With dark grey clouds overlooking the city, rain drizzled down over every possible surface. Her sneakers had become drenched in the puddles as she continued to jog through the weather. The streets of New York were just about abandoned by walkers as the rain had scared everyone off into their homes.

She liked the rain. It was something about the droplets falling that made her feel less alone.

Of course, Monique had tried to tell her how stupid it was to go jogging in a storm during the Saturday evening time. She didn't listen, she never did. She'd put on a baseball cap, a pair of spandex leggings, and a long-sleeved shirt before taking advantage of the moody weather.

Everything was bleak and grey, and in the strangest way, she felt like the eye of the storm. She ran as if she were chasing the clouds that never stopped moving forward. They were out-running her steps with ease.

She stopped amid the downpour and ripped the baseball cap from off of her head. Instead of outrunning the clouds, she decided to watch them as they moved hauntingly forward. Rain-soaked through her hair, dripping down the short ponytail her hair was pulled back in. With her head tilted back, she let the water skim her cheeks. She was drenched and it was the first time her body had felt anything in 12 days.

That was the last time she saw Elliot Stabler with her own two eyes. The Monday after their return from Santorini.

Nearly two weeks.

One phone call, nothing else.

She peered back up at the sky, her eyelashes dripped with rain. She could see the SE building from where she stood.

Even on the busiest day of the week, it felt like a ghost town. The administration desk had caught wind that Elliot was no longer in the office, and the calls to their floor had slowed to almost none at all. She and Casey spent their days guarding an empty office.

She had become more bold since his disappearance. There was no point in sitting and waiting for a phone to ring that wouldn't. She'd started to get up and leave, clocking in her time down in the design suite. At least down there it was somewhat busy enough to keep her distracted.

Elliot still had no idea that Olivia was considering the transfer, not that she really had the chance to tell him anyway. In her mind, she figured that he would want her to focus on Red Light while he was gone. He seemed to have so much faith in her about the project, even he knew it would be better for her there in the meantime rather than wistfully staring into his empty office.

She stared up at the building from her spot on the sidewalk, wiping away the rain from her eyes. He was up there, at the very top. He was probably sitting in his home office with his head hung low while he mindlessly signed off on piles of paperwork.

He must feel so alone. Maybe as alone as she feels.

She tucked her hair back under the baseball cap, stretching her arms across her chest before resuming her jogging. If she stops long enough to think about him feeling alone, she may never start again.

Thunder clapped from above her as her shoes continued to splash against the muddy puddles of the sidewalks. She needs this, she told herself. She needs to feel the ice-cold rain drowning down on her to remind her that she's still moving.

"Is it normal to feel this nervous? I mean, I kinda feel like my lungs are on fire! And my hair, does it look okay? I wasn't sure this outfit would look good, I —"

"Monique!" Olivia cut off the ramblings of her best friend with a shout. She grabbed Monique's shoulders and gently laughed. "You look great. Everything is gonna be fine, there's no need to panic. You worked hard, you're confident in what you've done, this is your moment to shine." She smiled as Monique's tense shoulders eased.

It was Monique's last semester before receiving a degree in fine arts, a subject that Olivia knew she felt passionately about. She remembered the first day she met her, and how the sketchbook in her hand had never left. Twelve years old to twenty-nine years old and still, her love hadn't changed.

The school was putting on gallery shows for fundraising, and tonight was the night that Monique had been working towards for months on end. An entire studio filled with nothing but pure creations of her mind.

Olivia had already felt guilty as it was that she hadn't been as present for Monique in the past few weeks as she should've, but she'd promised that nothing would get in the way of the art show. So, Olivia tried to put aside her own flaming mess in her head to be the best friend that she needed to be. As far as she was concerned, Elliot didn't exist tonight. The photographs of her didn't exist tonight.

"Look out the window," Olivia whispered with a smile, gently leading Monique around the corner. "See all those people?" she motioned towards the window-front. "All of them are here for you tonight. Because they believe in you, they believe in your dreams and your art."

Monique exhaled a long deep breath, nodding in hopes that she would find herself believing Olivia's words. "So, they're not just here for the free champagne?"

"No," Olivia laughed. "No, you worked tirelessly on this and they're here to see it through with you. The champagne is just a bonus."

Monique turned to her and smiled softly. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything. I wouldn't be here without you."

"Yes, you would be," Olivia grinned. "You would've found a way with or without me. Now, they're gonna open those doors, and you're gonna start thinking in terms of the best-case scenario, not the worst. Okay?"

Monique shook her head more fervently than before, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. "Okay," she took one last sharp inhale before turning to the gallery director. "Let 'em in."

"You got this!" Olivia whispered one last time before stepping back, allowing the crowds of people to flock to the art and the artist. She stared at Monique with pride in her eyes, watching the fear melt away as the first few people began to approach her with compliments and questions about specific pieces.

Olivia wandered towards the back of the gallery, into a separate section filled with canvases on the walls. She thought back to their childhood and how that same sketchbook in Monique's arms had become a haven. Not just for her, but for both of them. When they were lucky enough to be placed in the same group home or foster family, they often spent their nights under blankets with flashlights. They would sit and create stories together, Monique sketching them out into comics and Olivia devising the plots.

Every single story they ever came up with had a happy ending, no matter how bleak the times were for them. Looking back on it, she wondered how two young kids without a shred of hope for the future managed to dream it up. They took from nothing - no example of promise, and still found a way to bring it to life.

And where no hope had lied, they still made it out. Barely. Just barely. By nothing but a miracle, they were on the tracks they had prayed so hard for.

