AN: As you can probably assume from the title, this one takes place after the events of Townhouse Incident. This particular excerpt takes place a few hours after the episode ends. That should be about all you need to know. I wrestled with this one for a while, so hopefully you find it worthy of a read and not completely terrible ;)


It felt like the hardest thing he'd ever had to do - to walk away from Olivia Benson as she sat perched on a hospital bed, drenched in lingering adrenaline and sporting bruises that didn't even begin to cover the extent of the day's damage. After grueling hours of listening to her voice over a phone, townhouse walls and the threat of gunfire barricaded between them, the urge to keep her close was overwhelming. There was an almost physical pain to leaving her there. Her squad had stayed with her, but that brought him minimal relief. After all, it was their presence that forced him out in the first place. With Olivia having not yet expressed that she was ready to go public with their relationship, Tucker was not about to push the subject in the middle of this nightmare. He knew his sudden attentiveness would raise questions from her colleagues if he stuck around - more than what had already been raised from today's events. So against every instinct in his body - for her - he walked away.

"Hang in there," he had whispered before he left, hesitantly releasing his grip on her hand, "I'll see you soon, alright?"

When she looked back at him through wide, frightened eyes, the ropes she had already lassoed around his heart pulled tighter. He wanted to kiss her then, aching to feel the familiarity of her lips against his and channel every bit of safety and comfort he could into the gesture. But he stopped himself. Having just pulled her from the wreckage, he hadn't had a chance to fully asses the situation. To talk to her alone. The nauseating translation: he had no way of knowing what all happened to her in that house. He quieted the discord in his mind by settling for a cautious kiss on her temple, but his stomach twisted when she flinched. He pulled away just in time for Carisi and Fin to round the corner.

Every minute between then and now, as he took her apartment step two at a time, had moved with the velocity of a slug, dragging out until he was sure he would live a thousand lives before he could see her again. His mind raced with worry, eager to talk to her, hold her, just be with her in private. The state in which he left her, jumpy and spaced out, did nothing to help his concern. His mind replayed her startled flinch on a loop, haunting him with reminders of how shaken she was. Even now, the short hallway that stretched between his feet and her door felt entirely too long, like he wanted to take it at a dead sprint so he could get to her sooner. When he finally arrived, his stomach did a somersault. Thoughtlessly, he reached for the spare key she had given him one night to relieve Lucy on an emergency, but he stopped himself, deciding to knock instead. It occurred to him that she was probably feeling very out of control, and the last thing she needed was anyone barging into her space, whether he texted her beforehand or not. After a few moments of waiting, he got antsy. Just as he raised a hand to knock again, the door swung open and he blinked in surprise.

"Tucker?" Fin greeted him with narrowed eyes, "What are you doing here?"

I could ask you the same thing. This wasn't part of the plan. Suddenly grateful for the years of undercover work that fine tuned his improv skills, he switched directions.

"Detective," he greeted him evenly, "I, uh. Is Lieutenant Benson in?"

"Yeah," he quipped sharply, "She kind of lives here."

"Right," he blinked. So much for decent improv.

"Don't tell me IAB is hounding her about this already," Fin asserted his hand against the doorway, a protective gesture, "Her hands are clean. You were there. And she already gave her statement at the hospital."

"Of course," Tucker agreed, unable to help himself from peeking over Fin's shoulder, disappointed when he didn't spot her in the living room, "I was just stopping by to see how she was doing."

Fin narrowed his eyes again, scanning over his face for signs of ulterior motives. Blatant skepticism.

"About as good as expected, considering," he said, careful not to give too much away. His words only spiked Tucker's desire to burst through the doorway, but he had to keep the same composure he had at the hospital. No matter how much it killed him.

"I figured as much," he forced a resigned tone, "Well, let her know I stopped by. And, uh, if she needs anything... Yeah. Tell her I stopped by."

He turned to leave, a deep burn growing in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of putting more distance between them, but before he could go far, Fin stopped him.

"This isn't a professional visit, is it?" He said, eyeing the captain from behind. Tucker froze. He pivoted back around and met his eyes evenly. He didn't want to expose their relationship without Olivia's explicit say so, but he realized then that he didn't have to. This wasn't Fin's first suspicion. This was confirmation.

Fin seemed to chew over something in his mind, giving Tucker a final appraisal before the resolve broke in his eyes.

"Stay right here," He ordered begrudgingly, "If she says she wants you here, you can come in."

Tucker breathed a heavy sigh of relief, but the door clicked shut on him before he could say anything. The next minute passed slowly as he studied the chipping paint around her doorknob, anxiously awaiting the jury's verdict. When Fin finally returned, he said nothing, only opened the door and stepped back to allow him entrance. Tucker's heart soared. He led her to Olivia's bedroom - as if he needed a tour guide at this point - hovering like the secret service. Before he could enter, Fin turned to him in warning, uncharacteristic of their typical dynamic.

