And I'm not a civilian."

"I would have gone with you; you should have woken me up."

"I don't think you would have been able to keep up," she retorted with raised eyebrows as she drank down half the water in her glass. He watched her throat bob as she did it.

"Should have let me prove you wrong."

"Elliot, I run alone every weekend."

"Wearing that?" he asked as his eyes did a slow sweep over her body.

"Yes, wearing this," she rolled her eyes as she stepped around him and placed her empty glass in her sink. She turned the water on and washed her hands. He watched as she lathered her fingers in the lemon hand soap. "Do you realize how patronizing you sound?"

"I just worry about you," he said as he stood behind her, his eyes dipping to how the spandex of her leggings fit against the slopes of her curves and the length of her legs. He wished she'd wear those to work sometime, but he also knew he couldn't live with other eyes roaming her at work, where he'd have to act as if he was unaffected.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she said as she turned around, resting her backside against her sink as she stood only six or so inches from his face.

"Am I bothering you?" he snickered as he placed his hands on the edge of her sink, crowding either side of her hips with his outstretched arms. He shouldn't be doing it, but her magnetism wasn't giving him much of a choice in the matter. "We're not on call this weekend," he added before she could answer his previous inquiry.

"Don't you have a life outside of work?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave as she watched him watching her, his proximity obviously having an effect on her.

"It's Kathy's weekend with the kids," he said, and he watched her eyes flash with memory of their conversation the night before, the reason he'd come to her apartment in the first place. She was keeping it light with him this morning, and he appreciated it. All he needed was to feel light again.

"So you have the weekend to yourself, why don't you go watch football or...or, I don't know, go to the grocery store," she said as she tried to remain serious, but he could see the laugh rising in her eyes.

"You think I'm that boring?"

"Well tell me what else you do then," she said, and his mouth hollowed as he realized she was entirely right.

"What do you do, Liv?" he redirected. She bit the inside of her cheeks as she considered her words.

"I go to the gym, the laundromat, the grocery store. I have sex…" she said, her eyes darting up to him and then falling to his bare chest, teasing him. She was flirting with him, he couldn't help but smile at seeing this side of her, but his blood also boiled at the idea of her spending her free time with other men. Her wit reminded him of the Olivia he knew that first year he worked with her. He loved getting glimpses of who she used to be, the Olivia who had a sense of humor that wasn't burdened by the pain of working Special Victims for years. She'd made him laugh till his ribs hurt that first year.

"You only have sex on the weekends?"

"At least I have sex," she scoffed at him.

"With men, or your vibrator?" he asked, the words were out of his mouth before he could rethink them. Her eyes opened wide as she looked directly at him.

"Excuse me?" Her shock caused spurts of laughter to escape his mouth. "Were you creeping through my things?" she asked; her shoulders seemed to tense at her thought. He was surprised that she hadn't assumed he had. He'd been in her apartment countless times without her supervision.

"So you admit to having one?"

"Of course I have one; I'm a single woman Elliot," she said, as if he was the biggest idiot that ever existed.

"What color is it?" he asked, merely because he wanted to stay on the topic. Visions of her using the device he'd seen in her drawer crowding his mind.

"Why do I feel like you already know the answer to that," she rolled her eyes as she pushed past his arms. He released her from how he had her cornered, hoping he hadn't upset her.

"Where you going?" he said to her backside.

"I need a shower," she said matter-of-factly as she turned her head over her shoulder to look back at him.

"I can grab some coffee and bagels while you do that," he said, hoping he was making it clear that he didn't intend to leave for long. She scrunched her eyebrows together, assessing what his motives were. He wasn't sure himself; all he knew was that he wanted to spend the weekend with her.

"I have things I need to get done this weekend…" she said, the hesitation easing through her tender rejection.

"What do you have to do?"

"Laundromat, grocery store..." have sex.

"I'll go with you."