When Olivia had discovered the trust fund at eighteen, Monique's art school dreams had been her first thought. Not herself and the temporary disposable income. Her best friend, who had kept her alive through her own passion. When Olivia had nothing to her name but a drawing on the wall from Monique in her darkest times, she had been kept alive.

Elliot didn't know that story yet. Almost nobody did. He'd come close that day when they'd sat on the couch and he'd dropped the bomb that he knew in some sense she had saved Monique's life as well.

They got each other through, that's what they did. That's what they always did. Looking at Monique's art restored a little bit of the hope she had been losing after everything in Santorini. If that little kid Olivia and little kid Monique could make it out of a much worse situation, she could make it out of this. She was standing in the epicenter of proof. Compared to what she had once gone through, her current problem was nothing.

"Hey," Alex's cheerful voice pulled Olivia out of her daydream, and she nearly melted into the comforting hand her friend placed on her shoulder. "Amazing, isn't it? I might be a little biased, but I think my girlfriend has Picasso beat."

Olivia giggled, nodding in agreement. "I won't argue with you on that one. How's she doing up there?"

"Mo? She's fine." Alex waved her hand around like it was nothing. "As soon as that crowd flooded the door with their jaws dropped, ready to ask a million questions, she was perfect. I think she may already have a few donations."

"That's amazing!" Olivia beamed. She thought back to before Monique enrolled in the school. She and Alex weren't nearly a couple yet, a basic case of unrequited love that wasn't actually unrequited. She and Monique were still living in their first apartment together and Alex came by daily to watch Monique paint. "Remember back when she was afraid to even enroll?"

Alex laughed at the memory, taking a sip from her own champagne glass. "Oh yeah. Then, when the admissions letters came in the mail, she hid in her room for three hours and refused to open any of them? She was so afraid of being rejected."

"Times have changed," Olivia hummed. They both turned, watching Monique from across the room as she spoke to several people at once. "She did it. She made it."

Alex could hear the distance in Olivia's voice. "How about you? How are things?"

She knew what Monique knew, which was just the slightest bit less than what Olivia herself knew. Alex knew that Elliot was gone, vanished into thin air. She knew about the incidents and the risks it posed.

Olivia sucked in her bottom lip, a lying tic she wished she could rid herself of. "I'm fine,"

"Really?" Alex prodded, turning back to face Olivia. "Because there's something I've noticed, Olivia. In the very front room of this gallery, there's a massive painting Monique did of you. The one where your cheeks glow and your eyes don't look so lost. The real you, the happy you. I'm standing here, staring at the muse for that painting and I don't see the slightest resemblance anymore. Where is the Olivia from that piece of art?"

Olivia felt no threat from Alex's words, only an embarrassing sense of truth. Even she couldn't deny it anymore, the queen of denial herself. She looked a little more sallow now, less vibrant than the acrylic image of herself. Lack of sleep had left bags under her eyes and everywhere she looked, she looked with the thousand-yard stare. "That Olivia?" she paused, looking away from Alex. "That Olivia is in Santorini."

Alex bowed her head with a simple nod. "Yeah. You don't have to lie and say that you're okay, Liv. You aren't, and nobody is expecting you to be."

"I'm expecting myself to be," Olivia interjected. "This isn't who I am, Alex. This has never been me. I let my laser focus dwindle for a moment and it's costing me. I never thought it would be so damn hard to sleep without a warm body next to me."

"Did you ever stop and think that maybe it's not Elliot who has left you like this?" Alex asked, earning a confused stare. "Liv, all of this, it isn't over a man. C'mon, we both know that. What happened in Santorini was scary and violating, I think that's what might be getting to you. And even if it's both that and the sudden lack of Elliot in your life, there's no shame in that."

Olivia dropped her eyes to the floor, realizing they were suddenly knee-deep in a therapy session in the middle of Monique's art show. "You never get used to it, y'know... the violation," she whispered. "You think you will, but you don't. Then, when it happens again, admitting that it happened again can be even worse. It's easier to sit here and tell myself that I'm sulking over a man, rather than to sit here and admit that there are vulnerable pictures of me out there and I don't know what to do."

Alex brought her in for a tight side-hug, feeling Olivia's shoulders release their tension against her. "But you keep going, and I'm proud of you. You're here, supporting your best friend, even though we both know you would rather be under the covers in the dark with your thoughts. You keep going."

"I always keep going," Olivia whispered, looking back up at the art on the wall. Young Olivia didn't have the option of giving up, and neither did she.

Two hours into the art show and Olivia's feet ached in her heels. She kept a smile plastered on her face, quietly eavesdropping in on the conversations of the art admirers. She knew Monique would want to know the details of everything everyone said about her paintings, so Olivia's job from the start had been to be the one with her ears open.

Donations for the school came in faster than anyone expected, and Monique was in her ultimate glory. Olivia's heart swelled at the sight. Every word she overheard was nothing but admiration and positivity, and Monique deserved every ounce of it.

But despite her pride in her best friend, Alex was right; she wanted to go home and crawl into the darkness. She had become accustomed to a slow life at work over the two weeks that Elliot had been gone. Being around so many people again was practically a culture shock to her. Voices overlapped and the scene was constantly changing.

Just as she felt herself suppressing a yawn, Monique came barreling through the doorway into the back room of the gallery. "Olivia! Holy shit! Your painting!"

"What happened?" Olivia shrieked, quickly spinning on her heel to grab Monique before she could crash land into her. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong!" Monique shouted, out of breath. "The gallery just told me that the painting of you that's displayed up in the front was sold! Not a print, the actual piece."

