When were you gonna tell me Olivia died?

He jerked away from her, running his hand anxiously over the back of his head, his feet beginning to pace restlessly while his eyes darted toward the door. Toward the exit, and his last best chance to run.

What did she see when she looked at him, he wondered; did she see the flush creeping up his chest to color his neck, his cheeks, the tips of his ears, and what did she make of it? Would she mistake his shame for something else, for anger or grief? Or would she see it for what it was, recognize that every line of his body screamed the word guilty guilty guilty? He was guilty, a sinner through and through, but she did not yet know the shape of his crimes, the depth of his betrayal. What would be worse, he wondered; letting Kathy think he'd withheld the news of Olivia's death, or telling Kathy that he'd fucked Olivia just a few hours ago? Twice?

That question, at least, had an obvious answer. The truth would be much, much worse.

But Kathy was his wife, and it grieved him to lie to her. Kathy was his wife, and it made him sick to his stomach to think how he had hurt her, how he was about to hurt her, how he was going to keep on hurting her, forever.

What was it the priest said? You must tell her. Honesty now is far kinder than a lie.

Olivia's voice echoed in answer to the priest; you can't leave her.

The twin halves of his conscience warred with one another, Olivia and Jesus fighting to the death inside his chest while his heart screamed at him to run and his wife watched him from their bed with eyes big and wide and scared.

"Where did you hear that?" he snapped, brittle and angry and just this side of hysterical. He had to say something, buy himself some time to think and forestall Kathy's inevitable devastation. He wanted to be calm and gentle, wanted to be reassuring, wanted to love her, but he was flying apart beneath her accusing stare.

"Katie asked me how you were handling it," Kathy fired back. "And I had absolutely no idea what to tell her. Is that why you've been like this?" He knew what she meant by like this; like this, distant and brittle, withholding his heart from her but fucking her fast and hard on the floor as he tried to escape from the truth of his own desires. "You can talk to me about it, Elliot. I know…I know what she meant to you."

You don't, he thought. There was no way Kathy knew, no way she could have known and no way he could've made her understand, what Olivia meant to him. Truth be told he barely knew himself. What was she to him, this woman who was not his wife, this woman he'd gone four years without seeing, without speaking to, this woman he'd thought he'd never see again and now could not survive without? Not his partner, not any more, and he could hardly call her friend, but she was part of him, still. The biggest part; the best part, maybe.

"I didn't…I don't know what to say." That, at least, was true. He had no idea what he was supposed to say, what he was allowed to say, let alone what he ought to say.

The priest would have him tell the truth. Would have him get down on his knees, violate his oath as a Marshal, risk his job and Olivia's safety, and tell his wife the truth. While she was laid up in bed with a broken leg, recovering not just from the physical trauma but from the emotional turmoil the accident had wrought, while all their children were in the same zip code for once and she was trying to make an honest go of being a family, the priest would have him bring the world crashing down around her ears. When Olivia would not have him, when Olivia had begged him not to leave Kathy, not to throw his marriage away for her, the priest would have him do it anyway.

That didn't feel kind to Elliot. It was easy for the priest to pass his judgment; the priest wasn't married. Wasn't a father. Wasn't a lover. Didn't know, didn't have any idea, the responsibilities that had been laid on Elliot's shoulders. His wife, his children, Olivia; he owed a duty to all of them. Too often in the past those duties had been in conflict; too often it had been impossible to care for one without hurting the other. In this moment, though, everything seemed to be pointing him in one inevitable direction. Olivia did not want him to leave Kathy; Kathy wanted him to be a good husband to her; his children needed their father.

Not now, he thought. I can't tell her now. Maybe not ever, maybe he'd take this secret to his grave, but that was a problem for later. Right now, this moment, he would not tell her. Maybe after the kids went back to New York, maybe after her leg had healed, maybe after he'd a chance to think things through, maybe then he'd confess the truth and let the chips fall as they may, but right now, he would hold his tongue. He would be the man his wife needed him to be, the man Olivia needed him to be. One night of madness, of weakness, of glorious passion, could not erase the lifetime that had come before it.

"I just can't believe she's gone," he said. "I never got to say good-bye."

It was a chance he'd denied himself, their last good-bye. Back in New York, years ago when everything was different, she'd called and called and he'd never picked up the phone because he'd known, even then, known it the same way he knew it now, that one word from Olivia would be enough to break him. Four years ago he'd chosen his wife, chosen his children, chosen a future without Olivia in it, and he had not said good-bye because he'd known he couldn't. Back then he'd told himself it would be better if she hated him; she could move on easier if she hated him. He'd been wrong about that; they'd never moved on, either of them, and he wasn't sure they ever could. Four years ago he didn't say good-bye, and he couldn't say it now, either.

