A/N: So... Last chapter when I said it'd been a long time HA. Wow, who knew it would take 3 something months for the next one to get posted up here. I am SO sorry. I'd like to promise that it wont happen again, and I don't think it will since I've got the next few chapters mapped out. It's just a matter of sitting down and typing them... Oh well, I sincerely hope that none of you stop reading because of this little bump in the road! Especially since all the good stuff is coming up!!! SORRY :(

Summary of Previous Chapters: Now I haven't updated in so long, I'm sure some of you have forgotten what's happening (or maybe that only happens to me) but, I figured I would do a little reminder. Olivia was over at her boyfriend, Mark's apartment and his ex-wife showed up and was completely awful to Liv. She left and went to work where they had Angela Simmons' (victim) ex boyfriend in interrogation as their only solid lead. Everyone at the house agrees afterward that he's not their perp but El & Liv will have to leave in the morning to go to NJ to check out his alibi anyway. Cragen asks Elliot to take Olivia home because it's obvious that she's not feeling well and surprisingly, Olivia lets him. Liv's a little out of sorts (actually a lot) and she lets her impulses get to her and we have an EO kiss at her door. Elliot feels guilty because he feels like he's taking advantage of her since she's so out of it and pulls away, then leaves. Liv's confused and feels rejected and goes inside only to find Mark there. He was worried about her after his wife came over but she freaks out and realizes that she's just kissed her partner and has a little break down in her room. And thus we begin... (sorry again!!!)

Disclaimer: I don't think anyone would WANT me to own them after such a long dry spell of updates...

Chapter 8: Something Like Words

I'll never say enough

Benson Residence

Saturday, 10:05 pm

Mark sat on her sofa with his eyes intensely focused, or more legitimately unfocused, on the simplicity of her coffee table. His fingers vagrantly moved over his mouth, scraping against the stubble that was unfailingly there in the late hour. He couldn't remember the last time that he had been at such a complete loss. All he could do was replay day's events in his mind, attempt to find where he'd gone wrong. He didn't know that he could allow his thoughts to run over time like smoothly flowing water and never get any closer to finding an answer, it wouldn't help. The same question that his mind was desperately searching to find an answer for, would continue to eat at him relentlessly for hours to come: What the hell just happened?

He felt as though she'd stopped the car, dumped him in the desert and sped off without a word. Stranded. He felt stranded. He was stranded.

She couldn't still be upset over what Jackie had said earlier - well she could, but not like that. He'd never seen her like that before, albeit they'd been dating for only a few months but if this was her norm, one would think that'd he'd be accustomed to it by now... No, it had to be something else. It had to be. But what? She was the strongest person he knew, she didn't just let herself fall apart. Not like that. It had to be something incredibly severe, incredibly altering. A case perhaps? A really rough case. But if that was truly it, he couldn't help her - there'd be nothing he could do but offer her comforting words and in reality, how often did that help? But what about her co-workers? Surely they knew what had happened, they should know the extent of her upset, the detailed reasons for it. What about that guy she worked with, her partner, maybe he could help her. Of course the idea that another man knew more and was better equipped to assist her just rubbed him the wrong way on so many levels, but for her, he'd make the call. For her, if it meant she'd be alright, he would do it. He'd shut up, swallow his pride, he would do that for her.

But he didn't even know the guy's number anyway. Hell, he didn't even know his name. She'd never really talked about him much. Why? He never pressed her for answers when it was obvious that she'd rather not talk about something. Now he wished that he had.

God, he wished that he could help her.

He'd considered trying to knock on her door, see if maybe she'd talk to him, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. She was too distraught for conversation, he liked to think that he could tell that much. She needed space, for now at least, so he would just go home.

It seemed wrong to just leave her though. It seemed wrong to go without reassuring her that he was always there for her. Always. He just didn't know how to let her know that while giving her the time and space that she needed at the same time. He could just write a note and slip it under her door. It seemed logical enough. But then he felt guilty. Guilty for leaving. He felt like he'd really screwed up in his inability to understand, to be there for her. Leaving would just intensify all of that. But then again, what else could he do? Sleep on her couch and have her wake up in the morning when she still might not be ready to talk? No... He would leave. He'd deal with his guilt somehow, it's not like he'd intended to sleep anyway.

