"Elliot put his paper in. There was nothing I could do."
Olivia doesn't remember much that was said after that.
Her vision is blurry, her voice cracking every time she tries to speak, trying to keep the tears at bay as the car moves through the city, the sirens only making the headache she has been nursing ever since she walked into Cragen's office worse.
It doesn't take much for Munch to send her home almost immediately after they arrive in Waverly.
She is out of focus, short tempered and mean. She snaps at Rollins, impatient with the witnesses, and when she nearly punches two patrol officers for looking at her sideways, John tells her it is time for her to take the rest of the day off.
For once, she has no objections.
Her legs are heavy as they carry her to the familiar building. She climbs up the endless flight of stairs, and only behind the safety and loneliness of her apartment walls she allows herself to fall apart completely. Her back slides against the closed door as her legs seem to give in, the weight of her own body too heavy for them to carry. Her head cradled in her palms, her elbows placed on her knee caps as she finally lets out a sob, something primal and full of pain, a sound she never heard coming out past her lips before.
Her frame is shaking, and she wraps her arms around her body, yet it does very little to ease the pain and the desperation that settled deep in her heart.
It is ironic, almost, that the person she wants to comfort her, the arms she wants to wrap around her body, are the arms of the very man who caused her all this pain in the first place.
"Screw you, Elliot Stabler." Olivia yells into the empty living room as she stands up, back on her own two feet. "Screw you." She walks the five steps it requires to reach her small kitchen, then opens up the cabinet with so much force she thinks for a moment the doors are about to fly off their hinges.
In the darkness of her house, her hands are searching the shelves, until she finally finds her favorite bottle and a glass. The taste of the Cabernet is familiar on her lips, even though she finds no comfort in the drink, chugging it down in two large gulps, then refilling her empty glass once more, taking it with her as she paces back and forth through the living room.
His presence is all around her house.
Their pictures framed in her living room, his damn gray hoodie she kept on stealing, until he finally gave in and let her keep it in her closet, still carrying the faint smell of his cologne.
He is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.
He is deep in her heart, marking her like a tattoo, and she doesn't think she will ever be able to just let him go.
Not that she has any choice.
He was never hers to keep.
The sound of shattered glass fills her ears before she has a chance to understand what she is doing.
There is a picture frame on the floor, a million tiny crystals scattered around it, and yet she can still see the smiling faces of the both of them glaring at her, teasing her, haunting her.
Her glass is empty again, her headache finally subsides, and in its wake there is a hum in her mind, taking the edge off, even if it doesn't make her forget, even if the pain is anything but less sharp thanks to the alcohol.
Olivia bends down to her knees and starts to gather the broken pieces of glass with her bare hands.
A knock on her door makes the humming in her mind finally stop, bringing her back to reality.
"Damn it." She hisses when she sees the blood, then yells at the door "I don't need a babysitter, Munch!" Olivia walks toward the entrance, unbothered by the cut on her left hand still bleeding. "He is a grown man, and so am I. He gets to leave. I get to stay and clean up the mess he…"
When Olivia opens the door, a set of warm, familiar blue eyes are staring back at her.
"Liv…" He breaths out her name, a prayer on his lips.
The door makes an obnoxious sound as Olivia shuts it in his face, and if only she cared about anything in that moment, she might consider the noise would bring her nosey neighbors out of their holes.
"Liv, let me in." Elliot insists, knocking lightly, even though he probably knows she is standing right there on the other side of the door, the only thing separating their bodies.
And oh, how she wishes she could have just opened the damn door and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Walk away Elliot, we already established you are good at it."
The pain she feels as she asks him to leave is nothing compared to the one she will feel if she lets herself open the door for him, if she will take down the guard she built around herself in the last couple of weeks, she knows.
"Not before you hear me out." He insists.
"Go back to your wife and kids, El."
"Let me in, Olivia." Elliot whispers, barely loud enough for her to hear, and her hand is shaking as she twists the key in its hole and presses ever so lightly on the handle, opening the door to a crack, just enough for their eyes to meet one another.
Elliot flips the light switch as he walks into her living room, and suddenly her apartment is bright, too bright for her to hide the marks the tears must have left on her face and the mess she made when the picture frame met the floor.
"Ok, talk." Olivia orders, unable to bear the silence that settled between them.