"Oh, Elliot -" Kathy was reaching for him, her heart in her eyes, like she wanted to hold him, like she wanted to finally, finally be the one he went to in search of comfort, but he stepped beyond her reach.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he said abruptly. "And then I'm gonna make breakfast. You want some coffee? I'll bring you some coffee."

He didn't wait for her answer; he didn't trust himself, wasn't sure he could keep looking at her and not give voice to the truth. The truth that was crawling its way up the back of his throat, choking him; the truth that he loved Olivia, that he maybe always had, that he maybe always would. The truth that it wasn't enough.

She opened the door with her heart in her throat, genuinely afraid of what she might find waiting for her. It was still early, only maybe 8:00, but she'd been up for a while already. Elliot had left sometime while she was sleeping, and maybe that was for the best, him slipping out without a word; she wasn't sure she could've let him go, if she'd been awake. The dream they'd woven together in the darkness had burned away with the sun; Noah was up at dawn like always, and Olivia with him. She'd fed him his breakfast, was playing with him in the living room when she heard someone pounding on her front door.

What if it's him, that's what she wondered as she went to answer it; what if it was Elliot, storming back into her life? What if Elliot hadn't listened to her, what if he'd gone home and told Kathy everything? Christ, what were they gonna do?

It wasn't Elliot, though. It was Paul, standing on her front steps with a grim expression on his face.

"Paul," she greeted him warily. There was no way, she thought, that Paul believed Marshall had dropped by in the middle of the night for a genuine emergency. Paul was nice but he wasn't stupid. The question facing her now wasn't did he suspect; the question was, what was he going to do about his suspicions?

"My parents are bringing Riley back at 10," Paul said. "I wanted to talk to you before he gets home."

The boys played together, sometimes, while their parents spent time together, but most of the time Paul and Olivia tried to schedule their trysts for the days when Paul didn't have his son, and she appreciated him coming to her now, without his toddler in tow.

"Can we do this later?" she asked. "I'm sorry, it's just…I'm really tired."

"I bet you are," Paul said darkly, and then he flinched, as if he'd been wounded by his own words. "I'm sorry," he apologized at once. "I didn't mean…I'm just…Lindsey, I'm worried about you."

The man had near certain proof she'd cheated on him, and he was worried about her? Who is this guy? She wondered.

"Really, I'm fine -"

"He's married, Lindsey. He's married to a friend of yours. I don't know how you can do that to Mary but I really don't know how you can do that to yourself."

He's married.

Paul didn't have any idea what he was talking about, of course. He didn't know that Marshall and Mary weren't actually married, didn't have the first idea the true depth of the connection between Olivia and the man who'd turned up at her door last night with a face like a thundercloud. Paul didn't have a clue, but he was right, still.

Elliot was married. Elliot was married to a friend of hers - well, friend might have been stretching it, but a woman she knew, a woman whose happiness mattered to Olivia, a woman Olivia had tried, for so damnably long, to protect. What Olivia and Elliot were doing, that was hurting someone else. And by god, it was hurting Olivia, too.

What she wanted to do was tell him to leave. Kick him out, tell him she never wanted to see him again, and in so doing protect herself from any further recrimination, give herself an out so that she didn't have to think about the awful thing she'd done, and how good it felt when she did it. She opened her mouth, but no words came out; instead, before she could tell him to leave, before she could deny, or obfuscate, or lie, before she could speak, a great, wracking sob tore its way up the back of her throat, and the next thing she knew she was weeping. Trembling, heaving sobs, her whole body shaking, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Paul went white with fear, reached for her at once and drew her in, and she let him. She let him hold her, collapsed in his embrace, and cried like she had not cried in years. Cried for all of it, for the life she'd lost, her friends and her future, cried for Kathy and her children, cried for Elliot and his tender, ruined heart, and cried for herself. For herself most of all, for the loneliness that threatened to consume her, for all the things she wanted and all the things she never could have. Cried because Elliot had looked at her in the dreamlike moments between midnight and dawn, and tried to give himself to her, and she had turned him away, too scared to take his hand and knowing now she'd never get another chance. That was it, their moment, the one instant when their fate hung in the balance, when they could've chosen something different, and she'd sent him back to Kathy because she always sent him back to Kathy and now he'd never darken her door again. Whatever he'd said about not leaving her, she knew one look at Kathy would remind him where he belonged. It was over, as quickly as it had begun, and all she could do was stand there on the porch, and weep.