He charged through the doors and down the corridor, his badge clutched tight in his hands. He had no idea what the protocol was in this situation - were he and Jackie allowed to identify themselves as Marshals? Was he allowed to pretend to be Liv's lawyer? Was he allowed to say anything at all? - but he wasn't waiting around to find out. The inside of his head was buzzing like a beehive, full of fear, of guilt, of anger. Who had hurt Liv's boy, that's what he wanted to know; how could that little kid with a sweet face so like his mother's have suffered such grievous harm so young, and whose fault was it, and who could Elliot hold to account for it? And how dare they, he kept thinking; how dare the cops accuse Olivia, who was the best and bravest woman he'd ever known, of doing something so terrible? The truth was, of course, that she wasn't Olivia anymore and these cops didn't know her from Adam, were just doing their job, but logic didn't factor into Elliot's decision making process; he just needed to see her, to save her. That was his job, to protect her, and he'd failed at it so many times before; he wasn't going to do that again.

It wasn't hard to find her; she was standing with a uniformed officer near the end of the corridor and Elliot marched straight there, breathing like a bellows.

"Lindsey," he barked as he drew near. Olivia's mouth fell open in an expression that could best be described as horror, and the cop stared at him blankly, confused.

"Sir," the cop said, "I'm gonna have to ask you to stop right there-"

"You all right?" Elliot said, ignoring the young man completely and focusing on Liv instead, Liv who looked like she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

"Sir, are you the boy's father?"

"No," Elliot and Olivia answered in unison, both of their voices whip-crack sharp and angry.

A cop had called Jackie. Somewhere in the local police force was an officer who knew to call Jackie when Lindsey Duncan's name came across his desk, and that was enough for Elliot to take the risk and identify himself.

"US Marshals," Elliot said, holding up his badge for the kid to see.

"I'm sorry, sir, but this isn't a federal matter-"

"Oh, yes it is," Elliot said. "My boss is on her way here-" Jackie wasn't his boss, but he wanted the cop to think she was an authority when she arrived - "and she'll explain the whole thing. In the meantime, this interview is over."

"I appreciate the Marshals may have some interest here," the cop said slowly, "but I can't just let you take my suspect."

Suspect? How dare he call Liv a suspect? Elliot's hands shook with the need to strike that stupid kid in his stupid uniform, to knock him down and grab hold of Liv and run for the exits, but as angry as he was he knew that would only make matters worse. He had to think, as hard as it was to think about anything that wasn't Liv, and her grief, and his own culpability.

"Fine," he said. "But you're not questioning her anymore. Where's the kid?"

Liv didn't call his name. Maybe she couldn't; maybe she was thinking more clearly than he was, maybe she was willing to tread lightly, like Jackie said; then again, maybe she was just too pissed to speak. Whatever the reason, she didn't call him out, but she did catch his eye, her expression baleful and recriminating, the kind of expression she'd directed at him a hundred times before, the kind of look that always made him stop in his tracks, come to heel without a word.

"He's with the nurses," the cop said. "And I'm not letting her in there until I get some answers."

"Fine," Elliot said again. "My boss will be here soon and we'll get the whole thing straightened out then. But I need to speak to Ms. Duncan. In private."

"Sir -"

"That room empty?" Elliot asked, pointing to an open door off to the left. He didn't wait for an answer, though; he stepped forward and peered into the room, determined for himself that no one was in there, and then reached for Liv's arm.

"We'll be right in here," he said to the cop, pulling Liv with him. "You can guard the door, make sure we don't leave. But this is Marshal business, and I expect you to respect that."

"Yes, sir," the kid said.

That was good enough for Elliot; he and Olivia ducked into the room iwthout a word, and he slammed the door behind them.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Olivia hissed, wrenching her arm out of his grip and whirling away from him.

Christ, she was pretty. Had always been pretty, always would be pretty, but now that he knew what she looked like bare, now that he had learned the taste of her and heard the sound of her moaning in pleasure, a pleasure he had given her, she was pretty in a way that made him ache. Made him want to wrap his arms around her, to shield her from the ugliness of a world that sought to hurt her at every turn, made him want to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness at her feet, made him want to kiss her. Shit, he really wanted to kiss her.

"I got the call they're investigating you for child abuse," he said. "We're gonna put a stop to it." The fact that he didn't believe Liv was responsible, didn't believe it for a second, was a given; he didn't think she needed him to tell her that. "But they said…Liv, they said someone broke his ribs."

"What exactly are you asking me right now?" she sounded furious, voice a little too loud, her eyes flashing dangerously at him, but he rushed ahead, determined to stop dancing around the truth he desperately needed to know.

"Look, I've been trying to respect your privacy," she actually scoffed when he said it, though he ignored her, "but I need to know what you got mixed up in here. Tell me the truth, Liv. About your husband, about what he did to you."

