(Part 2 of previous chapter- "Get in, I'm driving.")

TW- mentions of Lewis, PTSD, scars

Elliot gently raps at her door, knowing the doorman has already alerted Liv to his arrival. A secure building- of course it all makes sense now- and he shatters thinking of how he disrupted her peace months ago in a drug-induced haze. He wonders now how badly that triggered her, or why she bothers with him at all.

He's not sure what to expect, or if she'll even answer the door. But then he hears her quiet footsteps approach, the lock and doorknob turn slowly, and she's there, simply staring, as if she expected him all along.

She's bare-faced and freshly showered, damp hair cascading in curled pieces along her shoulders. However, all he can see is weariness, darkness, heavy lids and bloodshot eyes. He takes her in fully, notices that she doesn't have many laugh lines, but he can see creases from years of furrowed brows and pursed lips. A face that has responded to the calls of countless victims, eyes that have shed countless tears, lips that have spoken countless words of support and threatened the countless beasts of the world. Freckles that trace her tragedies and triumphs.

She's beautiful.

God, he wants to make her laugh. Wants to take away the pain of her torment. Wants to erase the snapshots of every traumatic case, everything that has stuck with her in two decades of a career enshrouded in violence. Wants to murder the monster that took her light and made her a victim. He can see her survival- the way she carries herself, the way she commands her team. Her head always held high, her demons kept buried, until she was called to pull his ass out from potential danger and he unwittingly wrecked her carefully structured façade.

He wants to make her whole. He doesn't know where to begin.

"Jesus, Liv," he whispers, "what have I done?"

"El, I'm fine."

"Like hell you are."

She motions for him to take a seat, and she walks to her kitchen, returning with two beers. She hands him one and takes a tentative seat next to him on the couch.

"So, what do you know?"

"Fin told me you have PTSD. Cigarettes and vodka are triggers. Donnelly mentioned that you were kidnapped."

She closes her eyes and nods. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about it sooner, to be honest."

"Liv, what can I do?"

"Do?"

"To fix…. To help with your PTSD. What can I do right now?"

"For starters, no apologies tonight, okay? I can't deal with pity, for either of us."

"Okay. What else?"

"I'm going to answer questions that I know you want to ask. After that, I want to put it to rest tonight. I'll tell you the whole story, I promise, but I can't tonight."

"I don't want you to. I just want to be here for you, Olivia."

"He's dead."

He feels bile rise in his throat, but he swallows it down with a swig of beer. He's relieved, for Liv's sake, but there's a part of him that had hoped to inflict that justice himself.

"And, as far as I know, I wasn't raped."

The fuck? As far as she knows? He wants to ask more, but keeps his lips tightly closed. He's not going to force her, ever, to revisit that memory, or lack thereof.

"My triggers. He forced me to drink nothing but vodka for four days. And the cigarettes…"

Liv, stop, you don't have to do this. You don't have to tell me."

I know…. Look, our friendship… I want to move forward, El, I really do."

"Okay. What are you saying, Liv?"

"Can I… can I show you?"

"Show me?"

Before he can think or process, he watches as she's pulling down the zipper of her grey hoodie. A hoodie that's threadbare and looks like it's seen better days, but has an odd familiarity to it. And then it clicks.

It's his.

She's kept a part of him with her, has zipped up in his warmth, his arms, his scent. Curled up in his shadow when she was triggered or just needed a friend.

It breaks him.

He hates himself for leaving, but he promised he wouldn't apologize tonight, so he just stares. Watches her strip down to the camisole underneath, and then she's tugging at it, slowly pulling it up, revealing honeyed skin that makes his breath hitch and his pants tighten.

"Liv," he warns, worried she's not in her right mind and doing something she'll regret later. "What are you doing?"

She stands, pulling the cami over her head. She's in her simple black bra and leggings, and he's never seen her this vulnerable, or courageous, or beautiful. She grabs his hand and pulls him up with her, and her chest is brushing against his.

He unconsciously licks his lips. "Liv," he growls, mere inches from her mouth.

"I want to forget about him tonight. I want to remember us. Can you do that, El? Can you make me remember us?"

He's practically catatonic, unwilling to believe this is real. He closes his eyes and places his forehead to hers. She takes his hand and trails it along her hip, and he can feel puckered skin. A scar. She continues her meandering journey, moving his hand along her rib cage, and then wraps his hand along her bra clasp, giving him unspoken permission.

He's frozen, and waits to meet her eyes to truly make sure this is what she wants. They haven't even kissed yet, but this is something deeper, less about passion and more about healing. Her eyes are sparkling for the first time since his arrival, and he gently unclasps her bra, letting it fall between them. His eyes travel downward, and that's when he sees the faint circles peppering her breasts. The unmistakable marks of cigarette burns.

He wants to dig this monster up and torture him. Fucking obliterate him, slowly and methodically.

Olivia takes his index finger and trails it over the tops of her breasts, letting him touch the unwanted tattoos that brand her skin. Her constellation, her map of survival.

"Olivia," he murmurs reverently, tears stinging his eyes. "You're beautiful."

She takes his index finger and gently kisses it, then the inside of his palm before resting it on her cheek. "El, kiss me, please, kiss-"

And that's all the permission he needs. His lips crash into hers, as tears spill from both of their eyes. He feels her disintegrate beneath his touch and realizes that his hands that adorn her neck are trembling. He wants to be so careful with her, but she's ravenous and he responds in kind when she groans into his mouth and nips his bottom lip. This is the most amazing thing he's ever experienced. He wants this, forever.

"Forever, huh?" She murmurs, and he realizes he's said this thought aloud in between hot, quick, pecks. He's mortified, but then she does something unexpected.

She giggles. And it's the most heartstopping sound on earth, a melody that cascades through his body leaving goosebumps along his arms and a thickness in his groin. "I think that can be arranged, Stabler."

"Oh yeah?" He grins, and it's a treasured thing, to be grinning like a fool with Olivia Benson. "Liv, I'll follow you anywhere. It's all your call."

"Well, how about you follow me into the bedroom, and we'll start forever there."