"Oh, oh my God." Olivia's eyes blew wide, a hundred different questions rushing through her head like who the hell would want a painting of her.

"There's more!" Monique's grip on Olivia's arms tightened. "There was a donation with it. $20,000 fucking dollars, Olivia!" she squealed, jumping up and down. "Who would do that?"

Olivia froze in place, her jaw slightly dropping as her veins went cold. She tried to gulp down the lump forming in her throat but it only grew with each passing moment. "Um — I have an idea of who," she mumbled, choking out the words. She felt dizzy and the room started to spin her around like a fairground ride.

Monique stopped her frantic jumping, steadying herself as she watched Olivia's eyes go through the motions. Then, it hit her. "You— you don't think? Do you?"

"I don't know," Olivia breathed, feeling the sudden inability to process her thoughts. The room was swaying around her as she tried to understand what was happening. "Who else would? I mean, did you see who it was?"

"No, I didn't even think to ask who bought it and the place is so swamped I couldn't see!" Monique replied, seeming to feel all of the emotions that Olivia was lacking.

Olivia's eyes drifted away from Monique's as she deflated with a deep exhale. "He was here..." she whispered, losing the battle that kept the feeling of defeat hidden away. Her throat was constricting even tighter as tears threatened to well up in her eyes. "H-he was here."

Monique stared at her as if she were crazy. "Then what the hell are you still doing here? Go!"

"Go?" Olivia's head shot back over to her friend's, an incredulous expression taking over. "Go where?"

"Girl, go after him!" Monique yelped, smacking Olivia's arm. "You haven't seen him in two weeks! If he was here, he's still close by. You might be able to catch him!"

"Catch hi— Mo! I can't! I'm not leaving here, it's your night and I promised I'd be here!" Olivia argued back as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Listen to me." Monique shook Olivia once more, as if she were trying to shake some sense into her. "If that bastard just came here and donated that much money for my school, I don't care if you jet off to Vegas right now and marry him! Now, quit standing around and get running before I throw you out of here myself!"

"Are... are you sure?" she asked with her lip quivering. She had to admit, with each passing moment, the idea of finding Elliot became more alluring. He could be right outside the door for all she knew.

"Yes, I'm sure! Now go!"

Olivia hastily nodded, finally agreeing with not only Monique but also herself that she was going to chase after him.

Her feet burned even worse as she sprinted down the streets of New York. Her shoes bit into her skin, already blistering the tender areas as she picked up her speed. The SE building wasn't far from the gallery, a few blocks at the most. The rain slowed her down but she kept her pace through the gritting weather.

She wasn't sure at this point which droplets on her face were the rain and which were the tears. They had fallen from her eyes as soon as she'd made it out of the gallery's doors. Some of her was angry, some of her was heartbroken, she couldn't decide which one was winning. If it was him, if it truly was, then she was furious. How could he be so close and not bother to see her? Not even tell her that he was dropping by? How could he appear and just leave all over again?

The building was no longer in the distance, but suddenly right above her. She stopped in her tracks, staring up all the way to the penthouse floor as if she would be able to see him through the windows. The rain was coming down harder now and she was drenched from head to toe. A goddamn mess, no doubt.

She turned and aimed for the parking garage, planning her moves with more strategy now. Her footsteps echoed through the empty lot, the lights flickering as they guided her towards the familiar service elevator. It was the only elevator that led only up to his apartment, and she was the only one with a key.

Anger was winning now, she could feel it in her bones. She grabbed the keys from her clutch, jamming it into the lock and searching for the signals that it would allow her in. Nothing clicked. Not a light went off or even a sound. Son of a bitch.

The elevator was turned off.

"Hey!" she shouted, looking up at the security camera that blinked with a red light. "Hey, asshole!" Tears started falling even harder now, no longer co-mingling with those of the clouds. "I know you can see me, and I know you can hear me!"

A sob escaped from her chest as she backed away from the elevator door and into a better view of the camera. "You were there tonight, I know you were! Goddamnit, Elliot! How could you do that to me? How could you just leave like that? We— we could've talked! We could've found someplace private and just..."

She stopped, blowing a breath from her lips. There was no stopping the pathetic laugh that followed the sobs. "Look at me. I'm screaming at a fucking camera. This is who I am now; the crazy bitch who screams into the nothingness! This is who I've become, and I don't like it, Elliot! I don't like it at all!"

She rubbed her knuckles against her cheeks, finding the dark smear of mascara across her skin. "Fuck, I miss you, damnit! You could've talked to me, but you left me! You left me and I needed you!"

Olivia knew her words were no longer focused on what had happened at the gallery, but rather what had happened in total. She sobbed once more, fighting to catch her breath. "I needed you, Elliot. I needed you and you left me here, alone. Every day, I have to stare at your empty office and every day is the day I think you'll come back and you never do. You never do!"

She wasn't sure if she was saying it for him or for herself. For two weeks, she hadn't allowed the thoughts to break through to her consciousness, fearing it would break her all together. Olivia Benson was not the person who allowed herself to break, especially over a man. Yet, here she was; leaving it all out in the open.

Her eyes went back up to the camera, hoping for once that he could see the hurt in them rather than hide it. "You're breaking my heart," she whispered, just loud enough for only herself to hear. "I miss walking into the office every morning, knowing you're gonna see me and smile and that everything will be alright. I miss whispering to you in the break room while we're getting coffee. I miss you hovering over my shoulder with that stupid amazement in your eyes while I work on Red Light. I miss the nights on the couch with a bottle of wine and I miss waking up at midnight in your bed."

