The writers had a beautiful opportunity here. I had to fix it.

Top shelf boxes never hold anything good. She remembered when she found her mother's box. It wasn't like her life had been idealic before then. Her mother wasn't always cold to her, and maybe that's what made her childhood so confusing. She could never decide if her mother loved her or hated her, and the moment she found her box, she was never the same.

Maybe she should have known better. Kids get curious, and a hidden box at the top of a closet would be an irresistible mystery. The names wouldn't mean anything to him. Johnny D. William Lewis. Both men were monsters in their own twisted ways. He did what most kids do when they have a question: he googled it, and she hated that she wasn't there to censor the information displayed on his laptop screen.

She couldn't decide if she wanted to throw up or cry, and she felt herself spiraling, unable to find a solid reality to ground herself in. Before she could allow herself to melt into a puddle, she needed to check on her boy.

She tiptoed to his door and pushed the cracked door a little wider. His back was to the door, and his curls spilled over his pillow. She could tell by the deep, steady rise and fall of his back and shoulders that he had fallen asleep. That was a relief. What he saw was concerning, but at least he wasn't outright terrified by what he found.

She closed the door softly, making sure it was completely closed. She couldn't fall to pieces if there was any chance of her son finding her that way. No, if she needed to fall apart, she would do it alone, like she always had. She would ride the torrent of emotion before the feeling became manageable enough to stuff back into its box.

First, she tucked the box into an even higher shelf—as if that would deter a determined preteen—and then moved mindlessly to her bedroom. She felt numb. She felt a terrifying tingle in her extremities that accompanied the inevitable dissociation.

Without any preamble, she dropped onto her bed and pressed a hand firmly into her belly. Her breath was panicked and erratic, and it took everything on her to slow down. Breathe. Slow. Breathe.

Her breathing slowed, but her heart continued to pound mercilessly. Stomach acid began to eat her insides as she tucked her knees closer to her chest.

The chirp of her phone broke the silence of her room and made her instinctively yelp in surprise. She knew better than to reach for it, but Bruno was on call, and panic attack or not, she might be needed.

Elliot.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she knew she couldn't deal with him, them, tonight. No, she needed to put the pieces back together before dealing with the constant ambiguity of their relationship.

Unfortunately, muscle memory took over, and she swiped the screen instead of declining the call. Damn it.

"Liv?"

The warm rumble of his voice pressed more tears from her eyes. Her chest still felt impossibly tight, and she couldn't get enough air to give voice to a response.

Her silence must have put him on high alert because he spoke her name again, but this time his voice was laced with mild panic. "Liv?"

She knew she needed to answer him because they were cops and their minds always jumped to the worst-case scenario, and he was probably already reaching for his keys so he could save her from whatever nightmare she was caught up in. Too bad he couldn't save her from the past. No one could.

With a deep breath and a quick swallow, she tried to keep her voice steady. "Sorry. I'm here."

She silently cursed her inability to mask her emotions. Her distress couldn't be more clear.

"Shit," he muttered, his worry worsening. "Where are you? Are you okay?" As expected, she heard the jingle of his keys when he fished them from the hook.

"Fine, fine," she breathed out. Again, not convincing enough because she heard the sound of a door shutting and then ambient city sounds in the background.

"Home or office?" He asked simply.

She gave up on the pretext of being fine. He wouldn't believe her anyway, and he wouldn't stop until he was certain she was still in one piece. "Home," she croaked out.

"On my way," he said, with the sound of the car door slamming behind him. "Do you need me to stay on the phone?"

She wondered if that would reassure him more than her. "Um, no, I'm okay." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Really."

She was met with silence from his end, as if he didn't believe her but didn't know what to say. He waited her out until she sighed. "Uh. Can you just stay on the line? You don't have to talk or anything; just be here."

His voice bordered on emotional when he answered, "Yeah, Liv, I can do that."

The twenty-minute drive passed in silence; only the soft sounds of his breathing came over the line, but even that was mildly soothing. She wasn't alone.

He told her when he arrived at her building so she could let him up. She quickly fixed the clip in her hair that had loosened during her meltdown. Her heart still pounded, and her stomach continued to flip while she waited for the soft knock on the door.

Moments later, that knock came, and she sucked a deep breath into her tight chest. She pushed the chain from the door, flipped the deadbolt, and then unlocked the knob before opening the door.

