Another life or death moment.
Another time and place that Liv is here, again, risking her life for his own.
He was bound and incapacitated when she and Bell came storming in, guns drawn. A shootout came next, with Liv diving in front of him to block the bullets and shove him to cover. Luckily, it ended without injury.
Bell he expected. She's his partner and his sergeant, after all, and it went with the territory.
Liv wasn't supposed to be there. They weren't partners anymore. He left for a reason a decade ago- he wouldn't, he couldn't do this to her again. They were too connected, too entangled in each other's veins, so he severed his limbs and ran across the ocean. He needed to protect her, to keep her safe from his recklessness. So he soldiered on. The limbs re-grew, misshapen and hollow, and he lived with the ghost of her in his bones. As long as she was safe, that was all that mattered.
Yet, here she is, and his fury is an understatement.
"You're here," he spits out dangerously, without a hint of gratefulness or gratitude.
Liv looks hurt, stunned. Before she can reason it away or pull rank on him, he cuts her off again.
"Why are you here? This isn't your case, Liv."
Ayanna interjects coolly. "I called her, Stabler. We needed SVU's help because-"
"That's bullshit! How many times did you need SVU's help before I joined the team? I'm guessing zero."
"Elliot, what is this about?" Liv looks pissed and sad, a volcanic combination. His heart is breaking for a thousand reasons, but he holds firm, fear controlling the narrative.
"How many times was Cragen in the field with us, Liv? You're a captain now, you shouldn't be doing this. You should be sending out Fin, Rollins, anyone else. Not you."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"You shouldn't be here, Liv." And with that, he storms out of the warehouse.
She's staring at his apartment, seething with rage. She's lost track of how many times she's counted to ten to try and calm herself down, but she's confronting him tonight regardless of how tactful she is. If it ruins their friendship, so be it.
She gives up on finding her zen and marches to his door. After ringing the bell three times (and knowing damn well he's there), she texts him, unsure of who else might be home. Bernie and Eli might be sleeping, and she doesn't want to start pounding. However…
Elliot, I will break down this door.
He answers a few moments later, and her pretenses of anger disintegrate. The man before her is wrecked. Eyes, bloodshot and glassy, darting back and forth, panicky and restless. Broken blood vessels adorning his face and neck. Elliot is waging a war with his PTSD, this she recognizes immediately. He doesn't speak, but leaves the door open and allows her to trail behind him.
"Anyone else here?"
He shakes his head no, and reaches for his glass of whiskey, which he downs in one gulp.
"How many of those have you had, El? When he doesn't respond, she tries gentle coaxing. "You want to tell me what happened earlier?"
Still nothing.
"Okay, El, look, why don't you get some rest, and I'll just-"
"You saved me," he rasps, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and staring at the floor beneath her toes.
She pauses, unsure of where he's going with this. "Okay…? What about it?"
He glares at her now, eyes fixed and stoic. "You're not supposed to be saving me."
"Oh really? Why?" She challenges, stepping into his space, cognizant of his struggles but not enough to back down from the fight simmering beneath the surface. "Because I'm what, El? Old? A woman? A captain?"
"Liv, stop. You know none of that is it. You're the strongest person I know. It's not that you can't handle yourself, and it sure as shit isn't about rank."
"So, spell it out for me, Stabler."
"I'm a fucking mess, Liv!" He yells now, the pain pouring out of him in torturous syllables and jumbled profanities. "I keep diving into these dangerous cases, and you keep pulling me from the fucking ashes. You have a son, Olivia. A beautiful, happy son. I can't let you do it all again. I can't let you risk your life for me, leave your son without his mother. Christ, Liv, I'm not worth saving."
Oh.
She gets it now. This damaged man in front of her is losing the battle with his greatest fears and insecurities. All of his reasons for running away suddenly become crystal clear. He's self-sabotaging, desperately clawing and clinging to her very survival, thinking that a world without him in it is one that has kept her safe.
What a naive perspective.
He turns away from her, but she reaches for him, resting her palm on his shoulder, gently turning him around. She searches his eyes, begging for entrance into his tortured soul. Once his eyes meet hers she whispers, "We're partners, for better or worse. Remember?"
And that breaks him.
He crumples into her arms, and she anchors them both against the kitchen island. His hands tremble as they wrap around her waist, and in the frailty of the moment his lips graze her neck as he buries himself in her warmth and words. They hold each other in this intimate embrace, Liv's gentle voice murmuring soothing measures of comfort and healing as he sobs quietly into her shoulder.
"El, you've saved me time and time again. Even when you weren't here, you saved me. Today was my turn. It's what partners do."
He nods. "I just can't lose you, Liv. Noah can't lose you."
"Well, Noah can't lose you, either. He loves you… just like I do."
Their lips find each other before either has a chance to respond to her surprise declaration. It's instinctual, devotional, sacred.
Partners.