To both of you, Elliot thought, because there was no way the bastard had only hurt Noah; Liv would've thrown herself in front of a train to save her kid, and he knew it. And any man who was willing to do something like that, to put his hands on Liv, on her child, that was a man who didn't deserve to breathe.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Her refusal to engage only ramped up his frustration.

"Liv, somebody hurt your son," he said slowly, pointedly, "and I need -"

"You don't need to know a damn thing," she snapped. "You want to know. And -"

"And I deserve to know, don't you think? It's my job to keep you safe -"

"Oh fuck your job-"

"And you're my friend, and I care about you, and -"

"Am I your friend, Elliot?"

The shift in her tone was immediate and profound. No longer spitting mad, she'd gone deathly quiet instead, quiet the way she got right before she really exploded. The most caustic things Liv had ever said to him had not been shouted; she was meanest when she was calm and he was, suddenly, frightened. Frightened of what he'd done to her, fucking her and walking away, absolutely terrified that he'd made the wrong choice, that he'd been wrong about what she wanted from him, that he wasn't making things better by staying away but was instead making the situation exponentially worse.

"Of course you are," he said. "Whatever…whatever happens, we'll always be friends, Liv."

"You're my friend and you don't know a damn thing about me anymore."

"That's not true." He said it quickly, reflexively, but as the words left his mouth he wondered if he was wrong. If maybe he didn't really know anything at all. He knew about Lewis, but what else had happened in the four years they were apart? He still didn't know about her husband - though he had his suspicions - didn't know how she'd climbed the ranks, didn't know -

"I was never married."

That didn't really clarify things from Elliot's perspective.

"Ok, so he wasn't your husband -"

"Noah's adopted, you ass," she sighed. "I found him during a case."

What?

"Jackie said his father died -"

"His father did die. My partner shot him in the courthouse a few months before we got here." Jesus. That was a a story Elliot wanted to hear, but Liv wasn't slowing down to explain herself. "Noah had a rough start in life. His mother was a pro and…some things happened, and he ended up bouncing around a bunch of different foster homes. There's no telling where he got hurt."

Well. Now he looked like a colossal idiot, and felt like one, too. Felt so, so stupid, and just a little bit sad, because up 'til now he'd thought Liv had carried Noah herself. The boy was no less her son just because he was adopted, but it would've been nice, he thought, for Liv to experience her own pregnancy. Maybe she didn't care; maybe it was just that Elliot wished she could've had a taste of something nice, something normal, before everything went to shit.

"Are you happy now?" she asked acidly. She didn't sound happy at all.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I am, actually, because it means you weren't married to some abusive piece of shit. I didn't want that for you, Liv."

"You really think I'd get caught up in something like that?" She sounded offended by the very idea.

"Come on, Liv, you know as well as I do that it can happen to anyone." They'd seen it too many times, over the course of their long partnership; abuse could take so many forms, didn't always announce itself when it arrived. Sometimes it started so slowly the victim never even knew what was happening, not until it was too late. Frog in a pot, Elliot thought. The temperature slowly rising, bearable right up until the point it all boiled over, and by then it was too late.

"Well, it didn't. Case closed, you can go home now."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I wish you would."

"You don't mean that."

Or did she? Did she mean it? Did she really wish he would leave? That night in her bedroom, she'd told him to go. Told him to leave, to pack up his family and run away and never look back. It would probably make things easier on her if he went. She wouldn't have to feel like a homewrecker, wouldn't have the weight of Elliot's slowly crumbling marriage on her conscience, could start over fresh without his shadow looming over her.

But who were they, if they didn't have each other? These last four years spent apart, he wasn't sure he'd really call that living. Going through the motions, maybe, doing all the right things at all the right times, but he hadn't felt like himself. Hadn't felt in control of his life, hadn't even really felt like he was breathing. Four years, and it felt like he'd spent the whole time just holding his breath, waiting for his life to start up again. Waiting for her.

"Nothing good can come from this, you have to know that."

Maybe she was right. Maybe this intoxicating dance was only inviting disaster. Maybe all they'd end up doing was hurting people; their families, each other. Maybe they'd never find their way to happiness, not with each other.

But they'd made something good, that night in her home. Together, they'd made something good. And this, fighting with her, breathing the same air and passing barbed words back and forth, this felt good, too. Felt like this was how it was supposed to be, how it always should've been. The two of them, taking on the world, taking on each other; the two of them, together.

"I don't believe that," he said. "Finding you again…this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Then why does it hurt so much?"

Before he could answer her the door swung open behind him, and he whirled around, placing his body between Olivia and the intruder. He needn't have worried; it was only Jackie.

"Stabler," she said darkly, eyeing the pair of them suspiciously. "What the hell have you done?"

He'd fucked everything up, he was pretty sure of that. But he was going to make it right. He was. He had to.