"Elliot…" she sighed, and it crushed him a little. She didn't want him around, or she simply didn't know how to have someone around. "I don't know if I can handle you hovering over me while I try to pick out a tomato," her words restored hope in him that it was the latter.

"I can be helpful."

"Hmm," she murmured, her guard falling as she met his smile. "Alright."

"Alright," he nodded, realizing he was standing in his underwear in her kitchen, no wonder she was laughing at him. He began following her into her bedroom. He'd stashed spare clothes under her bed from when he'd been staying at her place while she was gone. He had jeans, some t-shirts, some work clothes and a grey zip-up hoodie.

"You can shower when you get back with the coffee," she said, and he liked the idea of being able to shower in her shower, even in all the months he'd stayed at her place he'd never crossed that line. She leaned against her bathroom door as she watched him standing in her bedroom, still undressed. He was waiting for her to go inside the bathroom so he could play it off like he got the clothes while he was out, but she was watching him, wondering why he wasn't getting dressed. He decided she was going to find out sooner or later, so he knelt and lifted the bed skirt, pulling out his stack of clothing.

"What are you doing?"

"I kept some clothes here," he gulped as he avoided her eyes, pulling on a t-shirt and the hoodie. When he looked up, she was shaking her head at him.

"You know you owe me for my electricity bill," she said in a faux bitter tone.

"I'm buying you breakfast," he responded as he walked across her room and grabbed his keys and wallet.

"Elliot…," she said as he stepped through the threshold of her door. He turned around to look at her

"Hmm."

"Tea, not coffee," she said in a soft voice.

"Tea, not coffee," he repeated, the subtle reminder of how much had shifted between them. He tore his eyes from her as he walked out of her apartment, feeling comfort that this time he had permission to return.

He unscrewed her laundry soap and sniffed the scent. She was standing beside him, folding the fresh-out-of-the-dryer clothes in a hamper that they'd put in the back seat of his car alongside the suits she had dropped off at the dry cleaners. He was watching her as she pulled the second load from the dryer. She tried to hide her more intimate items under baggy t-shirts, making quick work of folding the items.

"You have a red dress with flowers on it," he said absently as he re-screwed the cap on her soap and turned his attention instead to how she was folding a pair of small underwear. He could have sworn they were the grey ones that he'd pushed aside all those months ago in her doorway.

"So you went through my closet too? You know we've arrested men for less," she growled as she gave him a pointed look.

"When do you wear that?" he pressed on, ignoring her justified remark.

"In the summer."

"Really?"

"Yeah, on the weekends," she said as she closed the dryer door behind her and placed her hands on the rim of her somewhat-folded basket.

"You should wear it tonight," he said flatly as his eyes roamed her. Her hair was still damp from her shower, clipped half up and half down, she had on tight fitting jeans and a maroon colored cotton t-shirt. He liked seeing her outside of her typical work clothes.

"It's November."

"We'll be inside."

"We will?"

"In your apartment."

"Hmm, so you think you're coming home with me after all these errands."

"I was hopin'," he grinned. When they had been at the grocery store, while they waited for her wash, he couldn't help but notice how she'd bought enough food for two. He'd learned to pick up on her silent tells, her unconscious wants. He wanted to stay because he knew he wasn't the only one who wanted it.

Despite her fridge being more stocked than it had probably ever been, they ordered take-out from her favorite Chinese restaurant. He'd bought himself m&ms at the store, and he was currently eating them as he sat on her couch, waiting for her to come out of her room. She'd gone in there to put away her clean laundry. He had no idea what they were doing, but he knew he didn't want to leave. He'd go to the grocery store and do her laundry with her for as long as she'd let him.

"Was this the one?" she asked as she appeared before him. He felt his breath catch as his eyes adjusted to seeing her in the red sundress. Her hair was down, it had air dried in waves, different from how she wore it at work. The red ties of the dress were resting on her shoulders, he couldn't help but notice that there were no bra straps, her full breasts were straining against the cotton of the dress. The fabric flowed over her body, the ruffles stopping high on her thighs, leaving most of her legs bare.