He didn't wait for an invitation; he didn't ask if he could come in; he simply wrapped his arms around her and stepped forward, making her take a steady step back. The door fell shut behind them, and she felt herself enveloped in the safety of his arms.

The pressure of his arms, his smell, and the steady beat of his heart began to soothe her somatic nervous system, and the tension spilled out of her. Her numbness abated, and she found herself wetting his shirt with a rush of tears. She hadn't even noticed she was crying, and she realized she was probably scaring the hell out of him. As reluctant as she was to let him go, she needed to speak instead of cry so he wouldn't think something horrible had happened. Something horrible DID happen, but there wasn't an immediate threat, even if her body and mind wanted to disagree.

With her cheek still pressed against his sculpted chest, she murmured. "Will you flip that lock, please?" She knew she was safe. She knew how to take care of herself, and even if she didn't, Elliot would die before he let anyone hurt her. Maybe that's why this all felt so horrible.

She felt him nod his head, and while keeping one arm around her, he reached back to flip the deadbolt. He quickly lifted the chain without asking, knowing that she needed that extra security right now.

Her body continued to shake with every inhale, but her tears—thankfully—began to subside. She became more aware of his body pressed against hers; one hand had removed her clip and brushed through her hair softly. The other traced a light serpentine pattern between each of her vertebrae up and down her spine.

She took the moment to feel and to breathe. Her body began to calm, and she suddenly felt grateful for accidentally answering his call.

"Wanna talk about it?" His voice remained low, and she felt his lips brushing her temple as he spoke.

She didn't want to talk about it. She wanted to pull the box from the closet and burn it. She wanted to lock away every painful memory. She wanted to forget that people like William Lewis and Johnny D ever existed in this world.

She could say no, and she knew he would respect her silence. She could do that, but then nothing would ever change. She would be hurting and alone, always pushing away his attempts to shoulder the burden. Nothing would ever change.

She wanted things to change.

"Yeah," she answered softly.

"Okay." His voice rumbled. His hands dropped from her body and grabbed her hand. As he began to lead her deeper into her apartment and towards her living room, she stopped.

His head immediately turned toward her. "Not here," she said. She knew how her next request would sound, but she'd rather not wake Noah with whatever emotional turmoil came next. She tilted her head toward her room. "My room," she said simply.

His eyes widened a little, but he recovered quickly. If she wasn't in such a shit mood, she would have laughed.

"Noah," she sighed. "We've both had a rough night. I don't want to wake him up with our talking and…" The thought sort of tapered off. She knew what this looked like, and she knew what it implied, but she couldn't find the energy to care. She was tired of constantly swimming upstream, and just this once she wanted to throw caution to the wind and take what she needed.

He gave her a soft smile. His body still seemed tense, but his eyes remained soft and affectionate. "Okay. Less the way."

It felt strange leading Elliot into her bedroom. Any time her mind drifted to this sort of scenario, she shoved it away. Years ago, loving him would have been dangerous, but now nothing but her fear held her back.

His eyes took in his surroundings as he waited for her to tell him where to go. He seemed a little nervous about being in this space, and she wondered if he had the same reservations she did.

She knew he wouldn't move unless she said so, so she brought him to the edge of the bed and urged him to sit. He sat down and pushed his butt back so his legs hung over the edge. She sat next to him but pulled her knees into her chest. Her nerves were beginning to flare, and she wondered how she got herself into this situation and if there was a way to get through the evening without discussing what sent her spiraling.

Elliot waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts, but eventually he reached for her hand, laced their fingers together, and rested it on his thigh. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I can just sit here like I did on the phone." His eyes held hers, and she felt herself being held captive by the deep shade of blue. "But if you want to talk," he shifted his weight nervously. "I want to hear whatever you need to say. Scream, cry, curse, whatever you need." His expression softened even further when he brushed her hair over her shoulder. "Tell me what you need."

She sucked in a breath and continued to hold his gaze. It would never get easier. Trust. It never came easily to her. It never seemed like a risk worth taking. But here, in her bedroom, with his hand in hers, lit with the soft, warm glow of her table lamps,she felt brave enough to take that risk.

"Have you ever Googled yourself?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a euphemism?" He let out a nervous chuckle, and she smacked his arm.