Finally, he ripped his eyes off of her table and looked around for where she might keep a notepad. Soon enough he'd found one and smiled a little bit upon noticing the bumblebee that decorated the top of every sheet. He didn't know why he found it surprising though, he was constantly finding little things like that around her apartment. Quickly, he scribbled down a note for her and folded it in half. He crept quietly to her door where he listened for any signs of life and was grateful that he could not longer hear her sobs. So grateful. Crouching down, he carefully slid the small piece of paper beneath her door. He didn't say anything, hoping that maybe she'd fallen asleep.

As he carefully stood up, he felt his shoulders fall slightly, felt his heart sink a little. But he still loved her just the same. He only hoped she knew that.

Benson Residence

Sunday, 8:00 am

Vaguely, as if under water, Olivia could hear the sound of her name being called from a distance. For the first few minutes while she drifted in and out of consciousness, this remained unimportant, annoying even, but once she fully realized that there was someone actually calling her name, she woke abruptly. Sitting up a little, she rubbed at the eye make up on her unwashed face. There was a knock on the door and the sound of her name once more, and she cursed lazily, realizing that she hadn't set her alarm last night and was probably late for work. Frantically, she stumbled in an ungraceful, somewhat-still-sleeping sort of fashion before the events of last night began to slowly reel through her mind. Her hurried steps slowed with every new realization that came back to her, every memory more paralyzing than the one before. Reliving the night in just a few short seconds, she instantly became fully awake and her skin started crawling all over again.

Another knock at the door, a little louder this time, and she realized that it was Elliot at her door. Her hands slapped against her face knowing that what she had done last night would change things between them forever. Even if the idea sounded entirely overdramatic and incredibly cliché, it was true. It was too true. Too real. She almost couldn't handle how raw it was... He couldn't trust her anymore. She had in essence, willed him to break his marriage vows. She had seduced him. Elliot. Her partner. She couldn't keep herself from coming back to that, the idea that she'd done this to her partner. She could die right now. She could just die. How on earth could she answer that door with the knowledge that he was behind it?!

The knocking continued and she knew that if she didn't answer it soon, he'd simply let himself in. How great that would make her look. She could just see it: He walks in and finds her there staring at the door like some drunken, half dressed…seductress! Great. No, that couldn't happen. But she didn't know what she was going to say to him, what she possibly could say to him. She couldn't understand how he could even find it in him to talk to her let alone come knocking. Jesus! Why hadn't he just called?!

After pacing back and forth for a few moments though, she drew her hand shakily towards the knob, and pulled it open to see an incredibly calm, albeit slightly concerned, normal Elliot standing there plain as day. Suspicion, and surprise crept into the corners of her eyes as she began to doubt her own memory. Could it seriously all have been a dream? Everything about him, from his stance to his expression told her that it was. All of it. Everything. It had to be because there was no way he was standing there looking at her like that unless it had all been a figment of her imagination. No way.

"You okay? I tried calling but your phone was off," he explained, seeing the somewhat questioning, shocked look that graced her features. She didn't exactly look like she was at her best but who could blame her? After what he'd done to her, he could only imagine what kind of night she'd had after he'd left. Seeing that she hadn't even changed her clothes from last night in addition to her swollen eyes, undoubtedly from countless tears, only thickened the guilt that was mulling in his lungs. He was actually surprised that she hadn't hit him yet. Hopefully that was a good sign.

Throughout the course of his sleepless night, he had had the opportunity to contemplate this very moment and his conclusion was that the best, and probably only, way to deal with this situation was to act as normal as possible. If she wanted to talk about it, they would talk about it, but he figured that it was best not to acknowledge the events of the previous night. Or maybe it was just easier and he was kidding himself, he didn't know. Whichever it was though, he had a feeling that he couldn't ignore it forever. His conscience wouldn't let him do that. He felt so low about his actions that he knew it would only be so long before he came out and apologized to her. "Take it you're not ready to go?"

She finally tore her puzzled eyes from his and looked down at herself, snapping out of her dazed state. "Um, uh, yeah," she said, shaking her head a little, she would have to process all of this later. "Sorry, just give me 5 minutes…"

"Sure."