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, you are sorry?" She snarls, bending down to pick up the rest of the glass pieces, her hands shaking with the need to do something, to be occupied by anything else other than the burning want to caress his skin and punch his gut, all at the very same time. "Sorry for what, exactly? Sorry for leaving the squadroom without so much as a goodbye? Sorry for ignoring my calls and my texts for the last two weeks? Sorry for not having the basic human decency to be the one to tell me you are not my partner anymore?"
"She was seventeen." Elliot mumbles, and even though she never lets her eyes rise from the floor, she can feel his stare burning a hole through her shirt, warming the skin of her shoulder blades.
"I know how old she was, Elliot. I was there." Olivia huffs, finally picking up the last remains of the picture frame and walking with them into her kitchen, placing them in the trash can. "And if this is all you had to say, you can go now."
"You are bleeding." Elliot states the obvious, and when she turns around he is close, too close, close enough for her to smell his cologne and his sweat and his laundry detergent. He has the picture in his hand, the one where they seem frozen in time, smiling to the camera, so far from where they are.
It is stained with her blood now, tiny crimson droplets decorating its outer frame.
"I can take care of myself."
"I know you can." Elliot nods, then reaches behind her, placing the picture on the counter, opening a drawer and pulling a clean washcloth. "I am asking you to let me take care of you."
And it kills her, it kills her that he knows his way around her house so well, well enough to find whatever he is looking for without asking her or opening every single drawer and cabinet.
And it kills her, it kills her to wonder if this is going to be the last time he will ever step foot past her threshold.
Because he won't stay, can't stay in a city that took everything away from him, she knows that much, and she is not going to be the one to prevent him from walking away.
"Liv, I'm scared." Elliot confesses as he presses the cloth to her cut, the white turns red almost instantly. His fingers are touching the back of her palm, a small electric current running between them, and her body leans closer to his involuntarily. "I am scared of not knowing who I am anymore, now that I am no longer a cop. I am terrified because I don't know who I am if I am not your partner."
"Elliot…" She whispers his name to the air between them, and they are close, closer than they have ever been, and they are playing a dangerous game as their foreheads are touching, his thumb pressing firmly into her wounded palm.
They are walking a wire, and even though she is just an inch from falling, she can't seem to be able to be the one who takes the step back.
"I didn't want to come here, you know… I was afraid that if I let myself hear your voice one more time, I won't be able to leave tomorrow morning. I still am."
"Then why are you here?" She asks, and only when the thumb of his free hand wipes away a tear that landed on her cheek does she realize she is crying.
"Because I am selfish." Elliot answers as his lips find the place his thumb just left. His kisses are soft, barely there, and yet they make her stomach twist in a knot, make her mind scream and her heart wonder what would those lips taste like if he just closed the distance between them and let his lips meet hers. "I didn't want my last memory to be the way you looked at me as we were both standing over the bodies of two women who did not deserve to go like that."
When his grip on the towel loosens, the fabric drops to the floor, and suddenly there is nothing between his warm hand and hers.
"Liv, give me another memory I can use."
Her eyes shut as his body closes the last few inches that separated them and his lips meet hers. They are soft and slow, exploring lightly as she inhales the smell of the whiskey from his breath.
She wasn't the only one who needed some liquid courage.
"El…" Olivia whispers into his mouth, but she can't find it in her to stop, to push him away, no matter how many alarm bells are ringing in her head. He uses the moment her lips part to insert his tongue into her mouth, to deepen the kiss as his body pressed against hers, her backside pushing against the counter, the marble digging deep into the skin of her back.
Her hands find the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as the taste of the kiss changes, salty tears mingling with hard liquor, and she has no idea which one of them is crying, him or her.
Elliot bites down on her lower lip, his hands slipping under the blazer she is still wearing and drops it to the floor.
Olivia is the one to break the kiss, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.
"We won't be able to take this back." She mentions, because god knows they need to stop.
They need to stop, but she can't be the one to pull away from him as his fingers unbutton the blouse she is wearing. Her lips find his neck, and she drops wet, sloppy kisses there, kisses that will probably leave marks he will have no way to explain to his wife.
"Don't stop." He moans, his hands falling now, his fingers go limp against the fabric of her pants, unable to do the simple task of opening a button while lust pumps in his veins.
