He wished he could call her. Well, he knew he could but it wouldn't be like it once was. There was a time when he could call, and she would come and it felt natural and he knew she understood him. But now? All of their emotions, memories, hell, the entirety of their damn friendship, was a tangled mess of bitter complicated emotion. He broke them. That was on him, but he missed her. He missed them.

Then there came days like this. Days where he felt beat down. Days where the job wore down on him and he didn't know why he bothered with this world anymore. These were the days he missed her most because he knew she understood. He knew she often felt the same, and he craved that feeling of validation her very presence provided. He could call, but he doubted she'd answer.

He drove home. Alone. It wasn't the aching loneliness that made him want her. He had always wanted her. Even when surrounded by those he loved most, he still wanted her .

He parked in front of his apartment and turned off the ignition. He picked up his phone and slid to her contact information on her phone. Maybe she would answer. Maybe she'd come over. Maybe they could work this shit out and make something real out of this air of possibility. Maybe.

Then his mind drifted to her kitchen and the memory of her nearly gripping the refrigerator, telling him she wasn't ready. And he told her he'd give her time, but he was secretly terrified she'd never be ready, and he still felt his gut clench at the possibility that there might never be a them.

He locked his phone screen and stuffed his phone into his pocket before trudging to his apartment.

As expected, it was dark and silent, and he hated it. He tossed his keys onto the counter. He wandered to his bathroom. Maybe a shower could wash off all the ick from this case. Maybe he could sleep. Maybe. Probably not.

He dropped his phone on his dresser before getting into the shower. He stood under the spray for what felt like an eternity while his mind wandered. He'd been home for over three years, and sometimes he felt like his life was just as much of a mess as it was the day he came home.

He wished he could find a way to be happy without her. That seemed impossible. Even when he had a wife and a family he wasn't happy unless she stood beside him. For him, she was happiness. She was the only person capable of making him feel complete. Without her, his heart was gone. He wished she didn't have such a tight hold on him.

He shut off the shower and reached for a towel. Once he toweled off, he got dressed, opting for sweats and forgoing a shirt.

A light knock at the door startled him. He grabbed the first shirt he could find and tossed it over his head. On his way out of the bedroom he snagged his phone and stopped when he saw a text from Olivia. Two actually.

Are you okay? I bumped into Bell at a meeting tonight. She said this case was tough.

The next text read:

Hey. You're making me nervous, I'm coming over.

He shook away his stunned amazement because he realized it was probably Olivia at the door, and she came for him.

He made it to the door as another knock, more firm this time, echoed through the hall. He opened the door and as expected Olivia stood on the other side.

He stared for a moment, not entirely believing she was here. She looked incredible, she always did, but there was something about her tonight. It wasn't her perfect make up or her flawlessly professional outfit. It was the look on her face. Her perfectly balanced concern and empathy, that look. The one that made him feel perfectly understood by at least one person in this world.

"Hey," he greeted. His voice stayed low and soft.

Those incredible brown eyes remained focused on his and he knew she could read his every thought because she was Olivia, and she knew every part of him. Even the parts he hated, the parts he didn't want others to see. She knew everything.

He wasn't surprised when she walked past him, knowing she didn't need an invite to come in. She was always welcome. They made it to the main living area before she turned towards him. Her eyes dug deep into his and she asked, "Are you okay?"

To be honest, he didn't know how to answer. To his surprise, an honest answer left his lips, "Not really."

Her eyes registered surprise. Probably because he was rarely honest about his feelings, even to himself. But she was here. She was asking, and he wanted her to know that right now, at this moment, he wasn't okay. He needed her.

She took a step closer, and his arm tingled when she grasped his forearm. She seemed a little nervous and to be honest, he was too. For some reason, this interaction felt different. The air felt charged around them, and he felt like something was happening, but he wasn't sure what.

His breath caught when she tugged gently on his forearm, pulling him into her before wrapping her arms around his neck.

He felt his breathing shake as he held back some emotion rising into his chest.

Her head pressed into his shoulder and he could her lips moving when she asked, "What can I do?" She whispered.

He didn't hesitate when he said, "This." He admitted. "This is perfect," he murmured. He didn't want anything else. This was enough. Her here, with her arms around him, was everything he needed.

His shaky breathing slowed with the comfort of her embrace, but then her hand went to his cheek and his breath caught again. Her eyes searched his, and he saw all the love and understanding she always allowed him. Her perfect patience. Her empathy. Her capacity for forgiveness always left him breathlessly in awe.

He didn't see it coming. He wasn't all prepared for the feeling of her lips against his. Her touch was comforting as well as passionate, and he lacked the ability to temper his response to her.

He leaned into her, his hands catching her hips when she staggered back a couple steps. Both her hands gripped the back of his head as she pressed him harder against her. He deepened the kiss and she readily accepted his tongue on hers.

After a minute she pulled back, pressing her forehead against his, and catching her breath.

He kept his eyes closed, savoring the feeling of her body so close to his.

"Elliot?" She whispered.

"Yeah?" He responded, still a little breathless.

She hesitated and he opened his eyes to see what was happening. There were tears on her cheeks and he worried he might have done something wrong, but she cupped his cheek, and ran her thumb over his lips before she kissed him again lightly.

Her voice shook a little when she finally said, "I care about you too."