Part Three

The fucking audacity of that son of a bitch.

Good thing her gun was lying on her kitchen counter. Had it been at her waist where it usually was, the asshole would have had a hole in his head. Right between his pretty blue eyes.

It took her a minute to think, to wrap her brain around the fact that the first thing he'd had to say to her in weeks, months, was about money. He thought she'd been calling him about money. The fucker hadn't bother to listen to her messages, hadn't bothered to see why she was calling.

Even worse, it revealed what he thought of her. Her partner of fifteen years had more or less been forced into retirement following a clean fucking shoot and he assumed her only reason for calling him was to ask for her money back.

Her palm itched with a desire to go get her gun and shoot him.

Her palm itched to slap him again.

As she stood there, trying to decide whether or not to slam the door in his face from his insult, her cop instincts took over. She saw the way his clothes hung loosely, the way his shirt seemed to be begging for an iron, the way his head was lowered, the way he had yet to look at her face, the way his whole body seemed to be collapsing inward like he was empty inside, the way his hand shook with the proffered cash, the way his chin was trembling.

Jesus. Suddenly she couldn't even be sure it was Elliot Stabler before her. She'd sooner believe he had a twin brother he'd never mentioned than that this was the same man she'd known so well.

And still, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal, demanded release.

"You honestly fucking thought I was calling you about you owing me money? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

His head began to shake, a gesture that initially seemed to be in response to her question but quickly revealed that he wasn't even listening. As his head turned back and forth, he started to back up, his hand dropping the twenties he'd been holding as it fell back to his side. She had to lean forward to hear his soft mutter.

"This was a huge mistake. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."

When he turned to leave, she saw the redness on his cheeks, the tiny, fresh cut on his chin. He'd shaved. He'd actually shaved just to come see her. She stepped forward, catching the scent of soap in his wake, the scent of soap that hadn't yet been overtaken by the smell of him. Not that he usually smelled bad or dirty; he usually just smelled like him.

Fuck. He was in the worst state she'd even seen and he'd bothered to take a shower and get shaved to come see her, to give her back the money he mistakenly thought he owed her because he hadn't believed she would have called him for any other reason. Where the hell was the huge ass ego he'd always had?

Realizing that wherever it was, it was long gone, and that under the circumstances, her slap would do as much damage to his psyche as a bullet would have done to his body, she knew she couldn't let him leave. Fucking hell, it had already taken forever and a million phone calls to get him to show up in the first place – he'd never come back if he thought she'd rejected him.

Luckily he was barely moving and one step forward was all it took for her to reach him. She was still pissed as hell at him, but seeing him so despondent made it easy to prioritize. She had to take care of him first. Once he was back together, then she could lay into him for the way he'd acted. Otherwise, the man would disappear and she'd never get the chance to do either.

Unused to dealing with Elliot like this, she had no idea of how to help him. She had no idea of what he needed. So she did the only thing she could think of, the only thing she wanted to do more than she'd even wanted to slap him.

She reached for him.

She stretched her arms up, grabbing his shoulders, pulling him into her as her arms wrapped around his neck. There was no resistance, no attempt to avoid her. But there was no response either. He just stood there, stiff and motionless, letting her hug him. She kind of wanted to smack him again. But more than that, she wanted to feel him return the embrace, wanted to feel his arms around her.

She'd never imagined anything would break him. She'd always thought that Elliot Stabler's strength was far greater than anything the universe could throw at him. But she'd been wrong. So very, very wrong. No, he hadn't been nearly so fucking strong as she'd thought, as she'd imagined him to be. He was fragile, the huge ego had been fake.

It struck her then exactly why they'd gotten along so well. They were the same in that regard. They pretended to be so strong, so impermeable, that nothing could stop them, when they really were terrified that someone would see how very full of self-doubt they were. They'd gravitated toward the strength they'd seen in one another, trusting their partner to protect them.

Now that she saw his weakness, she realized she could reveal her own.

She squeezed him tighter, turning her face into his, letting her whisper fall directly into his ear.

"Elliot, please!"

He was her biggest weakness. She needed him so damn badly that it had reduced her world to ruins when he'd cut her out of his life.

Her tearful plea prompted a response from him. His arms moved up, curling around her back, his hands tentatively resting on her shoulder blades. It was something, but it wasn't enough. She leaned in closer, giving him no choice but to support her body as she fell into him. She knew he wouldn't drop her. They'd been partners too long for her to question that.

