"Just talkin' 'bout life, goin' sip for sip

Yeah, you, you know you love to fight

And I say shit I don't mean

But I'm still gon' wake up wantin' you and me"

-Morgan Wallen "Last Night"

Olivia slammed the door shut behind her and flipped the lock before sinking to the floor next to the door. She knew he wouldn't be far behind her. She knew in a matter of minutes the sound of his heavy, rushed steps would echo through the near-silent hallway of her apartment building.

She gripped her purse, pressing it against her chest as her head tilted back. She let out a long exhale, letting her eyes slip closed for a moment.

What the hell was she thinking?

She hadn't been thinking, and that was the problem. She knew better than to drink with Elliot near. It was a recipe for loose lips, high emotions, and too much truth.

Truth. Pain. Anger. Frustration. Fear. Love.

God, the love. It practically bled from his eyes every time he chanced a glance in her direction. He wore his heart on his sleeve, but something held her back and made her keep him at arm's length.

Her heart thundered in her chest as the memories began to assault her consciousness. She could practically feel the light touch of his fingers as they brushed her hip tentatively. The memory made her tear her eyes open and push herself roughly off the floor.

She tossed her purse aside but stopped when she caught her own reflection in the hall mirror. Her face was still flushed—she told herself from her sprint up the stairs—her loose curls looked tossed, almost messy. Most prominent was the deep red mark forming at the base of her neck.

Her hand instinctively flew to cover the spot even though she was completely alone. She shook her head and rushed away from the mirror and toward her darkened kitchen. Her hand dropped away from her neck so she could rip open the fridge in search of a bottle of water. She was too old for the hangover that she knew would greet her in the morning if she didn't do some preventative hydration.

After downing half the bottle, she lifted it to her forehead, savoring the cool surface against her still flushed skin.

It hadn't started with anything serious. "One drink, Liv. You can have one drink with me."

She could still feel the deep reverberation of his voice and the immediate effect it had on her knees.

One drink. The problem was the drink was whiskey. God, she hadn't had whiskey in years. Now she remembered why.

It made her angry and honest, and that was the last thing she wanted to be when in Elliot's company. He made her feel everything. For so long, she felt numb. She had a beautiful life, but she long ago gave up on the notion of a true life partner.

She shut the refrigerator and leaned against the cool surface. She shuddered. Her partner had come home. He wanted her, and for the first time in decades he wasn't forbidden.

She winced at the memory of her own words. She had been careless, and she knew she wounded him deeply.

"Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better…"

"Better if what?"

"I don't know, Elliot. Maybe I wonder if it would have been better for all of us if we hadn't been partnered in the first place!"

-000-

Elliot wiped his sweaty palms against the denim fabric of his jeans. It had been ages since he last felt this nervous, but he had been a nonstop bundle of nerves since she agreed to come over to his place for a drink. She had turned him down so many times that he began to expect it, but she had said yes, and he thought he might fall over in surprise.

They set a time for her to come over. He wanted to drive her himself, but she had work to finish up. She promised she wouldn't be late and that the few calls she needed to make wouldn't take too long. He half expected some disaster to rip his evening to shreds, but disaster never came.

His heart flip-flopped when he checked the peephole before swinging the door open. A broad, unbidden smile snuck across his face. She looked perfect. She always looked perfect.

The evening began nice enough. He grinned when she rolled her eyes at his choice of whiskey, grumbling something about him wanting to be a cowboy. He laughed and handed her the drink anyway.

They drank and laughed. It seemed like she was consciously matching his pace, sip for sip. It had been perfect…until it wasn't.

"You don't need me, Liv. Never did." He was proud of her. She had made a life for herself in his absence—a beautiful life.

He knew he had said something wrong by the way her spine stiffened and the way she deliberately placed her drink on the coaster.

Awkward silence radiated off of them while he desperately tried to think of something to say that might lighten the sudden shift in mood. The longer the silence pressed, the more he began to panic. He was almost relieved when she finally spoke, even if the words cut him to the quick.

"I did need you. You know that, right?" There was a bitterness in her voice that had been absent until that moment. "You can say that you did what was best for all of us, but don't think that I was ever better off without you."

He felt his throat swell as emotion threatened to choke the life out of him. He swallowed deeply. He dug his hole deeper when he doubled down on his previous statement. "You didn't need me. You were clearly better off…

She stood abruptly from the barstool where she had been sitting. She grabbed her purse, and Elliot panicked, thinking she was about to leave, but to his relief, she only pulled her cell phone from her purse and jammed it into her back pocket. She crossed her arms over her chest and bounced a little. Elliot knew she was itching to let him have it, so he pushed.