She was grateful for the momentary break in tension. "No! Like just putting your own name in a search engine. Have you ever done that?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Hasn't everyone?"

She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer to the question she was about to ask. "Have you?" Her eyes dropped to their clasped hands. "Have you Googled me?" She asked nervously.

She heard him take in a sharp breath, and his thumb rubbed over her fingers. "Uh, yeah." She closed her eyes and waited for the rest of his answer. "I did. Before your ceremony, Uh. After Fin called, I, uh, wanted to know the important things you accomplished while I was gone. I wanted to know about your life." He shook his head. "I was… I wanted to know you again, and that…it seemed like the best place to start."

He knew. He had to know. She hadn't ever been sure, but now she knew he knew. "You know," she rasped.

"Yeah." His voice broke. "I know."

She took a shaky breath. "Why didn't you...why didn't you say anything?" She lifted her chin so she could fully see his face.

"I wanted it to be your choice. I didn't want to pressure you," he said, dropping his head into his free hand. "Maybe that wasn't right, but God, I wanted it to be your choice to tell me. Not because I forced your hand."

She nodded as she tried to wrap her mind around him knowing this the entire time. "You didn't know, you know, before then?" She asked weakly.

He released her hand in favor of gripping her upper arms with both hands. His face was so close that she could smell the mint gum on his breath. "I had no idea. No one... no one told me and I," he shook his hand with shame, "was always too afraid to ask." His eyes teared a little when he added. "I had no idea. If I knew," one hand cupped her cheek. "You have to know. If I knew... I would have come back for you." His thumb ran the length of her cheekbone. "Nothing would have stopped me from coming for you."

Tears leaked from her eyes and pooled in his hand. "Noah googled me. He asked," she took a breath and let it out slowly. "He asked me about Maddie first," she paused, "and then about, uh, his biological father, and" she closed her eyes, "William Lewis."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him. "Damn," he breathed the word out with an exhale. "What made him, um, ask now?"

"He went snooping. Found a box in the closet with old documents. He found Johnny D's name listed as his biological father."

His arm tightened around her in support. "What did you tell him?"

She groaned and dropped her head in her hands. "I'm sure I screwed up. I don't know. I knew he would ask sometime, but I thought I had more time. It all caught me off guard. One minute we are talking about Little Red Riding Hood, and the next he asks me about Maddie. I felt frozen and stuck. I hope I didn't come off angry, but I wanted to be the one to bring it up. I wanted to be ready, and he just," she sighed, "I didn't get that chance."

He signed and ran his fingers up and down the skin of her upper arm. "I'm sure he'll be okay. He's a good kid, and he'll understand that you were flustered."

She sighed. "I just keep thinking... I don't know."

"What?" He prodded gently.

"We haven't talked a lot about Noah's biological parents, but his father. God, his father was a monster." She felt tears beginning to sting her eyes. "I keep thinking about my mother and her face. She was just blank, you know? She threw the information at me and left. No explainstions. No reassurances." She blinked back tears as she continued. "But now I get it. How do you tell your child that his father was a rapist? A sociopath?"

"Look. Hey, look at me." His voice was firm but kind.

She hesitantly lifted her eyes to his face. "Your mom did the best she could with the knowledge she had. She couldn't deal with what happened, and she dumped it on you. I know for a fact that Noah has never felt anything but cherished in this life. He might struggle a little with the details of all of this, but he's got you in his corner. That's no small thing." He brushed a tear away from her cheek, and his eyes were shining with his always-present adoration. "You are an incredible mom, Liv." A gentle smile crossed his face. "I always knew you would be."

More tears streamed down her face as she wrapped her arms around his center. "Thank you." She whispered.

He nodded, and she could almost feel the words he wanted to say.

I love you.

I care for you.

Her mind swirled with images of their lives, both shared and apart. The fear, pain, and desire swirled together in an all-too-familiar longing in her chest. He had always been within reach, but never hers. But here he was, blue eyes watching her like she was the only person he ever loved, the only one he ever wanted.

Her mind wandered to that night in the kitchen when he offered her everything, but she was too afraid to reach out and take it.

I want to.

Her own words still haunted her. The world only saw her as the indomitable Captain Benson, but she knew it was an act, a facade, carefully created to shield a fear-filled heart. The world only saw strength, but she knew the man sitting across from her now saw her. He saw everything, even the parts she held carefully hidden from the rest of the world. He knew her, and he loved her, and she was tired of the fear. He had hurt her once, but in her heart, she knew he would never hurt her like that again.

