Thank you to those who have reviewed or favourited so far! I'm really touched! Also, just a little note of caution here, there's some sensitive subject matter so approach carefully! And of course, please R&R, as I said initially I need all the encouragement / advice I can get!

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She wasn't sure how it had happened. She'd never intended to get to this point with Elliot, with anyone in fact. But somehow, in his own special, Elliot type way, he'd finally carved her down. Finally broken her open.

That said, he wasn't having all of her. Not by a long shot. There was too much she couldn't say, wouldn't say. But she'd give him something. After all, he'd made it perfectly clear she needed to talk, and actually, to give him his due, he was right.

She pulled away from him slightly, suddenly aware of how physically close they'd become, and a little embarrassed about it, given the way she'd hit on him. Then she took a deep breath and shakily spoke.

"My name's Olivia Benson, and I let myself get emotionally involved with the Austin case."

Elliot smiled, "Well, well done Olivia Benson. But I don't really think that was ever really up for debate. Would you care to expand?"

She should have hated him, or at least been mad at the way he was pushing her. But she'd done her anger already that evening, and could never stay that way with Elliot for long.

"Ok." She looked away from him, not keen to be looking him in the eyes when she made her next announcement, "My name's Olivia Benson, and I let myself get emotionally involved with Ashley Austin-Black because I identified with her." she forced out her final words, "As a vic."

The confession made her want to vomit all over again, but Elliot, moving in beside her to kiss her cheek proved to be enough of a distraction to stop her. She looked at him questioningly, "Did you just kiss me Elliot Stabler?"

He shrugged, "I'm proud of you. I don't know what I expected, but not that. Not the way you described yourself."

He might have been proud of her, but Olivia was conflicted, had been since the word 'vic' had left her lips. It seemed accurate, appropriate, until it was out in the open, and now… now it felt like overkill.

"I shouldn't have used that word." She protested, "No one ever hurt me. My mother never hurt me."

"No one ever hurt Ashley." Elliot said gently, "Except Ashley herself. You still saw her as a victim." She couldn't argue with that so said nothing, staring down at the table top like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, only lifting her gaze again when Elliot asked his next question.

"Did you hurt yourself too?"

She opened her mouth to deny it. But somehow the truth came out instead.

"Once." She said softly, "I hurt myself once."

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Her words hung in the air at first, as Elliot took them in and digested them. He wasn't sure really whether he was shocked or not. He'd suspected as much, clearly, or else he wouldn't have asked the question, but he'd not expected her to come clean so easily, if at all, and now she had, he wasn't entirely sure how to handle it.

"Where?" He asked, gently, pulling on the kid gloves, although he knew she'd probably resent it.

"In the bathroom." That hadn't been what he meant, and as he looked at her, trying to decide if she was genuinely missing the point and just trying to avoid the question, he saw her smile slightly and realised that she knew full well what it was he wanted to know.

"Olivia." He prompted, coming across more like a father running out of patience than he would have liked, not that it mattered since she knew the game was up and answered him.

"I cut my thighs. With a razor."

Again, her frankness stunned him, along with what she was telling him. Of all the things he'd been expecting, deliberate, intentional self harm wasn't really one of them. She must have sensed his surprise because she laughed slightly,

"You seem shocked. Why Elliot? Did you have me down as more People Magazine, less Sylvia Plath? All kinds of kids self harm you know."

He reached out, stroking her arm, "I know. But," he sighed, looking into her eyes, trying to imagine all the things that she must have been through that contributed to who she was, the good and the bad, "I feel sad for you Liv. Sad that you felt you had to do that. How old were you?"

She hesitated before she responded, and when she did so, he knew instantly why.

"You were 11? Kathleen is 11." He tried to put his daughter in Olivia's shoes, trying to imagine a situation where she'd feel so desperate that hurting herself would be the only way to cope, but he couldn't do it, it hurt too much. Olivia must have seen that because she was quick to comfort him.

"I wasn't Kathleen El, I didn't have a father like you, or a mother like Kathy. I didn't have a Maureen or a Dicky or an Elizabeth. It was just me. I was alone. You don't have to worry about Kathleen."

"But I do have to worry about you." He reached out, stroked her cheek. It was an intimate gesture, and one that at any other time might have felt out of place. But not at that moment. At that moment he wanted to be there for her. Wanted to give her whatever it was she needed. "Tell me why you did it?"

"Mom was drunk again." It was the first time he'd ever heard her refer to her mother as mom, and the effect was startling. With very little effort it was quite easy for him to believe he was talking to little Olivia. 11 year old Olivia. "Go on." He said gently, urging her to continue.

"She'd been at a work thing. Come home real late. Real drunk. I'd stayed up, I was excited to show her a medal I'd won for track. I was on the team you know. My coach said I could easily make JV one day. Varsity even."

"Impressive stuff." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he thought she might resent it, find it patronising, but actually she didn't. She smiled, "Thanks Eli."

The smile was brief though, because then she continued, "She got real pissed at me because I should have been in bed. Wasn't even slightly interested. So I got pissed right back at her and told her I was going to live with my dad."

"Ouch." He could imagine the scenario all too easily. He knew what Olivia was like when she was fired up about something, and the combination of a mouthy child and a drunk mother sounded like a dangerous set up from the get go. Even more so if you put a rapist father in the equation. "Did you know then what he'd done?"

"Not at that moment. But I did five seconds later."

Elliot felt his heart sink, "That was how she told you."