"You're here because she says you can be," he spoke in a low voice, "I don't know the details, and I don't wanna. All I know is that I trust Liv's judgement, and if having you here right now makes her happy… For whatever reason... I won't stand in the way."

Tucker opened his mouth to respond before Fin cut him off.

"But, it doesn't mean I like it."

He settled for a nod. If it were anybody else, the territorial vibe would have ruffled his feathers, but these were Olivia's people. Her family. Fin was being protective of her, and he understood. He was glad for it. Not only did he understand her squad's instinct to form rank around her, but he had been preparing himself for this reaction for a while, waiting for the time when their relationship eventually became public. For her, he would do whatever it took to earn the respect of her squad. For her, he would do anything.

"Fin, it's okay," Olivia's voice chimed through the crack in the door. Tucker's pulse jolted at the sound of her voice, at the reminder that he was finally within touching distance of her. Fin pushed the door open the rest of the way, revealing the scene of Olivia curled on her side, facing away from the two men. Her hair was wet, soaking the shoulders of her large tee shirt with water.

"You want me to stick around?" Fin asked, eyeing Tucker suspiciously.

"I'm fine," she barely turned her head in their direction when she spoke, showing only a glimpse of the deep purple that swirled around her eye. Even the brief sight made Tucker's stomach churn. His fingers curled into fists at his side.

"Call if you need anything," Fin bid her goodbye, lingering in the doorway long enough to give Tucker one final warning glance, "You did good today, Liv."

Tucker waited until he heard the apartment door click shut, signaling that they were finally alone. Despite the hours he had spent waiting for this very moment, he felt suddenly unsteady now that he held it in his hands. He studied his girlfriend from behind, watching the curve of her side rise and fall with each breath beneath the grey fabric, desperately scavenging his mind for words to say. This was new territory for him. While he and Olivia had scraped the surface of discussing her traumatic history, that was all it had been - a scrape. Which was fine with him. If she wanted to share, he was more than willing to listen, but he would never push the subject. He knew the basics of what had happened to her because of his unique position as IAB commander, and even the black and white words, the inhuman horrors reduced to clinical terminology in a police file, had been more than enough for him. To be honest, most of the dialogue about Lewis had taken place between Lt. Tucker and Sergeant Benson, the cops. They had yet to brave the territory as a couple, in the trenches where the real grit resided and memories and nightmares existed in terrifying color. From the moment he got the call about the hostage situation this afternoon, Tucker suspected that they were about to be propelled into this unmarked land. And here they were.

"Hi," he managed, keeping his distance. She took a long pause, summoning enough energy for a hoarse whisper.

"Hi," She replied without looking at him. Tucker shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked.

"No."

Thank God. He took a hesitant step closer to the bed.

"Is it okay if I join you?"

This time she hesitated, the change in her breathing ever so perceptible. Before he could retract, he saw the slight shake of her head. Grateful for the allowance to be nearer to her, he kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, curling up behind her. Not close enough to touch, but her warmth and the familiar scent of her shampoo were enough to calm his weary heart. She was safe. Alive. But it was heaven and hell being close to her again, able to feel her presence but sensing that she was a million miles away.

"Do you want to talk about today?" He invited softly after a few minutes.

Her silence was telling. He heard her breathing catch in her throat and backed off.

"It's okay. We don't have to. Whatever you want. I'm just glad to be here."

She hesitated for a moment, her posture relaxing a bit.

"I'm glad you're here, too," she surprised him. Her voice was warm when she said it, a stark contrast against the hollow eyes and fragmented headspace that had taken over today. It gave him hope.

"Where's Noah?" he asked, consciously fighting the urge to reach for her.

"He's with Lucy," the twinge of guilt in her voice caught him off guard, "She and Carisi took him to the park for a few hours."

"Oh. That's good."

"It's not that I…" she spoke up again, needlessly defensive, "I saw him for a little bit. I held him. I wanted to. I just- I didn't want him to see me like this."

"Hey," he dared to place a gentle hand on her arm, relieved when she didn't flinch away, "You don't have anything to explain. You needed some time to rest, there's nothing wrong with that."

She paused for a moment, clearly unconvinced but not willing to argue.

"Yeah. Right."

"I know I said we don't have to talk about it, but we can, you know. If you want."

"I don't want to," she cut him off softly, "Please. We can talk, just not about that."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, reconsidering the subject matter he was about to approach. It certainly had its risks given the events of Olivia's day. But it was their current situation that might make it the perfect time to say what should have been said long ago. The thought had ignited earlier in the day, the first time he heard her terrified voice across the telephone. He couldn't be sure why it struck him so suddenly in that moment, but he knew the guilt was strong and only growing by the second. He had to clear the air.

"There isactually something I've wanted to say for a while," he confessed, gravity apparent in his words, "Long before we happened. And I knew you wouldn't have it because you made it clear that in order for this to work, we had to let the past live in the past - and I agree. But this has weighed on me since the day the words left my mouth, and you deserve an apology."

