A/N: For the record, this isn't E/O. If you're still reading after that line, then good for you. SVU's not mine.
He watched her while she slept. Had she been anyone else, and had this been anything other than what it was, it might've seemed a bit odd. But it wasn't, and she wasn't, and so he left it alone. He wasn't going to wake her up; heaven only knew one person not sleeping was enough. And after everything that the day had decided to bring on, well…He didn't want to think about it. He wasn't going to think about it. Turning on his side, he continued to look at her, and thought about it anyway, because it wasn't going to go away.
He hated to think that it was the only reason that he'd come home. But at the moment, it was the only reason he could think of, and it bothered him, because this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. It wasn't supposed to have happened like this, but it had, and now…Yet another thing he didn't want to think about, and a place he didn't want to go, but once again, his mind had run away from him, and he was left without a choice. There were certainly a lot of things he didn't want to think about, he mused, and would have been slightly entertained by the thought, except for the fact that it was getting annoying.
So this was how it was. He wondered if this was the way it was going to be, with one thing always leading to another, and neither of them knowing in the morning whether or not they would regret what they had done. He thought on this for a moment, and wondered whether it would've just been better for him to turn around and leave like he'd intended to in the first place. But it had been late, and he knew that if he looked far enough inside himself, he'd find that he hadn't really wanted to go. Even lying here now, he knew it. Life was such that something that seemed as simple as this was really, in truth, complicated, and running away from it now would do nothing.
Nothing, except make it worse. Elliot turned so that he was lying on his back and stared up at the ceiling. The lights coming in from outside made shadows across the flat surface, and he watched them now, instead of her. She was still asleep; he could tell that much by the quiet, and by the fact that the only sound was his breathing, and her own. For a moment, it almost felt normal. But morning would come, and he'd have to leave, and even then, he wouldn't want to wake her up, and so it'd probably result in a note explaining where he'd gone, which seemed pathetic, because that wasn't how it worked.
As it was, he didn't want to leave. Everything finally seemed like it was being shoved back into place, however reluctantly. He'd known it wouldn't be easy; had the feeling that she knew, too, but whether or not it was for old time's sake or for an actual desire for it to work, he didn't know. Didn't think he wanted to know. She stirred slightly beside him, and he turned his head to look at her, but she was still asleep. There had been no case to throw her for a loop, because she wasn't a cop, though heaven only knew she'd been married to one long enough. An almost amused smirk crossed his face, briefly, disappearing as quickly as it had come. She could sleep all she wanted to and never have to worry about anything waking her from it, because there was nothing, and would be nothing.
He wondered how she'd felt after walking away. A painful enough subject, but it was where his mind was determined to drag him and so he went along with it, because he didn't want to take the chance just yet that getting up and moving would wake her. The lights from outside fell across the bed, lighting up her face, and it was this that caught his attention, momentarily distracting him. She still looked much the same way she always had, though the years had changed them both, and if he looked hard enough, he could see it in himself, as well as in her. That was just the way it was, and the way it would be. And where the future would lead was yet to be seen.
The thought scared the hell out of him. He wondered if they'd moved too soon, if this would be the one thing that would push them both to the point of no return, to a place where one moment, things had been perfectly fine, and the next, they weren't. He wondered if they'd just ruined it all, and didn't want to think about it, because, come morning, he wasn't going to regret what they had done. He wondered if it was worth it to hope that she wouldn't, either, and didn't want to think about that. Luckily, this time, his mind decided to cooperate, and the thought went away. But he knew it'd come back sooner or later, more than likely when the next thing came along to throw him for a loop, because that had been happening a lot lately.
The thing about that, however, was that there was always something to set him right again, whether it was getting told off by the captain, or having his partner in his face because yet again they'd managed to piss each other off without really knowing how, when or why. And then there was this, a quiet moment where he felt most comfortable, because in all honesty, Manhattan was starting to bother the hell out of him, and it was nice to be able to get away, even though he knew he'd have to go back in the morning, but he wasn't going to think about that now, either. Besides that, the thoughts of the case had gone away, which was what he'd been unconsciously aiming for in the first place, before this had all begun.
And she was the one who'd made them go away. Just like always. Or rather, just like normal, before these last two years had happened, and before he'd turned into some raging idiot that didn't know where the hell his life was going, but he thought he might actually know now, which was comforting. Somewhat. She stirred again, and he continued to watch her, realizing that at some point, he was actually going to have to get up, because he was in sudden need of something to drink, but he didn't feel like moving just yet. So he didn't, and instead turned on his side again, because lying on his back was starting to bother him.
She continued to sleep. He almost wished that he could manage to fall asleep, too, except for the fact that thinking always kept him from doing so, and sometimes it drove him up the wall not being able to get to the end of his so-called train of thought before letting sleep take over. He envied her for a moment, for the ability she had to just let it all go. Of course, come morning, she'd probably want to discuss all of this, when the kids had all been shooed away to school, because heaven only knew they didn't need to be in on that particular conversation, and in any case, school wasn't over yet, whether they liked it, or not.
He didn't realize that she was looking at him, until he blinked, and noticed that somewhere along the lines, she'd woken up, and was now looking back at him, somewhat startled, as if she wondered what exactly he thought he was doing there. After a moment, the look disappeared, and she relaxed, and he knew that they state they were in had pretty much told her everything they needed to know, because, really, there was nothing else it could've done. The clock on the bedside table read ten till two in the morning. He'd been awake for quite some time. But she said nothing, about the fact that he was there, about the way he looked, because he knew he looked like hell; he'd looked like hell when he'd gotten there in the first place, and it probably hadn't changed any since then.
What she did do, however, was reach for him, wordlessly, probably because she wasn't as awake as he thought she was, and therefore, wasn't going to talk, because neither of them ever really did, or had before, when they were like this. He moved closer to her, and felt her arms around his waist, and then the warm feeling of her breath on his skin. Within moments, she was asleep again. He watched her for a few minutes, amused. It was almost like nothing had changed, but it had changed, and he knew it, and knew that she did, too, because there was no way she couldn't have; they'd both started it in the first place, through something that seemed almost irrelevant now, though he knew it wasn't, really.
The minutes passed by more slowly than they might have had this not been what it was, had they not been where they were…in their lives, and even in what remained of their marriage. After a while, he shifted slightly in his position, enough so that he could get to his feet without waking her. Luckily, it worked. He watched her for a moment as he reached first for his pants, and then his shirt, which he left unbuttoned, because he didn't want to turn on the lights and figure out which button went where. And then he left the room, leaving the door open behind him, and light flooded in from the hallway, completely illuminating her, and he paused for a moment, to look, feeling almost foolish for thinking for a second that if he blinked again, it would all go away.
But it wouldn't, and he knew this, because he was still there, and so was she, and so was this, whatever had happened between them. And he walked downstairs towards the kitchen, because it was really the only other place where he could go without waking someone up, and wondered what exactly this was, because it didn't feel like anything they'd ever done before, though, obviously, they had. It felt different, because of where they were, what this was, and what had driven him home in the first place, though now that he thought of it, it wasn't the only reason. He wanted to be there, had wanted to be there for two straight years now, and now he was, if only for what seemed to be a fleeting moment, but he had the feeling that this wouldn't be the only time, hoped that this wouldn't be the only time…if only because this felt like the first time in those two years that he'd really been back on track.
With this thought in mind, he pulled open the refrigerator door, and pulled out the carton of orange juice, thinking that just maybe, this would turn into some kind of new beginning.