Olivia wonders if Kathy knows, if she lets her tongue travel up his neck, if she is able to get those sounds out of him, the moans and the hums of approval he is giving her as she sucks lightly at his pulse point.
She should feel guilty, she knows. She should feel guilty, but at the moment all she feels is lust and want and a wet feeling in her underwear, leaving no space for logic or consciousness in her mind.
God, it has been so long since she had someone inside of her, something other than her own fingers and her vibrator and the thought of the very man who currently has his hands on the seam of her pants, pressing, trying to give her whatever friction he can while they are still completely dressed.
For a moment they just stand in her kitchen, their bodies pressed impossibly close together, his thighs between hers, his erection pressing on her lower belly through the layers of clothing. Her lips continue their travel up, biting his earlobe, her teeth scraping his jawline until she finally finds his lips again and they kiss, heady and slow and deep.
"Bedroom." Olivia orders as Elliot fumbles with the buttons of her blouse, finally able to throw the garment to the floor.
It won't be her first time having sex in a kitchen, but it makes her feel worse, somehow, makes her feel like a dirty little secret he will have to keep, and if it is their last night together, they might as well pretend to be lovers, sharing a bed for the first time.
Only if for a night.
Even if he would have to leave come morning. Even if he has another warm bed waiting for him, another woman sleeping in it, probably oblivious to the way her husband's hands are traveling under Olivia's tank top at the moment.
Even if all she can give him, all she can be is a memory, and not a reason for him to stay.
In another world they would probably be smiling at each other, the sound of laughter and sweet nothings in their wake as they would make their way to her bedroom.
In this universe, they are silent, other than the sound of their lips smacking against each other, little moans filling the air, and the occasional noise of their shoes being kicked off as they make their way blindly into the only bedroom in her apartment.
When her back finally meets the inside of her bedroom door, Elliot stops for a moment, brushing his thumb on her swollen lower lip. She takes his finger in her mouth, bites down on the pad lighty, and she is rewarded by a stream of moans from his lips, by his body pressed even closer to hers, letting her know he is now hard and ready.
"More." Olivia breathes, because there are too many layers that separates their bodies from each other and not enough pressure where her clit is now throbbing almost painfully. She is the one to take off her top and her bra, leaving her completely naked from the waist up.
And then he looks at her.
For a long moment, one that feels like forever, he just stares, his head tilts to one side, his lower lip caught in his teeth, his pupils the size of a dime, the blue of his eyes so dark it seems almost black in the moonlight.
"Are you going to do anything?" Olivia asks, fighting the urge to cover her bare chest with her arms, searching for any way to shield herself from the emotion she sees in his eyes.
It would be easier to name that emotion lust, or want, or even need.
It would be easier to tell herself they both gave in to one night of physical attraction, than to admit the true feelings she sees in the eyes of a man who is bound to go back to another woman once they are both sated and satisfied.
She is the one to move first, her hands finding the hem of his shirt, pushing it up until he is naked from the waist up, too. It's not the first time she sees him with his shirt off, not even the first time the sight of his naked torso made her wet and in a desperate need of release, yet it feels different, somehow, as her fingers trail the familiar shape of the tattoos on his arms. It's the first time she is allowed to really look, allowed to touch, instead of stealing forbidden glimpses like a kid who's eyeing the last cookie in the jar.
"Where do you need me?" Elliot finally makes a sound, his eyes still fixated on her breasts, both of his arms now placed against the door, each on either side of her head.
"Everywhere…"
"Liv…" His voice is low, lower than the sound that has become so familiar in the last twelve years, and it does something to her, making her wetter than she has ever been without him even touching her down there.
Olivia decides to demonstrate, using her hand instead of her words to tell him what she likes. She takes one of her hard, sensitive nipples between her thumb and forefinger, and squeezes it lightly, unable to silence the choked moans that leave her lips.
"Like that?" He asks as he takes over, placing his palm on her hard peak and brushing her own touch away from her skin.
He tugs harder, a soft cry leaving her lips as her knees give in beneath her, unable to hold onto the weight of her want anymore. His free arm finds the small of her back, supporting her, and her last coherent thought is that she has no idea how he is still standing.
His mouth is on her other nipple, and he finds a rhythm, biting and licking, tugging and caressing, and she rewards him with a set of satisfied moans, encouraging him to go on.