She looked like a different person- no make-up, wild hair, and a dress that seemed like it could blow off of her with a strong breeze. He wanted his hands on her. Now.

"I'm not sure; you have to come a little closer. So I can get a better look," he said, and her eyes flickered in understanding. She took two steps towards him. "Little closer," he urged until she was standing directly in front of him. He set aside his chocolate as his hands reached for her thighs.

His fingers gripped behind her knees as he walked her towards him some more, his legs knocking open between them. He let his hands slide up the backs of her thighs, his thumbs reaching around so they rested on the tops of her legs, right above her knees.

"Well?"

"This is the one," he confirmed as he flicked his eyes up to her.

"Does it live up to what you were hoping?"

"You have no idea," he said as he lowered her onto his lap. She followed his movement, her hips straddling him as her folded legs fell on either side of his thighs. He could feel her core make contact with his jeans. It felt natural to have her sitting on him. He never wanted her to leave from this position. "You're so beautiful, Liv," he said as his hands slipped under the dress. He ran his fingers along the tops of her thighs, stopping when they reached the crease at her seated hips.

"Don't get in the habit of saying that," she whispered as she looked down at him, her eyes dark and deep. She placed her palms flat against his chest, like she was either going to tell him to stop or jump start his heart.

"Why not?" he challenged as he smoothed his palms over her hip bones, turning his hands so they landed behind her, seeking the divot at the base of her arching spine. He moved his hands further down, over the curve of her ass as he lifted her from his lap, so she was bearing her weight down on her folded calves, her breasts now level with his eyes. He cupped her ass, feeling himself grow hard at the realization that she only wore a thong below the flowy material of the dress. He lowered his lips to the tops of her breasts, kissing, tasting, sucking, and she tried to fight a moan as he did it.

"I'm not used to it," she sighed, her eyes fluttering a little as he gripped her harder with his hands and looked up from her breasts to meet her stare.

"Get used to it," he said as he pulled his hands from under her dress, bringing them over the fabric as he moved up her stomach, stopping to grip her below her breasts as he pulled her back down against his growing erection.

"What are we doing?" she exhaled, and he could see that her mind was working hard to ruin the moment for her.

"We're spending the weekend together," he said, as he moved his hands over her covered breasts and up to her neck. His fingers felt under her hair as he rested his cupped palms on either side. She didn't respond, but her hands raised to his neck as well, her eyes dilating as she did.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked, and he knew she was asking because the matter of his divorce papers was not resolved, and he hated himself for still allowing it to be something between them, something causing her to doubt her actions towards him.

"Of course you can," he breathed out, his voice raw, but he knew the truth even as he spoke the opposite. She'd asked him permission because for so long he'd been off limits to her. He went around touching her and kissing her, and she always doubted if she should be returning the gestures. He still felt like someone else's husband. He never wanted her to have to ask him again. He wanted her to know that she could kiss him whenever she wanted. She didn't need to ask, his mouth belonged to her in a way it would never again belong to his wife. He looked at her fearful face, his fearless partner was scared, and he knew why, but in his heart, he was hers. He wanted to be hers. "Kiss me, Liv, it's okay," he said as his hands deserted her neck for a moment, to pull her body closer to his, before reclaiming his hold. She was on his lap, she'd put on the dress, his hands were on her pulse points, she wanted him- the thought made him ache in the confines of his jeans. He wanted nothing more than for her to decide it was okay to take him.

"Elliot," she sighed because she was the better person, always. Her eyes were pools of desire dancing with torture, searching him, hoping he'd wave the white flag and prove to her that they hadn't made the fatal mistake of becoming a cliché. But he wouldn't, not this time. Her eyes were his demise.