She nodded, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, "She'd always told me he was dead, but you know what kids are like. When I was 8 I became convinced she was lying. That he was alive but that her drinking had driven him away. I just thought," a tear trickled down her cheek, and he assumed from the fact that she just left it there that she wasn't even aware of it, too wrapped up in her story to notice it, "I just thought, that, I could go and be with him. That he would want me. It was dream, it was a fantasy but it kept me going when it got real bad at home." She was sobbing now, and once again he wrapped his arms round her, babying the adult, although he knew it was the child she'd once been that needed him more. "She took that away from me Elliot. She took it away from me."

He held her, stroking her hair, rocking her as she cried. She was breaking in the way that he'd always hoped she would, when he was there with her to hold her, support her and take care of her. That said, he was terrified. It was all very well breaking her, but he just hoped they'd be able to find their way through what came next.

"Liv," he said softly, when her tears finally slowed, "what happened next. After she told you what your father was, what he'd done?"

She laughed bitterly, "What do you think? She opened a bottle of gin, drank herself to oblivion and left me alone with the knowledge that I was the product of a rape. That was when I did it." She let her hand drop down into her lap, subconsciously tracing lines on her thighs, running her finger tips over the fabric of her trousers. Elliot reached out, entwined his fingers with hers, letting her drag them over her thigh along with her own. "Do you have scars?"

She sighed, "A little. They're small, thready. I didn't go too deep. It hurt too much." She looked embarrassed then, "And I know that was probably meant to be the point. But I was 11. I was a wimp. I don't even know why I did it. It just, I had to, well, you know, do something."

"I'm sure you did." He said gently, easily able to imagine how she'd reached that point now he knew the full story. There was one thing though that he was still curious about though. "But you never did it again?"

"No." Olivia smiled through her tears, "This is where being 11 was really rather great. Because things are dead simple when you're 11. I decided that I didn't want to be like my dad. I mean jeez, why would I want to be? So, I thought the furthest thing away from being like my dad was being a cop. I decided that night Eli, sat on the bathroom floor with blood all over me, that I'd do this. That I'd be a cop."

"And at 11 you knew that applicants to the force have to have a full medical and psychological assessment?"

She shook her head, again managing a weak smile, "I'd not done the research at that point, but I just guessed you had to be sane, and doing what I'd done, with the razor, it didn't feel very sane. So I didn't do it anymore."

"Well I'm glad." He told her, "I'm glad you never cut again and I'm glad you made the decision to be a cop. I wouldn't have wanted to miss out on having you as a partner."

Olivia laughed then, looking doubtful, "Seriously? Even though I get emotionally involved, and hit on your when I'm down and am generally just a huge pain in the ass."

"It could be worse." He said, pulling her closer, gently caressing her arm, wanting to help her relax, "You could be Munch."

"You said Munch was hot." She pointed out, referring to their earlier verbal sparring, "And," she added, sounding more than a little downcast, "at least you wouldn't have to worry about Munch turning his gun on you." She glanced at her own gun which was still laying discarded on the table, and he felt guilty that she'd taken his words so to heart, when he'd really only meant them to help her. He slipped a hand carefully under her chin and tilted her head up so she was looking at him,

"Liv. I wouldn't change you for anyone. Not Munch, not Fin, not anyone. Professionally you're the best thing that ever happened to me. And sure, you need a little help right now, but we'll get through it you and I. I promise."

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It felt odd, being that close to him. He was holding her so close, touching her in ways that only lovers had, looking so deep into her eyes. In any other scenario with any other guy, she'd be expecting him to lean in for a kiss within about the next 30 seconds.

But he wasn't any other guy. He was Elliot. And although she - loved - him, in some bizarre and random and loose definition of the word, and although she hit on him frequently both seriously and in jest, and although he was, most definitely, her port in the storm, it was never ever going to happen. It couldn't happen. Because of Kathy. And the kids. And the fact that she had a nasty habit of chewing men up and spitting them out again.

That said, it felt good to have him hold her. She was never very good at being held, mainly because she wasn't used to it. Her mother had never been the cuddling type, unless she was exceptionally drunk and having one of her "I love you sweetie" moments, that she'd have cherished except for the fact that the slurring made it sound so insincere and the smell of the alcohol on her mother's breath made her want to vomit. But this wasn't like that, it felt good. Really good.

"Do you hold Maureen like this?" She wasn't sure where the question came from. He wasn't her father, he'd already told her that. But thinking about her mother's drunken embraces, along with wanting to move away from any thoughts of anything sexual happening between them, made it seem like a question she wanted to ask.

If Elliot found it a curious question, he didn't comment, instead just nodding his head, "Sometimes. If she lets me. Which isn't as often as it used to be. But when she's sad, yeah, I do." He stroked her cheek, "Do you like it?"

She smiled, "It feels good, although," she glanced around the bar, becoming aware for the first time that their embrace was being clocked by a fair few of it's patrons, most of whom she suspected were off duty cops. There were certainly a few familiar faces among them. "people are looking Elliot."

"Let 'em look," He murmured, "unless you want me to let you go."

She shook her head instantly, hating the idea, feeling too safe and secure for the first time in her life to want to let the feeling slip away. She couldn't imagine anything worse. That said, she was worried about the curious glances they were attracting and didn't think either of them would benefit from word getting back to Cragen. She looked back at Elliot, slightly hesitantly, took a deep breath and then made a suggestion.

"Can we go back to my place?"

She saw a concerned expression cross Elliot's face and she knew what it was born of. She didn't even need the questioning look that followed at he held up four fingers. One finger for each time she'd hit on him, plus an additional one for her most recent suggestion. She reached out, pushed one of his fingers back down and then explained herself.

"Not a come on. Not in the slightest. I just want us to have some privacy." She swallowed hard, unable to believe what she was about to say. "I want to talk some more. There's a lot more I need to say."

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