She was talking to a blinking red light, pouring her heart out to it knowing damn well there was a chance nobody was on the other side. That's who she had become. That's who Santorini had turned her into.

"If you're doing this to — I don't know, keep me safe? I don't want that, okay? I don't care. I— I stopped caring, El. I don't know when or how but I stopped and I'm okay with that," she cried, not bothering to try to end the downfall of tears. "I stopped caring when I realized that caring too much meant not having you around. I don't need you to protect me from myself, okay? Or anyone else for that matter. I just need you to come back... please."

She waited as if there would be some sort of answer, some sort of familiar voice calling out to her. There was nothing. Just the painful void of silence as the security camera just kept blinking. "Please," she whispered, her voice helplessly cracking.

She waited a few more moments before allowing her head to drop. The excess rain from her hair dripped down her face and shoulders. She felt defeat in its truest form, and weakness alongside it. One more glance up at the camera and the tears burned against her cold cheeks. "Good night, Elliot," she whispered before walking away.

Elliot stared at the iPad, watching with his own tears in his eyes as the black and white camera feed showed her trudging away.

"Sir," Skylar interrupted his moment as he stood behind Elliot. "I know it's against your current security protocol, but we can unlock the elevator if you'd like."

Elliot cleared his throat, trying to hide any evidence of his emotions. He coughed into his fist as he shook his head. "No, no. She uh – she left." His eyes squeezed shut as he threw the iPad down on the couch, the image of her walking away with her arms crossed over her chest still vivid in his mind.

For the first time in her career at SE, she called in sick. The night had ended with her drenched in rain and her shivering body had rocked her to sleep. When the sun rose the following morning, she wasn't moving. She wasn't running down the street trying to balance several coffee cups. She wasn't frantically throwing together the best outfit she had yet to wear.

The best she could do was send a simply-worded text to Casey that she wasn't coming in. They'd be fine without her for the day, even in the Red Light room. Hell, the entire point of her job was gone now that she couldn't really assist who she was there to assist. It was like going into school and finding not a single teacher.

She was fucking tired, and she deserved to be. The paranoia was getting to her, leaving her wondering if every eye on her was an eye that had seen those photos. She was tired of leaving the house with her hopes up. Even if she couldn't have him anymore, she at least wanted the normalcy to return.

If she had to, she would deal with whatever splintering emotions would come from seeing him and not being able to touch him. If she could just see him. It had been so dark out when they'd touched down back in New York, after the flight home from Santorini. She had barely seen his face. Now that she thought about it, she had barely seen him in the villa that night either. When she had rushed in and closed the curtains, cutting off any connection of light from the inside out. When was the last time she had actually seen him?

This wasn't the deal they had made. When had their rule of no-strings-attached become a matted mess of tangled webs?

She rolled over in bed, moving to face away from sharp beams of sunlight coming through her bedroom window. Of all the days it had to shine outside, why now? She wanted the rain to return, it had become a constant comfort lately. If she had to feel dark and dreary, at least the rest of the city had to feel it with her. She liked knowing that when she had tears in her eyes, so did every statue in New York.

Glancing over at her alarm clock, she squinted at the LED letters. God, it wasn't even morning anymore. The morning had passed her by, leaving her in the hours of the afternoon to wallow. It was already 2:00 pm. Time was swallowing her up faster than quicksand.

"Hey," Monique whispered as she slowly peaked through Olivia's bedroom door. She could see the back of Olivia's head as it rested against her pillow. "I brought you a sandwich. You need to eat."

"M'not hungry." Olivia grumbled. She had fallen back asleep somewhere in the afternoon, completely unaware that time had continued turning. She could tell from the color shining through her curtains that the sun was setting.

"Liv, c'mon." Monique sat on the empty edge of the bed, setting the plate of food down on the bedside table. "I'm fully on board with you spending the entire day in bed, however, you're gonna starve."

"What did I do wrong, Mo?" she asked as she rolled over onto her back. "I know screwing your boss isn't a smart move, but why does it have to be like this? Why can't we just do what normal people do in this situation? Work together and fuck out our frustrations."

"I don't know, sweetheart." Monique moved a strand of Olivia's hair behind her ear. "I don't think it was you who did anything wrong. Obviously, you had your privacy invaded. But for whatever reason, I truly don't think you did anything to cause that. If someone is after him, it's not fair that you're in the crossfire."

"I don't mind being in the crossfire, believe it or not," she whispered. "It's being in the crossfire without him."

Monique pushed herself further into the bed, curling up at Olivia's side. Olivia buried her head in her shoulder. "It's only a matter of time before things go back to the way they were," she whispered to Olivia, gently stroking her back. "You hate change, Olivia. You always have. But this change is temporary. It might not feel like it, but you'll get through it. He'll be back soon and things won't be so scary."

Olivia quietly sobbed as she curled in tighter against Monique. The scent of her best friend brought a wave of comfort over her, allowing her body to untense enough for her to finally cry. That was always her problem — she could never cry because her body seemed to lock up to the point where her tear ducts were shut. However, it took one ounce of relaxation for her to allow herself to break. She couldn't sink if she was holding onto Monique like she was a life-raft.

"Everyone at work looks at me like I have the answers," she cried. "They're all just wondering where their boss is, I can't tell them that he's hiding out because there's a mole in the company who has explicit pictures of him and his assistant."