"It's okay, I promise," he said in resignation. Her body was on his in a way he'd told himself he'd never let them find themselves. He was giving her permission to wreck who they used to be. There was no near-death experience as an excuse, no hard case to place the blame, no months of absence, no drinks to reduce judgement- only their attuned eyes, in sync breaths, and minds thinking the same thought. How did this happen? It happened slowly and all at once, from the first clasping of fingers to every mundane working moment that followed. It was an accident, and it was all intentional.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she warned as she lowered her mouth over his. Her kiss wasn't fervent like the night after Gitano. It was aware, it was scared, it was giving in, it was falling. She parted his lips, her mouth communicating how much she regretted that they couldn't be immune to each other. She reached for his neck, touching him like he was a map that she'd travelled before. Her kisses became ardent, her tongue intense, as it sought his with all her fury and fear.

His senses were overwhelmed with everything that was her. Her soap, her shampoo, her skin, her mouth. She was feminine, she was divine, and as she sat in his lap, he realized there wasn't anything about her that he could give up. He wanted all of her, every weekend, all the time. His demise.

"You taste like chocolate," she murmured against his lips, and he could feel her smile. She was easing them in, their touches weren't frantic like the last time. They were taking their time, feeling out all this could be. It was the kind of kiss shared on weekends after years of working in tandem, being in sync. It felt safe, it felt romantic, it felt like something he never would have expected from her. His mind flashed through the fantasies, all the wonderings of how it could have happened, and he realized that this topped it all. This was what he wanted from her.

"I need to taste you," he responded, in a low tone, as he placed his hands once more on her ribs, lifting her from his lap as he turned and laid her across the length of the couch. Her back hit the cushions, and he watched as her chest heaved. He turned on the coach, crawling towards her. Her legs were already risen, her knees naturally falling open.

He pushed the fabric of the dress down her legs. It fell, bunching around her belly. His entire body responded at the sight of her laid out, legs spread, before him. His fingers hooked on the silk of their last barrier. He tugged, pulling the scrap down her legs and throwing it over his shoulder.

"Christ, Liv," he groaned, as his eyes swept over her completely bare and slick center. He grabbed her feet, wrapping them behind his shoulder blades as his hands went for the firm yet tender insides of her thighs. He opened her more, the motion erotic, a gateway to everything they'd tried to lock away. She moaned in response as she let her legs part farther, the taut lines of her tendons extended. She was submitting. He was seeing all of her. "I never thought I'd have you like this," he said in a whisper as he watched her pupils expand to the edges of her dark irises.

The crease of her unfurled legs made his blood warm, her apex tantalizing and inviting. He could hear her rapid breathing. It was finally going to happen. It wasn't going to be quick or regretful; it was going to be intentional, clear with each stroke of his tongue that he'd caved in as much as she had. They'd both fallen, the destruction was mutual, and he wanted to hear her cry out when she realized how fucked they were.

He lowered his mouth just above her right knee, which was leaning open against the back of the couch cushion. He kissed a trail on her. He anchored his hands on her lower abdomen, his fingers digging into where her womb rested.

He was kissing higher and higher on the inside of her thigh, sucking and nipping into her flesh as he went. Her skin was purely her, olive-toned and bronze, but he wanted to make it his, red and bitten. He never wanted another man to touch her thighs again. In less than moments he'd have his tongue against her core, and that would be his too. He'd suck hard on her clit and make sure she knew that no one else, besides him, was ever to suck on her there again. He was a possessive bastard, and he didn't give a damn. His entire body was humming with satisfaction over being able to finally taste her.

Then the sharp ring of his cell phone broke his resolve on her faultless body.

"El," she said through a voice heavy with want, her thighs quivering as he loomed inches from her center.

"I know," he groaned as he leaned back and pulled his phone from his jean pocket, his intention was to silence it so he could return to her.

"Who is it?" she asked in a fearful whisper, as she let the heels of her feet fall from behind his shoulders. He darted his eyes to her; her hair was fanned out around her head. The heat had risen in her throat, her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were scared. She was drawing her legs closed.