"Will you be able to stand on your own for me?" Elliot asks, and Olivia nods her reply, her breathing too labored for her to form any kind of word.
He kisses his way down, down her collar bone, the valley between her breasts, down her flat stomach, his tongue swirling inside her belly button until his mouth finally meets the waistband of her pants.
Her mind is cloudy, so only when he drops down to his knees does she realize what he had planned for her. Her mouth is dry, her thighs trembling with anticipation as she moans out his name.
Elliot opens her pants, lets the fabric pool at her ankles, and when he looks at her, he seems hungry, like a man who hasn't eaten for days on end and finally placed his eyes on a hot meal. "Liv… I want you…" He whispers into the hot skin of thighs, the trail of kisses going up, up, until his lips meet the soaken fabric of her thong. "Wet." He says, and if Olivia could say anything, she would have joked about him stating the absolute obvious.
Olivia cries out as Elliot finally lowers her underwear, leaving her completely naked. His tongue moves immediately, giving a slow once over, all the way from her entrance to her clit.
And then he stops.
She can feel his warm breaths on her sensitive skin, can almost feel the satisfied grin on his lips as he makes her wait, and wait, and wait some more.
"El, please…" She pleads, because it's not like she is going to have to sit across from him at work on Monday morning, and even if she did, she is so railed up she is willing to beg for anything at the moment.
"Where do you need me?" He asks again. "Right…" Olivia hears the word, then his lips close on her clit, sucking on it lightly before releasing the sensitive bud of nerves with a loud pop "there?"
She nods, trying to find something to hold onto on the wall, yet her hands come back empty. Elliot is holding on to her thighs, forcefully enough to leave black and blue marks on her come morning, but she feels wobbly and out of balance as he starts eating her out nonetheless.
His tongue is inside her, lapping, sucking, his teeth grazing her clit, and it's been so long, so long since she had a man's head between her thighs, a man who cares for her, cares about her pleasure more than he cares about his own.
"El…" She breathes as his lips focus on her clit, his left hand letting go of her thigh, his short fingernails scraping their way through her trimmed hair until they find her opening.
She lets out a scream when he inserts three fingers inside of her, and it would have been painful if she wasn't already so wet from his saliva and her own juices. "Come for me." She can hear him whispering against her skin, and she is close, so close, when he starts moving his fingers inside of her, slow at first, then picks up the pace. It doesn't take long before she closes her eyes, the darkness behind her lids fills with stars as his fingers move faster and faster.
She is not the type to be loud in the bedroom, usually, but as Elliot makes her come with his lips and his fingers, when he prolongs her orgasm as much as he possibly can, she mumbles nonsense as waves of pleasure wash over her, again and again and again.
And if she says "I love you" in the midst of all of this, they both pretend like it was just another intangible moan coming out of her lips.
It's only when her breathing somewhat evens out that he finds his way up her body, kissing his way back, her navel, her sternum, her lips. He tastes like her, and when he whispers into the kiss "You taste good." she smiles against his lips.
For a short moment it's all gone. The sense of betrayal. The familiar loneliness, an old friend who she hadn't met for the past twelve years. In that moment, she is not the other woman, and he is not betraying anyone by having his hands exploring her naked body.
In the short moment neither of them is scared of what's coming next.
At the moment, they are just lovers, and she takes him by the hand, leading him to her bed, their fingers interlaced together as she kicks off her pants and underwear and feels the soft comforter under her naked back.
This is all the encouragement he needs to slowly take off his belt, his pants and his boxer briefs, all the while standing over her, watching her ribcage rising and falling with every breath. He is taking his sweet time, his own hands traveling on his body, teasing, and Olivia's stomach twists with anticipation the longer he puts on his little show for her.
He is big, long and thick, and she lets out a moan just from the phantom of him inside her, stretching her, making her feel each thrust deep into her stomach.
One of his hands is in her hair, pushing away the strands that fell on her face, sticky with sweat. The other is on her thigh, adjusting her, encouraging her to open up her legs and move up until the tip of her head almost touches the headboard.
She wants to bite him as he adjusts himself, his erection almost at her entrance. She wants to sink her teeth into the skin of his shoulder, wants to scratch and dig her nails so deep she would leave marks on his skin.