Monique pulled Olivia in closer, holding her as she cried. "This isn't your fault. This is not your fault, Olivia," she whispered, feeling her own tears brimming. Something about seeing Olivia heartbroken always got to her in ways that she couldn't explain.

Her phone buzzed beside her and for a moment, she wondered if it was even worth it to look. Deciding against her tired instincts, she grabbed it and squinted at the screen. As soon as she saw the name, she shot upright in bed.

"Who is it?" Monique asked, readjusting herself so she was leaning on her elbow.

Olivia stared in confusion at the screen. "It's... it's Skylar? Elliot's head of personal security. He's gonna be here in a few minutes."

"What?" Monique's brows furrowed "Why?"

"Not sure," Olivia ripped the covers off of herself, shooting over to her closet and pulling the first thing she saw off of the rack. It was a short sundress, a pretty floral pattern that she hadn't worn in ages. She quickly shed her pajamas off, sliding the dress over her frame before stepping into a pair of flats. "Don't know, don't care."

She reached for her brush, quickly dragging it through the knots that had formed in her hair from lying in bed all day. She was rushing around the room, applying mascara to her lashes as quickly as she possibly could.

"Did he say anything else?"

"No," Olivia exhaled, grabbing her phone and wallet as she continued to scurry around her bedroom. "But there are only two reasons he would be here. One, Elliot wants to see me..."

"And two?" Monique asked.

Olivia stopped and stared at Monique with fear in her eyes. "We don't talk about option number two. Option two means bad news and I just don't have that in me right now." She darted out of the bedroom as fast as her feet could carry her.

"Hey! Take the sandwich!" Monique called out after her, but she was gone.

"Where are we going?" Olivia broke the silence as she watched Skylar turn off the freeway. She had only ever been out of the city a few times, there wasn't much she could recognize.

"Westchester County."

"Westchester? Jesus," she exhaled. "What's out in Westchester?"

"Mr. Stabler is," Skylar answered, not taking his eyes off the road. "He has a house out there. Only a few people know about it. It's all handled under pseudonyms and cash outside of him and the business. He bought the house back when his daughter was born, in case anything ever happened and they needed a safe place that couldn't be traced back to him."

She stared at him through his rearview mirror, hoping he would look at her. Her jaw fell slack as she processed his words. Elliot? She was gonna see Elliot?

"Wh-why is he in Westchester now? Why hasn't he stayed in the city?" Olivia feared as soon as she asked that she may not like the answer. As far as she had known, he was in the city the entire time. Plus, if he had been at the gallery on Sunday, that meant he had left more recently than she would've expected.

"I'm not at liberty to say, Miss. Benson. However, I assure you that both Mr. Stabler and yourself are in good hands."

"Alright," she forced herself to keep breathing. "Then answer me this. He rarely ever goes anywhere without you, you're his off-site security detail. Which means you were with him Sunday night," she stopped, trying to curb the emotions that came with the thought of her standing in that parking garage, screaming at the camera. "The gallery... was that him?"

Skylar peered over his tinted sunglasses and finally looked her in the eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

Her eyes closed as she softly nodded. She wasn't really sure what she had wanted the answer to be; it was a double-edged sword. On one hand, some creep didn't have a massive painting of her. On the other hand, he had left without even attempting to speak to her.

"So uh... my little temper tantrum in the parking garage. He saw that, didn't he?" she asked, hanging her head in shame as she picked at the hem of her dress.

Skylar didn't answer right away, putting his eyes back on the road. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, it must've caught his attention," she groaned inwardly before turning to look out the window. The sky was orange, fluffy pink clouds drifting by as the remainder of the blue faded below the edge of the earth. Telephone poles passed them by as she tried to relax into the leather seats. "So, how long until we reach Westchester?" she asked.

"About another forty-five minutes, ma'am."

Forty-five minutes was enough time for her to think up every scenario possible of how this was about to play out.

The vehicle pulled into a long road, houses scattered on hilltops with land surrounding each of them. She paid careful attention to each house, wondering which would be the one they would turn towards. All of them were beautiful and perfectly manicured. Her breath hitched every time they neared another driveway, her heart pounding its way out of her chest walls.

Finally, the vehicle slowed as they neared a driveway that led up to a house that looked as if it belonged on a golf course. Her palms started to sweat as soon as the car turned and started the climb up the driveway. She tried to see as far as possible through the windshield, spotting a figure standing in the doorway of the house.

"Elliot..." she whispered, fighting back tears. The further they drove up, the better she could see his face. Two fucking weeks and she finally laid eyes on him.

The car had barely come to a stop before she barrelled out of the backseat, sprinting towards him. She wanted to scream and cry out his name, but all of the air in her lungs was occupied with keeping her running as fast as she could.

At fifteen feet away from him, she stopped. If she was running towards a figment of her imagination, she wanted to know now. Her body had halted completely, taking in the image as he stood within throwing distance of her. She couldn't stop her jaw from hanging just the slightest bit, none of it felt real. Not the rose bushes that surrounded the front of the house or the man standing in front of her.

Is it you?

Is it really you?

Her mind wandered between the two simple questions, not allowing for anything else. He stood with his hands at his sides, something he only did when he felt weak. She knew that about him, she knew his mannerisms and body language. Had his hands been behind his back, he would've been proud. He was anything but proud right now.

"Elliot," she whispered under her breath, helplessly staring at him as he stood as still as a statue. Finally, her legs allowed her to move and resumed the sprint in his direction.