Her mind began conjuring up every possible adverse scenario. Abandonment. Loss. Anger and regret. But she was tired, and for once, she wanted to let her heart lead.

With closed eyes, she decided to take the plunge. She lifted her hand to his cheek, her thumb grazing the edges of his neatly trimmed beard. Her eyes remained closed so she could concentrate on the feeling and not the fear.

She heard him pull in a sharp breath when her thumb grazed his bottom lip. He wanted her. She knew that, but would he always be want her? Her mind was filled with every doubt while her heart screamed yes.

With one more brush of her thumb, she opened her eyes to find him watching her with apprehensive anticipation. Oh, he wanted her, and the truth was, she wanted him too.

Before she could second-guess herself and before she could think of all the reasons why this was a bad idea, she pressed a light, lingering kiss to his lips. He sat still as if he were too afraid to move or to breathe, terrified of spooking her with what she knew would be an impassioned response.

She wanted that passion. She wanted it more than she wanted air.

Her heart pounded furiously, not with fear but with desire. She leaned in again, her lips brushing his with each word. "Kiss me."

That was all the permission he needed to close the minuscule distance between them and press his lips to hers. Hard.

The force of his body pressing forward pushed her backward, one hand catching herself before she could tumble to the pillows behind her. A slow smile crept into the kiss. She knew that it would be exactly like this—that once she finally let the final wall fall, she would be caught in the torrential rush of him.

His hand slipped through her hair until her skull rested in the palm of his large hand. At first, it was all lips and bruising pressure, and she knew he was holding back for her sake. She wanted more. Needed more.

Her tongue whipped across his bottom lip before she pulled it into her mouth. The resulting groan hit her right in the stomach, stoking the already-burning fire.

Unable to support their combined weight on her one arm, she fell back into the down pillows behind her. Her hands reached for him, one tucking beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing his lower back so he was now completely flush with her body.

His tongue slid over hers, and she was already throbbing. Her hands wandered over the muscles in his back, and she reveled in the shiver that rushed through him. He pulled back for air, and they were both practically gasping. She knew she should slow this down—too much too soon—but when his mouth began to apply heavy suction to her neck, she knew she was too far gone to put the brakes on any of this.

"Olivia."

Her body trembled with the sound of her full name spoken in a graveled voice she had never heard exit his lips.

Her back arched on its own accord, and a soft whimper escaped her lips as he moved lower.

He nosed the compass out of the way so he could drop a suckling kiss on the skin beneath it. Her hand flew to the back of his head with a light grip. She didn't add pressure to hold him in any one spot, but she wanted it to act as an act of encouragement.

His fingers crept beneath her black shirt and tugged her leggings down about a quarter inch in a suggestive tease. But there was a sort of hesitancy in the action, as if he wasn't completely sure how far she wanted this to go.

God, she loved him and his near-constant desire to respect her comfort. She could feel how much he wanted this, her, but she knew if she said the word, he would pull away and give her whatever space she needed. That thought alone gave her the courage to tell him exactly what she wanted. She pulled his face back to hers, kissing him deeply. Without warning, the words slipped from her lips. "Elliot, Elliot." Once his eyes lifted to her face, she knew she had his full attention. Her voice broke when the words she had kept locked tightly away for decades were finally spoken aloud. "I love you."

His head dropped to her chest in an act of overwhelming emotion. Once he gained a little composure, he lifted his head. "You have no idea how long..." he shook his head when his emotions threatened to take over.

Her hand cupped his cheek, and she held his gaze with steady devotion. "I know," she whispered.

He dropped his mouth to hers, this time moving soft and slow. "I love you," he returned the sentiment. His lips wandered to her jaw as she spoke the words again. "I love you." And once more, when he placed a lingering kid right behind her ear, His voice quaked with emotion. "I love you. So. Damn. Much."

She turned her head to capture his waiting lips. Her fingers dropped to the hem of her own shirt. "Show me."

The words floated into the night air as her black shirt billowed to her bedroom floor.

Big thank you to all of you who always jump in and comment and leave encouragement. It's the only reward I receive for my efforts on these pieces. Love you all!