But he is not hers to mark, so she settles on bunching the sheets in her hands, whispering the words "I want you." over and over and over again like a mantra, until they mean nothing at all.
She should mention condoms, and if she would have had anyone else in her bed she would have, but she is on the pill, and if this is their last night together, she wants to feel him, all of him, no latex separating their bodies.
"Ready?" Elliot asks.
"Mmm…" Olivia nods, closing her eyes.
He moves slowly at first, entering her inch by inch, until he is balls deep inside of her, a drop of sweat falling from his skin and meeting hers. "You feel so good." Elliot groans, and for a moment he just stays there, letting her adjust to his size and to the way her walls tighten around him.
"More." Olivia pleads, bringing one of her ankles up to his ass, nudging him forward, encouraging him to thrust harder, faster, deeper into her.
"Liv, look at me."
The request is simple enough, but it takes all the strength that is left in her to open her eyes and meet his.
And she doesn't want to see. She doesn't want to watch him as he thrusts into her, slow at first, then picking up a pace that makes the both of them moan in pleasure. She doesn't want to look at the way every muscle in his body contracts as he holds himself up, hovering over her.
Because if her eyes are closed, he can be anyone, anywhere.
He can even be a fantasy, another one of her dreams, her mind's creations.
But with her eyes open he is Elliot, her partner, the single most important person in her life, the only one that matters.
And she wants to hate him.
She wants to hate him, wants to hate him for leaving her, wants to hate him for showing up uninvited at her doorstep. Because hating him would make it easier for her to hate herself. Hate herself for being the other woman, hate her body for the way it reacts to his, the way her right arm comes and grabs his shoulder blades, pulling herself toward him until they are pressed to one another, chest to chest.
But how can she hate the man she loved for twelve long years?
"Touch yourself." Elliot orders, and she snaps out of her train of thoughts and her self loathing, bringing her free hand between their bodies and presses short, tight circles with her thumb to her clit.
She is hypersensitive, feels everything, from the way the soft bed sheets move against her back with each one of his thrusts, to the way his voice vibrates as he whispers encouragement and sweet nothings into her ear.
This time, when she comes, she is silent, the only word on her lips is the name of the man on top of her.
He follows her soon after, takes one, two, three deep thrusts until he spills himself inside of her, his cum warm and sticky as she feels it dripping down her inner thighs.
The weight of his body on hers would have probably been painful if she didn't want to hold him as close as possible for as long as he is willing to stay. He is breathing, his ribcage expanding and contracting as he goes soft inside of her, even though he is reluctant to let go of her just yet.
"How is that for a memory?" Olivia asks, her voice breaking as the tears start to pile up in her eyes, wetting her lashes, some of them breaking and streaming down her cheek. Elliot chuckles, even though the sound is completely humorless, and pulls away from her, his weight shifting just slightly so his body won't crush hers.
"I want to hold you." He requests, and Olivia moves closer, until she is the one who has her head on his chest, using it as a pillow, his fingers coming to play idly with her hair.
She is sweaty and sticky and smells like sex, and she should probably shower, but at the moment all she can do is close her eyes, let the smell of him, the taste of his kisses burn in her mind, taking her own memories to carry with her, too.
"Elliot, you have to leave."
"I know." He assures, but he does nothing to move, his fingers leaving her hair and moving on to trail her skin, his lips finding the top of her head and leaving kisses there.
"There are clean towels in the cabinet beneath the sink. Even though I don't know if you want to smell like my lavender body wash when you climb back into your own bed."
It might be painful, cruel even, to remind him in the afterglow that there is another bed waiting for him, another woman in it, but she is afraid that if he won't leave now, on her terms, she might not ever be able to let him go.
"Wanna join me?" He asks, and the silence in the room is answer enough for him.
Olivia was the first one to speak, but he is the first one to move, pushing his body off the mattress. Her head is turned away, so she can't see him, only hear the sound of his bare feet tapping on the floor and the water as the shower is turned on.
He is quick, in and out of the bathroom, collecting his articles of clothing and putting them on in a rush, so different from the pace he had when he took them off, one by one, slow and teasing.
If he hears her sobs, if he sees her holding her own body in her bed, cradled into a fetal position, as he walks out the door of her bedroom, leaving without a goodbye once again.
Well, he says nothing about it, and neither does she.
Thank you so much for reading!
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