Both of her arms wrapped under his, her hands gripping onto his shoulder blades as if her life depended on it. She felt his palms on her, one on her lower back and one in center. "Jesus Christ, Elliot," she cried with her face buried in his neck. She pulled away to look at him, secretly fearing he was nothing but a cruel mirage that would slip away with one glance. "It's been two fucking weeks."

"I know," he murmured with guilt and sadness, his eyes dropping down away from hers as he kept her in his grasp. "I'm so sorry, Olivia."

It was sincere, and that's what chilled her the most. He said it as if he'd been waiting the entire time to spill the words out. From the bottom of his soul, he was sorry for the hell they were going through.

"Just hold me," she whispered, feeling a tear trickle down her cheek. She regained her grip on him, basking in the scent of him that she spent two weeks craving. His skin was warm against hers, striking familiar nerves with every inch he touched. Any apology he could give right now would be accepted as long as she was in his arms.

She swore that with her face in his neck, she heard him sniffle. Her grip became tighter, pressing him flush against her. She could feel his heart beating, the faint thrumming almost in sync with her own. He was intoxication in its purest form, sating her with nothing more than just his skin on hers.

"Let's go inside," he breathed, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. She pulled away, her mind in a hazy fog as she agreed. When he opened the door, he allowed her in first and gave a nod to Skylar — who was to be posted outside of the house.

As soon as they were behind the closed door, she was back to being wrapped tightly against his body. It had taken her off guard as she felt her back press against the door with a fury hidden deep in his strength.

The crash of a kiss was anything but well-orchestrated. It was a frantic clashing of teeth and tongue. She clawed at his shoulders as her head dipped back, him leaning over her as he sought familiarity in her lips.

She whimpered as he bit her lower lip, possessively claiming it between his teeth. This was coming home, it had to be. This is what the return to comfort must be. If everyone who ever described the feeling of coming home meant this, she understood for the first time how sacred it felt.

Her arms enclosed around his neck as he continued to explore her mouth, anchoring him against her. The tears were still melting along the waterline of her eyes, not yet falling again. His hands patted against the backs of her thighs, signaling for her to leap and wrap her legs around him. "God, I fucking missed you," she whispered.

With her steady in his arms and secure around his waist, he moved the both of them away from the door. His brain was short-circuiting at her long-overdue touch, nothing but muscle memory left to guide him in the right direction.

As he carried her through the foyer of the house, she cupped his cheeks and continued finding purchase in his lips. Her forehead fell against his and the rest of the world ceased to exist around them. The sunset bled through every window of the house, casting an orange glow over them as he continued towards the nearest bedroom.

She didn't want to sit and talk, and she knew he didn't either. Talking wasn't what they needed right now. It was quelling the sudden touch-starvation that they were forced to face. That was all that mattered at the moment.

As soon as he recognized his surroundings and realized there was a guest bedroom nearby, he hurried his pace. Each passing moment grew with need and desperation to explore every inch that he missed of her.

They both nearly crashed through the doorway and before she knew it, she was placed down on a comfortable mattress. Neither of them had time to think about where to go next, only that they had to go or else the world will melt at their fingertips. "I've been dreaming of this moment for two weeks," he growled. There was anger in the words that she swallowed from his lips. Not anger at her, but anger at himself.

Wordlessly, she pulled him back down with her hand on the back of his neck. It was forgiveness and agony wrapped up in one ferocious kiss. She could feel that anger was at everyone and everything else, just not her.

Her hands snaked between the two of them as he hovered above her, moving to pop each button out of its designated security. As soon as the shirt was open, she pushed it down the back of his shoulders, her hands grazing every tense muscle in his arms. His biceps flexed as he shook the shirt off of his frame and let it fall to the floor.

With her guidance, he crawled over top of her on the bed. Normally, she felt like his prey when he did so; not this time. She wouldn't allow him to be angry, not now at least. He wanted to fuck the anger out, but she refused to allow their likely short amount of time together to be only that. Somewhere inside of himself, he knew that, and was beyond appreciative that she had the control that he lacked.

She directed him to sit with his back to the pillows, climbing into his lap and gripping his face in her palms. Her forehead fell back to his as she was the one to tower over him. He could feel her slowing the pace down, relishing in her ability to finally have him all to herself. Her nose swiped against his, her upper lip brushing along his before reclaiming him in a kiss.

His hands drifted under the hem of her dress, palming her ass with a deep-seated need to touch every inch of her. With every grip of him kneading her flesh, her body shuttered. Blindly, he found the lace of her thong, sliding it down with his thumbs until it rested where her knees were kneeling between him.

"Take your pants off, Elliot," she whispered against his lips, not bothering to do it herself. Her hands were too busy cradling his face, steadying him as she reacquainted herself with the taste of him.

The clink of his belt buckle hit her ears and a thrum vibrated down her spine. By the time he had rid himself of all of his clothes, his erection throbbed between his legs. She sat back on her calves, lifting her dress above her head and discarding it with the rest of their clothes. She slipped the thong out from around her knees as he worked to unhook her bra.

She swore she heard a shivering moan erupt from his chest as she sat in his lap with not a shred of fabric covering her. It was easy to sense that he was holding himself back, and all of that anger that was pent up inside of him too. She simply rebuked the idea that reuniting with him would be fueled by hatred for the person or people who divided them. Her anger was washing away with the pull of every tide on Earth.

She took in a sharp inhale, stepping into dangerous territory of taking control. Shuffling closer to him in his lap, she grabbed his chin and brought his eyes up to hers. "You are not going to fuck me, Elliot." Even now, defying his past demands seemed terrifying. "You're going to show me what you feel for me, not what you feel about the people who angered you. You're going to touch me with the feelings of how you missed me. You can be angry at the universe, but right now, we're going to appreciate this moment together. Got it?"