He glanced at his cellphone, his wife's name glaring like an ugly reminder in his palm, the same palm that had seconds before been holding Olivia's leg open. He let his eyes rest on her, trying to tell her without speaking, he knew uttering Kathy would rip through her trust, crashing and destroying what they had started here. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wanted to throw the phone out the window and spend the rest of his life apologizing to Olivia for how he always disappointed her. Don't make promises you can't keep.

"I'm not going to answer," he said as he tossed the ringing phone onto the coffee table. He moved back between her legs, trying to open her to him once more, but she sat up, pushing him off with her extended arm. "Liv, please," he sighed. She sat all the way up, pulling the dress over her body, her crossed legs half fell into his lap, her arousal still in the air. "I don't need to answer," he grinded his teeth, but he let a consoling hand fall to her thigh; he squeezed. He needed her to know he was sorry, he was embarrassed, mortified. He bit his bottom lip and cursed himself for being married.

"It could be about one of the kids," she said. She knew, of course she knew. She leaned off the couch, grabbing his phone and then turning to place it in his reluctant hand. She was right; he had to answer. As soon as that stick turned pink, he had an obligation to always answer. Answer to Kathy, the mother of his children.

"I know, but Liv, I…" his mouth was hanging agape. She looked at him through slits for eyes, and he couldn't tell if she was enraged or distraught. He knew she'd probably start running any second, all her fears confirmed. Then she did something that surprised him. She crawled back on top of his lap, her legs settling around him as she reached for the hand that held his phone, bringing it between their chests.

"Answer it," she demanded. She wanted to hear. He narrowed his eyes back on her as he flipped open the call.

"Now is not a good time, are the kids okay?" he said in a guttural tone as his eyes landed on his erection and her underwearless body pressed against it.

"The kids are fine. Why is it not a good time?" Kathy's tone was curt, annoyed, impatient. He instantly felt his erection dissipate. Olivia could too by the way she gulped. Olivia had avoided being the other woman for nine years but having her on his lap while his wife spoke in his ear made him feel filthy. He knew that was why she was doing it. She was making her point, the point that it was not okay, like he'd told her it would be.

"I'm busy," he sighed as he tried to look at his partner, but her eyes were downcast, shattered. He stroked her hair with his free hand. He didn't know if the gesture would help or hurt. He hated himself for the look he'd put on her face.

"Has your attorney called you?" Kathy asked, and Olivia's eyes shot up as she heard the words.

"Yes, he told me you won't budge on the custody. I told him to file for a court hearing."

"I fired my attorney, decided not to pay the retainer," Kathy said, her voice falling an octave and softening in a way that reminded him of happier times in their marriage. It was not what he was expecting her to say. His chest clenched as he looked to Olivia. He wanted to pull her body against him, rest her head on his shoulder, but the look on her features told him he may never get to do that again.

"Why?"

"Elliot, I don't want to have a hearing. I don't want my lawyer to rip you apart. I know you don't believe it anymore, but there is still a part of me that loves you, I'll always love you. I don't want to do that to you. She wants to suggest all these things about you, and I don't want to do that." His wife's words were full of sentiment he hadn't expected. It was years too late, and her ill-timed admission was breaking his partner into hundreds of pieces on his lap. He needed to end this. He needed to protect Olivia.

"Hey," he mouthed to Olivia as his fingers found her chin, trying to plant some reassurance on her, but she refused to look at him. He moved her off his lap, not wanting her to suffer through another word, as he paced to the other end of the living room. "Kathy, I can't talk about this."

"I don't want to fight you; I don't want to take this to court," she persisted.

"Then why didn't you agree at mediation?" he asked in a low tone. He had no right to be having this conversation in his partner's apartment. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Look, Kathy I need to go. I can't have this conversation right now."

"Sign the papers. The kids don't need to be dragged to court, and you know it's better that they be with me. Come on, Elliot," she said, her voice turning cold.