Finally, his arms tightened, his hands curling, his fingers digging into her back.

Finally, a real fucking hug. She might never let him go.

They were both shaking, either from the emotional heft or from the sheer need for each other. Her arms hurt from holding him so tightly and yet she couldn't stand the thought of releasing him. Tears were streaming down her face, but she feared letting him see them. God only knew how badly he'd react to knowing he'd hurt her.

It seemed doomed that he'd find out though, because he was loosening his hold, relaxing his hands from where they'd gouged into her back. She couldn't let go. She just couldn't. Wherever he was going to go, he'd go there with her hanging from his neck. If only she'd had her handcuffs on her.

But Elliot's attempts to get away were limited. He wasn't trying to get far away, apparently, only enough so that his lips could reach her face, brushing against her forehead and temple and cheek.

She'd dreamed of such a moment. Fifteen years of fantasies of the man finally touching her with sexual intent couldn't compare to the feeling of his lips caressing her skin, of his body flush against hers, of his hot breath moving toward her lips.

And though it might otherwise have been the paramount moment of her entire existence, she had to put a stop to it.

Because it wasn't right.

Nothing about the man said that he was ok.

Nothing about the man said sobriety, either.

Even as his lips moved towards hers, she had to think past her own desires and feel the desperation wafting from him. She tightened her arms, tucking her head past his, giving him no choice but to stop trying to kiss her. The tension returned to him immediately, and she could almost hear the way he was going to try to explain away his actions. She couldn't listen to it. She couldn't take it. She was falling apart too, damn it.

When he was still, she released him, moving her hands to grasp the sides of his face and forcing him to look her in the eyes. She wasn't going to let him be ashamed of the fire that had burned between them for so long. He wasn't wrong. It might be the wrong time, but it wasn't the wrong idea and she didn't want him to get that in his head.

"Not like this, Elliot, ok?" She looked at his eyes, seeing the redness, the puffiness, the dark circles marring his face revealing that he'd been drinking his way through the last few months. Rather than crying out in pain at what he was doing to himself, she bit it back and held his stare, hoping that all the love she felt for him would somehow reach him. "I'm not saying no. I'm just saying not like this."

He stared back, his eyes pleading with her to save him, from the world, from the pain, from himself, even if only for a few minutes of pleasure.

Her fingers stroked his cheeks as she wished she had the ability to absorb all the misery he was feeling. She lightly touched the red mark her palm had left on his face, wincing at her thoughtlessness. She'd been so consumed with anger at him for causing her pain she hadn't thought to wonder what might have driven him to be so thoughtless.

Of course he was suffering. He was suffering from having had to shoot that girl. He was suffering from having to defend his justifiable actions. He was suffering from having lost his long-running battle of wills with Tucker. He was suffering from having to give up the career that defined him.

She'd been terribly thoughtless, convinced that she was the one being screwed over, certain that Elliot was trying to punish her for something.

Damn it. He just stared back at her, so lost, so helpless, that she wanted to make it better. She wanted to hold him and kiss him and love him until he forgot that he was hurting. But doing so would only postpone the moment when he realized reality was still there. She couldn't take advantage of him. She had to help him heal, then if he was still so inclined, she'd be more than happy to assuage his loss physically.

Plus, she reminded herself, sleeping with a married man who had strong feelings regarding faithfulness, well, in the end that would probably only result in him cutting off contact with her again. She'd never survive that.

Afraid to let go of him completely, afraid he'd run away, afraid it was just a dream, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into her apartment. He was uncharacteristically compliant as she prodded him toward the couch.

"How long has it been since you've eaten a decent meal?" She looked him up and down. "Sit down." She waited until he did so, wondering how his wife had let him get this bad. "Hasn't Kathy been feeding you? You're too thin, Elliot."

He just stared up at her, blinking slowly and shrugging, his weak whisper barely audible. "We split up. She told me to leave."

Oh fuck.

That did not help matters any. It was just one more blow that he obviously couldn't withstand.

"I'm going to make you something and you're going to eat it, ok?"

He nodded, his hand still grasping hers tightly.

"I'm just going to the kitchen. I'll be right back."

But he didn't let go, simply stared up at her. "I'm sorry."

Her instinct told her to say it was ok, to tell him not to worry about it, to let it go. But she couldn't do that. She would never be able to forget the way he'd hurt her. If they didn't talk about it, the betrayal would fester and eat away at their friendship, what was left of it.