She walked quickly towards her room and stopped, turning around to look at him again. "You can um, come in, I'll just be two seconds," she said with a small and slightly preoccupied smile, before running off again and leaving him no opportunity to respond. So, he stepped inside and closed the door knowing that she was already feeling unsure about the whole situation. God, he prayed that they could get through the day.

Sedan

Sunday, 8:45 am

The low hum of the engine, combined with the lingering silence between the two passengers, created a strained feeling within the vehicle as Olivia watched the various aspects of landscape race by the window. Her fingertips incessantly twisted the studded earring in her right ear while her eyes remained unfocused on the blur that was on the other side of the glass barrier. Her thoughts wouldn't stay still.

It had been nearly 30 minutes since they initiated their trip to New Jersey in order to investigate the whereabouts of Angela Simmons' ex-boyfriend on the night of her murder. Olivia didn't exactly feel as though this was worth a trip down to New Jersey since she, and the rest of her colleagues, agreed in their shared opinion that Brendan Harris was innocent, but her judgment was also reasonably clouded by the ever-growing tension filling their vehicle of transport.

When they'd first gotten into the car, Elliot attempted some casual small talk, hoping to ease them back into a semi-normal routine, but Olivia's head was still reeling from the night before. The more she thought about it, the more she could feel her muscles clenching beneath her skin – and he was being so nice to her! It only made her feel worse. She'd shifted uncomfortably in her seat for the first few minutes before they both silently agreed not to talk at all.

Seeing how guarded and uptight she was, only made Elliot feel increasingly to blame. With every passing moment he could feel the flame of his fault spreading like wildfire across his neck. Every time the little glowing numbers on the dashboard clock signaled that another minute had gone by, he felt his hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter. His knuckles were turning white.

The knowledge was just eating him alive, tearing into his heart, ripping away at his lungs - it was getting harder to breathe. He knew that he alone was responsible for her anguish. He knew that he'd been a total jackass by taking advantage of her like that. He knew that she shouldn't forgive him. He knew that. He knew all of that. He did, and he couldn't let her go on thinking that he was just okay with it. He couldn't. But the minutes kept passing. His neck kept burning. His knuckles kept paling. Compelled to say something, to apologize to her, he prayed that somehow everything would work itself out. It was only then that he realized that this rarely ever happened. Correction: it never happened.

Keeping his eyes ahead on the road, he recalled how he'd imagined this would play out from the various scenarios that he'd dreamed up last and yet still had no idea what to expect.

Cautiously, he cleared his throat, but nothing ensued. He had words. He did. He had lots of words, words that he'd come up with just for her, words that would hopefully explain everything, words that would make her not hate him, but they were suddenly nowhere to be found. He had to find them. He had to find the words to make this right. She deserved that. He didn't care if she still decided to hate him, he wouldn't blame her. He didn't even care if by some miracle, his words worked and she forgave him. He just knew that they could get this over with so that whatever followed, would follow. Good or Bad. Probably the later. But whatever it was, it had to be better than this nervous tension rippling through them like the undercurrent from hell. He stretched his neck awkwardly and stole a few glances at her before he could really up his nerve enough to make the words come out. He thanked God when they did.

"Um, Liv…" he began, slightly unsure of himself and his voice, no doubt, reflected that. "Listen, I – about last night-"

All of a sudden her stomach decided to take a pit stop and her face lost all its color. Blood pounded in her ears. Her heart missed a few too many beats. Her skin already seared with embarrassment, with shame, with fear. Panic swam through her - she had to stop him, he couldn't finish that sentence, there was a very good chance that she would die of humiliation right there on the spot if he did. "I don't want to talk about it, Elliot," she said quickly before he had the chance to keep going. Her voice came out harsher than she'd meant it to, but she supposed that maybe, in this case, that wasn't such a bad thing. She couldn't bear the burden of his words, they would surely have entered her ears and seeped into her blood, killing her like a deadly virus. She wouldn't have survived. She couldn't handle hearing him tell her that he was a married man, and that he could do things like that, things like what they'd done last night. She already knew that, and she couldn't believe that she'd endangered his marriage like this, especially when it was already is such a fragile state.

Caught slightly off guard by the celerity of her comment, he shut up. His words retreated and he burned in hell from the intensity of a thousand suns. The End.