He stared at her with amazement and hunger. She was being brave and at that, he owed her a great deal of credit. A small nod to her signaled his compliance. Her willpower was something to be reckoned with, because she was right, he was on the verge of screwing her into oblivion just to spite God and everyone else who took her away from him.

He didn't want that. For once, he wasn't interested in playing games and testing their limits. God forbid they ever admit it out loud, but he was going to make love to her.

His hands came to graze her waist as she reached down between them, softly stroking his cock. Fuck, how she had missed the beautiful weight of him in her palm. Her thumb smeared the wetness of his precum around the tip of him, earning a sharp inhale from his lungs. His touch moved downward, his thumbs moving along the V shape of her hip bones.

"You're so beautiful, Olivia," he managed to get the words out without his sentence breaking. She could hear the pain in his voice, deeper than the surface of his need. His anger was becoming hurt; hurt that he had to miss her.

Her focus was on the hardness in her hand, rubbing the softness of her palm down the length of him with a painfully slow speed. By now, he would have his finger buried to the hilt inside of her, but he didn't trust himself. His head wasn't on his shoulders and she seemed to know exactly what they both needed. If he took control now, he would break the unspoken promise he'd made to show her how he missed her, not how he would usually take her.

She leaned forward once more, back to resting her forehead on his. Only now, the difference was that her eyes were open and staring at him. She raised her hips, guiding his aching cock to align with her core. As the tip of him brushed against her folds, she took a sharp inhale. Her eyes were glued to his as she slowly sunk down on him. Their mouths dropped in unison as the sound of constricted breaths filled the silence of the room.

She took each inch slowly, basking in the long-awaited stretch that she loved more than life itself. Every nerve ending inside of her was struck back to life. To feel him filling her after what felt like an eternity without him was a feeling she wanted to remember. Her eyes stayed on his as she sunk lower, watching every contraction and dilation of his pupils. She had almost forgotten that he fit inside of her like a missing puzzle piece. Every curve and every shape gliding against exactly where it needed to be.

One of his hands had moved away from her body and instead gripped the sheets with every drop of strength. He wanted nothing more than to grind his hips up into her, to search for the friction he craved. Her breaths were in short and light puffs, her eyes closing as she took in the final inch of him.

She was frozen with him inside of her, mentally memorizing how every single centimeter of her body felt in that very moment. He finally released the sheet from his knuckles, instead moving to brush his fingertips over one of her swollen nipples. She finally let out a proper moan, high pitched and sung in the beautiful tune that he had missed.

When he spotted her bottom lip within her teeth, he took her in for another deep kiss. Finally, her hips started to rise and fall. Her pace was still agonizingly slow, but with her skin under his palms and fingertips, he could breathe again. God, how he could breathe again. Every breath was an assault of her scent, working like a pheromone in his system.

Her thighs trembled as she continued her rise and fall on his cock, her breaths coming in whimpers. Overwhelmed with the urge to feel closer to her, his hands sought out hers. Their palms brushed against each other before he interlocked their fingers together on both hands. She moaned once more, feeling him lift their connected hands just above the height of her shoulders.

Her pace sped up but not nearly enough. She was enjoying every second she had with him inside of her, promising herself to never take it for granted ever again. His hips gave the slightest recoil with each of her gentle thrusts, careful not to give in to the oncoming resolve.

Her breasts bounced in front of him as she repeatedly slid down his length. Still holding both of her hands in his, he leaned his head forward to bring his tongue to her nipple. He could feel the surge of wetness between her folds as he did so, another cry leaving her lips like a hymn. His tongue swirled around the bud, the delicate suction motivating her to ride him a little harder.

Her noises rose in volume and her control over herself was wearing thin. His mouth detached from her nipple for a brief moment. "You're so fucking tight, Olivia," he said with a shiver, his hips meeting the rise and fall of her thrusts. "So tight and so wet and oh so perfect."

"Elliot," she cried out when he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of her. Her hands gripped his tighter, turning her knuckles into a pale white shade. He could feel her nearing her climax, her movements rising in urgency. Her head started to fall back, pushing her chest out and giving him more room to work his mouth over her nipples.

She was a whining mess within moments, dancing on the precipice of her orgasm. Her speed was faster than before, working a little more desperately to feel him and the friction she so badly needed. This was the moment she had spent two weeks waiting for, praying for, begging for.

He knew the moment she let go of his hands that she was moments away from falling apart on top of him. His lips released her breasts, his arms moving to wrap her up within them. His mouth met her neck as her cheek grazed his forehead. He licked a line up to her earlobe, cradling her as she thrust down harder on him. "You're so close, Liv. I can feel how badly you need to cum."

Whatever she had responded with was incoherent, and he would've settled for nothing less. He held her tighter, her chest flush against him as she lost herself in her own movements. "That's it, that's my good girl," he whispered. "Let me feel you cum. C'mon, sweetheart, gimme all you've got."

A high-pitch gasp tangled with her moans as she felt herself tighten around him. He knew her well enough to know that when she was in control, her mind shut out everything in the world except for the pleasure she felt. His words, despite how amazing it felt to say them, were for her. A reminder that he was there with her, holding her as she fell off the edge. And she did just that. Broken cries spilled from her mouth as she frantically rode him through her earth-shattering climax.