"Why don't you just say it? Whatever you need to say, just say it, so we can move on." He was so tired of feeling stuck.

Her eyes narrowed. "What if you can't handle it? What if it's too much for you? What will you do?" She choked out her final question, "Are you just going to leave?"

In retrospect, his response was a little stupid. "I'd never leave you." He insisted. Based on the fury in her eyes, he quickly amended his previous statement. "I would never leave you again."

His reassurance fell on deaf ears as she began retreating. His heart pounded. She was going to run.

She gripped her purse and backed towards the entry of his apartment. "Forget it," she said with a shaking head. "Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better…" she cut herself off.

"Better if what?" His voice had taken on a harsher tone.

She immediately reacted to his terse response. "I don't know, Elliot. Maybe I wonder if it would have been better for all of us if we hadn't been partnered in the first place!"

His heart clenched violently, and it felt like she had stolen the breath from his chest. He stammered momentarily, unable to find any response to her traitorous implication. Life without Olivia? That wouldn't have been a life worth living. Not for him.

She stepped back, diverting her eyes to the floor. His arm impulsively shot out, catching her wrist before she could retreat any further. Her eyes remained downcast, and he knew that look. Regret. His eyes narrowed.

"Look at me, Liv." The words came out harsher than he intended, and he felt her tense beneath his fingertips. He breathed out a sigh and softened. "Olivia," he breathed. A lifted his other hand and tilted her head up gently. "Look at me," he murmured.

With a shaky breath, she lifted her gaze. Her eyes had glazed over with a dewy shine that she tried to blink away.

The only sound in the apartment was the sound of their tight breathing, but he broke the silence with another firm request. "If you really mean that…" he gulped his emotions. "I need you to look at me when you say that."

She tugged on her arm as she tried to pull her arm from his grasp, but he remained firm. "Say it," his voice lowered, and he pulled her closer. "If you really mean it. Say it again."

Her chest rose and fell, and he was close enough to feel her breath warm against his shoulder. "I," she began, her voice unsteady. After a brief hesitation she lifted her warm brown eyes and with a familiar conviction said, "I can't."

Kissing her wasn't entirely voluntary. It felt like instinct. It felt like 26 years of wanting, finally culminating in a rush of heated emotion.

He was tempted to feel guilty. Guilty for taking this before giving her the opportunity to give it to him herself. He started to pull away with the intention of apologizing for his impulsive act, but whatever guilt he felt was banished by the first sweep of her tongue.

He eagerly deepened the kiss as his hands immediately dropped to her hips, pulling her closer. In response, she slid her hands up his chest, fisting his shirt.

Before he knew what was happening, he had her pinned against the nearest wall. His hands skated over her thighs before circling around to grip her ass.

She released his lips when she threw her head back with an aroused gasp. He seamlessly dragged his lips down until he fixated on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She rolled her head to the side to allow him more access.

A small hum of approval escaped her lips when he gently nipped her skin. The sound hit him hard, and he felt like he might die if he didn't hear it again.

He pulled her soft skin between his teeth, knowing fully that he was leaving a mark, a visual reminder of whatever the hell they were doing in this moment.

Her hands moved to his face, pulling his lips back to hers, kissing him fiercely. One of his hands drifted beneath the hem of her shirt, skating over the warm skin of her lower abdomen.

She released his lips with a gasp, and her hands dropped to his chest. For a moment they stood, breathing heavily, not a word passing between them.

He didn't dare move, but he internally groaned when an insistent ringing came from her pocket.

He immediately felt the shift. Maybe it was the subtle stiffening of her spine or the almost imperceptible pull of her body away from his. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. It wasn't fear; at least he didn't think it was. No, it wasn't fear. It felt like skepticism, distrust.

She put her phone to her ear and completely stepped away from him, leaving a cold chill in her absence.

"Yeah. That's fine. Of course. Love you, baby." She hung up the phone quickly. "I, uh. It's just Noah. He wants to stay the night at a friend's house…" She took another retreating step backwards. "I need to go."

He reached for her wrist. "Don't…" an exasperated sigh escaped his lips. "Don't run away from this…from me."

Her head snapped back around, her eyes scathing. "I'm not the one who leaves, Elliot." She pulled her arm from his grasp. "I need to go."