"O...kay, you're scaring me a little," she said, "Spit it out."

"The case of Clyde Vandyne…" he began, "I assume you remember?"

Out of his view, she raised an eyebrow. He had her attention.

"You made it kind of hard not to."

"Yeah, I…" He scratched his head, letting out a nervous chuckle, "I know."

"So what about it?" she asked.

He grew suddenly quiet and his silence was enough to make her turn on her back to face him. The sight of her only made his heart grow heavier. When she looked up at him, he cast his eyes away, ashamed.

"I said some things to you," he lowered his voice to a soft rumble, "Some things that I regret with every fiber of my being, even more so now that I'm beginning to know you the way I am."

She returned the silence this time, reverent to the change in atmosphere. He was clearly looking to repent, and she was ready to listen.

"Do you remember the first time I questioned you, after the DNA identified you as the primary suspect?"

Nodding, she shuddered at the memory. Of course she remembered.

"And… I asked you about having PTSD," he let the words roll off his tongue, the weight behind them heavy from years of buildup, "I more than asked you about it - I interrogated you about it. I grilled you on it, exploited it, and… I crossed a line."

Now it was Olivia's turn to look away. She focused her eyes on the cotton threading of the sheets, remembering the way his words had cut her like glass that day almost six years ago, digging up the parts of her recent past she had finally begun to bury. The worst part had been that if his theory about Clyde's murder wasn't so completely false, it could have been true. Her post traumatic stress had been pretty bad back then, having gone so long without seeking help, so there was no guarantee that she wouldn't have, in fact, killed a massive biker if he attacked her in a dark alley and triggered a flashback. Even back then she had acknowledged this. She figured it would be best for now to leave out the part where she cried about it later that day in the holding cell, plagued by reminders in the form of steel bars and handcuffs. He felt bad enough as it was.

"I guess I was so used to seeing you as this... unbreakable rogue cop with a dirty partner-"

"Hey-"

"I know. I know," he raised a hand in defense, "I'm not saying it was true, but that was how I saw it. I forgot to consider that before you were the enemy, you were human."

"I was guilty of that, too," she admitted.

"That was the way of things for years," he said, "Our spikes prickled up at the sight of each other. Always poised for a fight. I got so used to the banter that I didn't even register the words coming out of my mouth until I said them sometimes, and then it was too late."

He scraped a palm over his mouth, eyes distant as he seemed to remember something else.

"Which brings me to my second apology," he took a deep breath, "I said something else to you a few years back, when I came to you for help in busting those cops from the twelfth. You probably don't even remember..."

Instantly, her demeanor changed, eyes cast down. She barreled over him like a steamroller as she quoted him verbatim.

"She's a possible rape victim," she recited flatly, "I thought you might be sensitive to that."

Tucker was speechless. Devastated.

"You remember."

"I remember," she echoed.

If he was apologetic before, her reveal had sent him charging full speed across the border into self loathing.

"I'll never forget the way your eyes changed when I said it," he whispered, "Like you couldn't believe that even I would stoop that low. I couldn't believe it either. I'm so sorry, Olivia."

"It's…" She didn't want to say fine, because it hadn't been, "It's in the past. I know you would never dream of saying those things now. As far as the first part goes, in your defense, you did have a pretty strong case against me for murder."

"It doesn't matter," he argued, "You had post traumatic stress, and I used that against you. To this day, I don't even know what it was from-"

He felt her stiffen beside him, her eyes retreating from his gaze. Cautiously, he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers on the mattress between them.

"I'm not saying you have to tell me," he spoke softly, giving a reassuring squeeze, "I'm just saying it was wrong either way. All of it. And I've been sorry about it long before we became… this."

He wasn't expecting her immediate grace - God knows he hadn't forgiven himself. He would have settled for any sign that she didn't hate him. That's why he was taken aback when she whispered the three words that nearly shattered him right there.

"I forgive you."

In that moment, he was overcome with such gratitude for the woman beside him. He brought their joined hands to his lips and let his eyes fall shut, placing a kiss on her knuckles. When he pulled away, he studied her intently, taking in her battle worn eyes.

"I'm telling you all this now because you need to know that as far as everything today goes… You are allowed to react with me," he promised, "You're allowed to feel this, and I'm not going to look down on you or question it. You've been through a lot. More than most. And I'm here for you."

"I'm -"

"And you don't have to be fine."

She bit down on her bottom lip. When she met his eyes again, there was moisture among the weariness he found there.

"That's good to know," her voice broke off, "Because I'm not. Not right now."

The lines in his face deepened to etch the picture of his sorrow.

"But I will be."

Her words were unexpected, as was the optimism that dared to poke through in her tone. But he saw it in her eyes - that will to survive. The Olivia Benson resilience that tethered his heart to her in the first place. And it amazed him that even in a time such as this, when she was well within her rights to break down completely, it was her words that carried the flame to ignite him with hope. Enough to crack a smile in the midst of the storm.

"Well, I could have told you that."