Well not exactly because the car was still operating and he could still feel his body tense under the pressure of the loudest silence he'd ever heard. Even if he was still alive, if he'd had the option to drop off the face of the earth right now, he'd take it. She was upset, she'd remembered everything now and she hated him for it. How could he have managed to turn everything into such shit?

And what was even worse was that he could not control his eyes, they wouldn't stop darting over at her no matter how much he willed them not to. She was like a freaking magnet. And it wasn't doing him any good, all of this staring at her. She had herself cornered off towards the window and looked as though she couldn't move even if she tried, he wasn't even sure if she was breathing. How could he blame her though? In a single moment he'd broken their trust, the trust that she'd instilled in him over the years. Gone. Just like that. He was an asshole.

The two sat in the deafening silence for the majority of the remainder of the trip. Olivia crossed her arms and continued to stare out the window. She knew Elliot was looking at her, she could feel his stare burning in her pores. She sure wished that he'd cut it the hell out. Not that she had the right to wish such things considering the situation. Upon realizing that he was glimpsing in her direction every few seconds though, she'd tried to make herself look more natural, less crippled but it only made her look more staunch. It was all just perfect.

Soon enough though, they made their way into a step-up-from-shabby looking neighborhood, almost there. Thank God. Rolling through the suburban streets, Olivia anticipated the moment that she would be able to free herself from this hellhole and get to work. As they searched for the narrow strip of pavement that would lead them to their destination, her anxiety grew, only slightly lessened by the distraction of their quest. Elliot turned left on Raleigh Lane and said, "Keep an eye out for 840."

"Kay…" she replied, relieved that her voice showed no signs of abnormality. "It should be coming up on the right."

Elliot finally began to slow the Sedan down to a halt in front of a rather average looking one-story house that exhibited nothing that was exactly noteworthy. Plain.

"This it?" Olivia asked rather rhetorically, but she supposed that Elliot decided to respond out of the mere fact that words had suddenly become an option.

Looking down at the scrap of paper in his hand and then back up at the number on the house, he gave a simple, "Yep."

Her fingers wrapped around the handle as she opened the door and got out, grateful to get to work instead of remaining in the simmering awkwardness of such a condensed space. She walked ahead to the door, not waiting for her partner, and knocked firmly. Elliot consciously chose to stay a good three feet behind her under the circumstances.

Within moments, an elderly woman came to the door. She came up to Olivia's shoulder at the absolute most and held a cane shakily in her left hand. "Can I help you?" came her voice with a strength disproportionate to her small frame.

"Yes, are you Mrs. Harris?" Olivia asked, her words containing a softness that made Elliot wish that she were talking to him. It was ridiculous what her voice did to him, the way it weighed on his chest and pulled at his heart. Something so effortless to her shouldn't do something so intense to him, even putting aside the fact that she was his partner. And he was married. Shit.

"I am," she confirmed with a warmth in her eyes that was rarely found on such occasions. "What can I do for you?"

"We just need to ask you a few questions in regards to your son's whereabouts last Thursday evening," she explained, watching the woman's friendly face go wrought with dread.

"Why, what happened? Is Brendan okay? Is he hurt?"

"Your son is fine Mrs. Harris," she reassured the woman in that voice of hers again. How could anyone love and hate something so much at the same time? Still standing behind her, he removed his gaze from her dark hair and saw a look of relief sweep over Mrs. Harris' face. "We just need to know if you can account for his presence."

"You said Thursday?" Olivia nodded. He watched her slightly cloudy eyes drift upward in thought fleetingly before remembrance found her. "Yes, he was here."

"You're sure?" Elliot finally stepped in.

"Yes," she defended. "I'd called him a few days before just to check in, Monday I think it was, and anyway, I'd had a slight cough. During the conversation, somewhere along the line he'd overheard and asked if I was ill. I insisted that I was not but he insisted that I was and told me he was on his way. I tried to talk him out of it but he wouldn't hear of it so yes, he was here."

"When did he leave?" Olivia asked just to ensure that her story matched up with the facts.

"Yesterday I believe," she told them. There was a slight pause before she continued. "Is that all?"

"No, just one more thing," Elliot said stepping forward a bit and the front of his shoulder involuntarily came flush against the back of hers. He hadn't intended to do that. Some things are unintentional. "Did you know if your son was seeing anyone?"

"There was one girl recently yes," she nodded her head slowly attempting to remember. "But we've never met…I'm not sure if I could even tell you her name."