"Bye," he seethed as he angrily shut the phone and shoved it into his pocket. A mixture of emotions was threatening to consume him, and he felt like his head was being overtaken by harsh and crashing waves. He couldn't stay above the water.

He looked to Olivia.

Her feet were planted on the ground, her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees. The dress that held so much promise just a short while ago hung around her limply, swallowing her up like a bad reminder of how he never deserved to see her in it.

"Liv, I'm..."

"Just go."

Monday November 6th, 2006

"The silver bullet strategy."

"Also known as sexual assault in divorce."

"It's very popular these days. You have personal experience?"

"A divorce lawyer suggested my wife go in that direction, but she didn't hire him." He said, and Olivia shot him a shocked look at the mention of his own divorce creeping into their case. It was Monday. He hadn't seen her since he'd walked out of her apartment. He was tired, he was irritable, he was angry. The case was too close to home and holding a lighter over all his fuses. Having to work with Olivia after he'd had her legs spread before him was making matters worse. Nothing was resolved, only left to fester for a whole twenty-four hours, and now they were trying to work this case like the dynamic duo they were expected to be. He couldn't think straight. All he saw around him were his failures, and all Olivia could focus on was how poorly he understood their line of work. It was making the tendons in his arms tick.

She baited the judge, and he wanted to fight with her. Fuck. They were not in a good place. He was not in a good place.

Tuesday November 7th, 2006

"I'm the longest relationship you've ever had with a man. You have no idea how bad things can get when a couple goes sour."

"And eight years in this unit tells me I don't need to be married to know when an abusive man is escalating," she shot back, her eyes challenging him.

They were fighting worse than they ever had in all the years they'd bickered and disagreed over cases. His words were inappropriate, hurtful. He cared about her so deeply, but he kept on hurting her. He wanted to have a relationship with her, maybe that's why he'd spoken those words, and he'd basically suggested as much in front of all their colleagues. At work they were partners. He had no right to use the word relationship in reference to whatever it was that they were, and yet he had, like he could, like it was common knowledge that on the weekends he kissed her thighs and watched her grocery shop. She looked at him like she wanted to kill him, and he almost wished that she would put him out of his misery.

Cragen asked if they could manage to work the case together. He threatened to reassign it if they couldn't get their acts together. Olivia said,

"It's fine," and he could see the pain in her body language as she spoke her go-to syllables.

Nothing was fine.

Wednesday November 8th, 2006

"Well, a statement with this many red flags, no good cop would overlook it," he said in a scathing tone.

"Especially not one with a dying marriage and a history of violence," her words hit him directly in the heart, right where she'd rested her sleeping head on him when he'd been in the comforts of her bed. All his worst fears crashed in on him. Olivia thought he could be violent. He took solace knowing that his partner would always defend him, she saw him. He'd shared parts of himself with her that no one else knew. She always had his back. But with that phrase she'd snapped their loyalty, confirmed to him that everyone around him viewed him as a ticking time bomb. Including her. If he cared about what anyone thought about him anymore, it was her. He still needed to be worthy in her eyes. Worth it, worth all of his horrible and disparaging faults.

He wanted to cry against her belly again.

He was destroying their partnership, their friendship, their connection. He never wanted her to think that of him. He'd let it all go on far too long. He loved her; he hadn't told her in certain terms, and he was so fearful of the breadth of his feelings towards her. So instead, he was steadily and assuredly making her hate him. He was standing by idly like it was all okay.

It was not okay. He loved his kids; he'd intended to fight for them, but Kathy had taken that fight from under him by not hiring the attorney. His old life wasn't going to return to him, nor did he want it to anymore, and he decided his kids weren't going to stop belonging to him because a piece of paper dictated it. They were his flesh and blood. That would have to be enough.

Any future he could hope to have with Olivia was smoldering in a fire that he kept fueling. He needed to salvage what he had left with her, before he lost her beyond repair.

He signed the papers that night.