Heat raced through him as he made the split-second decision to push her onto her back. Her head was a few inches away from the footboard of the bed as he pulled his throbbing cock out from her. She groaned at the sudden loss, being met with a string of hushes from him.

He positioned himself with his head between her legs, deciding that he desperately needed to remember her taste. He managed to get her limp legs over his shoulders, his hands prying her thighs apart. "So beautiful," he mumbled. "So wet, so beautiful."

"El—Elliot!" she gasped, her hips jutting upwards at the overstimulation of his tongue swiping through her. On instinct, her hands came down and gripped his head. She wasn't even near recovered from her first orgasm and he was already on a mission to give her a second.

His tongue circled her clit, lapping up the dripping juices from her core. Tasting her after so long was better than tasting any fancy wine or whiskey. He traced shapes along her core, not missing a single spot on her. He was desperate to take what was his, to taste all he could after days and endless days without her.

She writhed under him, her brain becoming the equivalent of a nuclear meltdown. His tongue explored every fold before plunging inside of her. She cried out, her nails digging into his head as his mouth diligently worked her over.

Taking her by surprise, he brought his fingertips up to swirl against her clit as his tongue continued delving inside of her. Nothing in the world could've stopped the lungfuls of moans that shattered every iota of silence in the room. His fingers massaged the edges of her clit, driving her absolutely insane from the screaming nerve endings.

He switched up his movements, sliding his fingers inside of her and instead placing his tongue on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Two fingers pumped in and out of her, meeting each snap of her hips. He curled the digits inside of her, sending her even further into oblivion.

"Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum!" she shouted quickly as soon as she found her breath. The overstimulation was too much for her, allowing her no time to rebound from her first orgasm. "Please, Elliot, please!" she begged, unaware of what she was actually asking for.

"What do you need, Olivia?" he asked, continuing to tease her with his fingers. He watched a bead of her wetness drip down her ass cheek before swiping it away with his tongue.

"You," she answered, trying with all her might to collect her thoughts. "Need you. Need all of you."

She was sobbing for him, making him even harder than he thought he could ever be. He had wanted to feel her orgasm ride out on his mouth, but at this rate, he couldn't deny how badly he wanted to be inside of her. Slipping his fingers out of her, he placed a kiss on her clit before moving to sit up on his knees.

He wasted no time sliding into her, knowing that the begging was enough to throw him closer towards his own finish line. He hovered over her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he leaned down to kiss her. She could taste herself on his lips, and the thought of that sent shivers into every nerve of her limbs.

He knew that she wanted things slow, but his promise was breaking and he hated himself for it. It had been too long without her, and his body seemed to have a mind of its own. He buried himself to the hilt inside of her, groaned as she squeezed around him. It would just be another broken promise, right along with the one about how everything would be okay.

Her nails left deep red indentations in his back as she clawed at him. Every moan and cry was swallowed into his furious kiss as he fucked into her. Her toes ached from curling so tightly, but every time his tongue slipped around hers, she couldn't help but continue to tense up. "Elliot, I'm not gonna last," she sobbed out into his kiss. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,"

He pulled away from her kiss to realize she was actually in tears as she clenched around him. He moved a hand up to her face, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Oh honey, don't apologize," he whispered, forcing himself to slow his pace. He looked down at her, finding her eyes and smiling softly. "Don't apologize, okay? You've got nothing to apologize for."

He knew that she was crying about more than just the intensity of him filling her to the brim. She was crying because, fucking hell, it had been too long since she had been able to feel him like this. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face into the crook of her neck as she fought off more sobs. It had been too long and the two weeks of misery was getting to her.

But she was here with him now, in this moment. That only made the tears fall harder.

She wasn't gonna say it... not now. Not with his cock buried in her while finding herself in a mess of tears. Now was not the time to say it. She couldn't say it on the phone, she can't say it now.

But she felt it, and that mattered to her.

"Liv, you feel so amazing," he cooed in her ear, hoping it would ease the onslaught of emotions. He planted open-mouth kisses on her pulse points. "I'm right here with you. Jesus, I wish you knew how fucking perfect you felt"

"I missed you," she whimpered, her hoarse voice cracking. She clawed at his back once more, urging him to press his body tighter against hers. "So much, Elliot."

If someone had told the Olivia that walked into that restaurant with her boss all that time ago that they would end up here, she probably wouldn't have believed it. Yet, here they were. She could feel his own burning hot tears spill against her neck. He missed her too. The both of them had been living in mutual agony for two weeks, of course, it would come out now.

"Mmf, 'Livia," he grumbled. She knew what his voice was communicating that his words weren't.

"I'm close, El," she held on tighter to him, allowing the beat of her heart to speed up as she accepted the fact that they were together right now, and that was all they could be for the time being.

His hips heaved into hers faster now, both of them fighting to get the oxygen they needed. As soon as she squeezed around him, the tightly-wound coil in his stomach snapped. He groaned against her lips, his long-overdue orgasm spilling into her. Her own hips rose off of the bed, the idea of him filling her being just enough to send her tumbling off of the edge once more. She came with him, milking every last drop out of him as she held onto him like her life depended on it.

They laid there, the sun having long since set. They laid there with his head against her throat and the weight of his body off to the side so he wouldn't crush her. She couldn't see his eyes, he couldn't see hers, so the tears must not have been there at all, right? If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If they cry and their eyes avoid each other, was there actually any evidence of their own personal wreckage?

"Elliot?" she whispered, her fingertips trailing softly along the jagged edges she had left on his back. A thought finally dawned on her, a thought she meant to ask him sooner.

"Mhm?"

"Why are we in a safe house?"