Olivia and Elliot both nodded and thanked her for her time before saying goodbye. As Mrs. Harris closed and locked the door, the two detectives turned and began to descend the few porch steps that lead to the Sedan.

Steps.

Olivia cursed within the hallows of her own mind. Last night there had been steps. Lots of steps. They'd seemed endless. But she hadn't minded. She hadn't minded because he'd helped her up all of those steps. She'd wanted him to. Wanted. She'd wanted him to. Her skin suddenly caught fire as she was drowned by the memory of her arm so casually slipping beneath his jacket, the way he hadn't minded, the way he'd held her, how safe she'd felt…Of course she felt like crap now. She ran a hand loosely through her hair hoping that the soon-to-be fall air would temper the redness of her cheeks. God help her if every five minutes something new was going to remind her of that night. As if seeing Elliot everyday wouldn't be punishment enough. The last thing she needed was a new wow-you-really-screwed-up-this-time-Benson sign blinking annoyingly in front of her face constantly through out the day.

She should really just learn to control herself. But she did control herself. That was the thing, she'd spent the better part her life controlling herself. She didn't drink excessively, she didn't have relationships with married men, she didn't kill perps just because she felt like it, and she didn't think of Elliot like that. She didn't. So why the hell did all of that control just decide to take a vacation last night when she needed it the most?

"Well, his story checks out," Elliot deadpanned as they approached the vehicle, referring to Brendan's claims that he was in New Jersey at the time of Angela's murder.

"Yeah but where do we go from here?" she asked trying to focus on the case. She was screwed. Really she was. "That was our only lead."

Opening the door with a small sigh of frustration that often showed up when they were at a dead end, he suggested, "Well, we could go through her finances again…see if anything surfaces."

She did the same, closing the door firmly behind her, sealing herself within the confines of the small space that most would consider 'roomy.' "I don't know, Munch and Fin went through them a few times even after I did and still didn't find anything. Not sure how much we'll gain from doing it again."

"True," he agreed, shaking the steering wheel a little since the key had been sticking lately. After a few unsuccessful attempts, the large SUV started and he shifted into gear. "You want to grab a bite to eat before we head back?"

She thought for a moment about what the consequences of having lunch would be. On one hand, if she agreed, she and Elliot would be dutifully obligated to engage in some form of awkward conversation. He might bring last night up again. Or it could be completely normal, comfortable even. Ha. That was funny. Hilarious. She should have been a stand up comic, at least then she wouldn't be in this situation. But on the other hand, she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. She also knew that even if she dismissed his offer, he'd probably stop and get something for himself anyway and then she would have to sit in her self-created silent torture, which was just as bad, if not worse.

"Okay."

He nodded slightly as he pulled around the corner and a larger street. "Alright, I think there's a deli right before we get back on the interstate," he commented vaguely, and it was as if lightning struck her brain.

"Elliot wait, don't you remember that kid we talked to at the diner across the street from Angela's dance studio? The son. The one the told us about Brendan?"

"Yeah," he recalled, a little confused about where she was going with this.

"When we talked to him, he told us that there had been two guys showing up every time she had class but we just assumed that Brendan was our perp, we never actually checked into the other one," she explained hoping that he'd see the light at the end of the tunnel the same way that she had, hoping that he'd see that they still had somewhere to go from here. In essence, it was hoping that he'd simply agree with her, see the opportunity, but in her mind it was a little bit more than that – it would mean that everything didn't have to change, it would mean that they were still on the same wavelength somehow, it would mean that they still had something. It would mean that she still had something to hang on to.

She watched him think back to that day, sitting on the edge of her seat in anticipation. After what seemed like hours though, his head began to nod slightly. "You're right… We never did look into that." A small smile flit across his face at the prospect of the new lead, or maybe just because the little things like that, that happened every day, made him proud of her. It didn't matter.

A/N: It's been a while since I read the entire chapter and since I have to get started on homework, etc, I don't have time to right now. SO, I hope the flow was okay. Anyway, chapter 9 will be up soon [cross your fingers] & Review, really those are about the only things that keep me going. Tell me what you think how it's going so far.

EXPECT: In the next chapter expect the beginnings of the real story here to unfold. Make sure you pay attention for it though! It's just the start...