Finally, Alex falls back into a fitful sleep. Ignoring the fact that it's almost four in the morning, I climb out of bed and dial Elliot's phone number.

"Stabler," he answers sleepily on the third ring.

"El? It's Liv."

"Liv?" He sounds a bit more awake, but groans. "Why the hell are you calling me in the middle of the night?"

"Sorry. It's Alex."

I can hear Kathy in the background murmuring, "Elliot? Who is it?"

"Liv," he replies.

I can hear her grunt of disapproval, but this can't wait until morning.

"We need to arrest George Cabot."

"It's the middle of the night."

"Don't you think I know that already? Arrest him."

"For what?" asks Elliot groggily.

"Let's see, aggravated assault, rape in the first degree, kidnapping . . . and that's only for starters," I snap. "I'll bet we can find a minimum of ten crimes to charge this son of a bitch with."

"Does Alex know?"

I glance at the fragile woman sleeping beside me. With her blonde hair splayed over her face, her head resting on both her hands, she looks like an angel. I decide that a little white lie won't hurt anyone, so I reply, "Yeah. She's with me now." I can feel his raised eyebrows through the phone and add hastily, "She didn't want to be alone."

"Right. So you want me to leave my nice, warm bed and arrest this piece of crap right now?"

"Alex is a friend," I tell him, disdain lacing my tone.

He groans. "Okay, okay, I'm going. I'd kill the bastard myself, Liv. You know that."

I do. "Thanks, El."

"See you in a few hours," he tells me.

"Bye."

I flip my phone shut and lower myself back onto my pillow, beside Alex. I snuggle as close to her as I dare and gently brush a few strands of hair out of her eyes. She looks so beautiful, and yet, at the same time, so broken. All I want to do is hold her and kiss her pain away, but I can't. And I understand. All I really want is to protect my Alex, but I know that relationships don't work that way. Friendship – and love – is quid pro quo, give and take. If I spend my life trying to take of Alex, then I'm telling her that I think she's incapable of taking care of herself, and I know my independent Alex wouldn't like that one bit. So I won't.

But I need to be close to her right now. I press my body to hers and tenderly run my fingers through her hair. She doesn't wake up, but that's okay. I'm not doing it for her. I'm doing it for myself.


She sleeps until morning, but I don't sleep at all. I can't. My heart is breaking for my poor Alex, so close to me now, and yet so far. I love her so much that seeing her in pain physically hurts me, and it makes me sick inside. I find myself contemplating how I could kill George Cabot. I could strangle him, maybe, but that would leave evidence. I could poison him . . . no, too complicated. I could beat him to death with my bare hands . . . no, that would give him too much of a chance to fight back. I want him to be as powerless as he made my Alex.

And of course, I know I'll never do any of these things. It's just a comfort to know I could, if I ever so desired. I have the power to protect the woman I love, even if I'll never use it. But I will, because I'm going to make sure this bastard rots in jail for what he did to her.

"Livvy?"

My head snaps up at the sound, then I realize it's just Alex. Tears rush to my eyes at the sweet nickname, but I blink them back. "Hey, sweetie," I murmur as she rolls over to face me. "It's not morning yet."

She smiles. "I know."

"Did I wake you?"

She shakes her head. "I wasn't asleep."

I chuckle. "You most definitely were. You talk in your sleep, did you know that?"

She wrinkles her nose. "What did I say?"

Flashing her a lopsided grin, I reply sweetly, "How much you love me."

She laughs. "Right. But you already know that."

I do. Before I've even realized what I'm doing, I've leaned forward and pressed my lips to Alex's.

Her eyes widen for a moment, but then she melts into the kiss. It's the greatest feeling in the entire world.

Finally, we break apart. I hold my breath, waiting for Alex's reaction, wondering if I've done the wrong thing.

But her expression softens into a sweet smile as she leans back against the headboard, and I let out a sigh of relief. I didn't do the wrong thing after all.

She looks as if she's about to say something, but we're interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone. I force myself to tear my eyes away from Alex's and reach over to grab my phone. "Sorry, Alex," I apologize. "I have to take this." Flipping open my phone, I clear my throat and answer, "Benson."

"Liv, it's me."

"Oh, hi, Elliot."

"George Cabot is MIA," he tells me.

"What do you mean, he's MIA?"

"He's not at his house or at work or anywhere that we could think of."

My heart skips a beat. "What about his wife?"

He sighs. "We found her all right."

"What do you mean?"

"Shot dead in the master bedroom. Execution style. By his gun. But both he and the gun are on the run."

"Check out his credit cards, phone records," I tell him, my voice rising an octave in panic.

"I did. Nothing and nothing. But he made a huge withdrawal from his bank account last night."

"Check the airports, train stations –"

"I did," says Elliot. "Nothing."

My heart sinks. "So he could be anywhere. Watching. Waiting."

Alex taps my shoulder, mouths, What? But I just shake my head. How can I tell her that the man who caused her so much pain is still out there, ready to hurt her some more?

"Yeah, but we'll find him." Then in a gentler tone, he asks, "How's Alex doing?"

I glance at her. "Fine. I don't think we'll be in today, El. Tell Cragen."

I'm waiting for his, "Tell him yourself," but it doesn't come. He just says, "Okay. Bye, Liv."

"Bye." I flip my phone shut and turn back to Alex's questioning gaze.

Sighing, I brace myself, wondering how to tell her. Finally, I just come out with it. "Your father."

She starts to tremble at the look of trepidation on my face in relation to this, but she tries to force her body to be calm. I reach out to take her hand, but she pulls away. Wanting to show me how strong she is, how strong she can be on her own. "What about him?" she asks as evenly as she can, but I detect the slight tremor in her voice.

I sigh. There's no easy way to say this. Wanting more than anything to pull her close, to run my fingers through her hair, to press my lips to hers and make her forget her pain, I whisper, "He's on the run."

Alex's pale face goes even whiter. Folding her hands in her lap to calm their shaking, she looks up at me, trying but failing to make her face blank. All she can manage to choke out is, "Oh."

I want to reach out to her, to touch her, to give her some semblance of physical reassurance, to comfort her in the only way I can. But I know she doesn't want it, so I wrap my arms around myself instead. "We'll find him," I try to assure her, but the words sound hollow even to me.

She takes a shaky breath and nods. "We'll be okay," she says quietly.

I know she has to say we, because saying I would make her seem too vulnerable, too weak. It would make it seem like I'm stronger than she is, like our relationship is uneven. So I don't say anything.

And then I wonder if she said it to convince me or to convince herself.

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