"We'll talk about it later. When you're twenty-four hours sober. Until then, you need food."

He nodded slowly, his eyes still pained, his fear that she wasn't coming back still obvious.

She shook her head at him, unable to help the irritated tone that came through in her voice. "I'm not the one who disappeared this time, El."

He let her go.

Knowing that how long she took was far more important than how great the food was, she slapped together a sandwich as fast as she could and returned to the living room with it and a bottle of water. She offered them to him, fully expecting the response she got at the water.

"You got anything stronger?"

"The last thing you need right now is more alcohol."

He took the bottle with a loud sigh and dropped it on the cushion next to him. "The last thing I need right now is to be sober."

She let him eat his food, the half of the sandwich he'd managed to pick at until it was nearly gone, in peace. As soon as he was finished with it, she broke the silence.

"I understand that you're in a bad place right now, but I swear to fucking God, Elliot, you ever do this to me again, I will find you and I will kill you, is that clear?" She waited for him to reluctantly meet her eyes, her face revealing that she wasn't kidding.

He looked away, his eyes slowly moving over the room rather than meet hers.

He wasn't listening.

Or maybe he was listening, but he wasn't hearing her.

She shifted closer, her hand gripping his forearm. "I'm not joking, Elliot. I'm so pissed off I don't even know what the fuck to scream at you first."

He nodded then, his eyes dropping to his lap. He swallowed hard and she watched as the muscles in his face and jaw worked.

Fuck. He was trying not to cry.

Son of a fucking bitch.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He stood up, making her jump from the unexpected movement. "I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have kissed you. I swear, I don't know what I was thinking. I-I-I" His tears broke through, mercifully quieting his stutter.

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ, Elliot!" She jumped in front of him, blocking his path to the door. "I'm not mad at you for kissing me and I'm sure as hell not mad at you for coming here. What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, what the hell are you thinking?"

He stared at her, stunned by her words, utter disbelief reflecting in his voice. "Then what are you mad at?"

She ran her hands over her face, wanting to scream in frustration, yet knowing that would only exacerbate the situation. When she looked back at him, she gave him the glare she gave perps. "Sit your ass down and stay there until I tell you to get up or I will hurt you." She waited a beat, trying to see if he would obey. "I'll hurt you, Elliot. Don't fucking mess with me."

He dropped back down in his seat.

Unwilling to chance that he might try to escape again, she perched herself on the coffee table in front of him. "I'm very angry with you. Not because you came here. Not because you kissed me. I'm angry that you left me. I'm angry that it took you this long to fucking come here." She looked down for a moment and realized there was no point in preserving her pride. "Hell, I'm fucking angry it took you this long to fucking kiss me."

She drew in a deep breath and continued, hoping her words were sinking in.

"But I'm angrier that you gave up. You. Elliot fucking Stabler just threw in the fucking towel and crawled away with his tail between his legs. You're better than that. You're stronger than that. You should have fought."

He looked at her, staring at her so long she wasn't sure he'd heard her. "There was no point." He shrugged. "What good was I? You're all better off without me."

And that, she knew, was the essence of it. The way he said the bullshit like it was actual fact revealed his conviction in it.

She sighed, knowing there was far more damage done to him than she could ever hope to undo in one night. Shaking her head, she leaned forward and placed her hands on his knees. "Ok, I don't really want to hurt you anymore. Now, I want to eviscerate Tucker. This," she motioned around the air to indicated both of them," all of this pain and anger and trouble and shit is all his fault and he did it for no good reason."

"It's not his fault I'm a fuck-up."

"You keep saying shit like that and I'll hit you again." Damn it, the man was fucking infuriating when he was depressed.

Well, he was fucking infuriating on a good day, but it was unbearable on a bad one.

"You're not a fuck-up. You did what you had to do. It was hard. It was a terrible thing, but you did it to save people. You would have been cleared. Tucker was just fucking around with you because he hates you, the same as he's always done. You've taken care of people your entire life and everyone else loves you for that."

He scoffed. "Like who? Kathy? Apparently not. The kids? They think I'm the worst father ever." His eyes darted away, showing her how embarrassed he was over his divorce and family situation.

"Like Cragen." She knew that would get his attention and, sure enough, his eyes snapped back to hers. "He thinks of you like a son."

"Yeah, right. Maybe like a son he disowned."

"He said so."

Elliot shook his head. "He just doesn't like Internal Affairs. I know he's glad to have me out of his hair."

"Fine then, forget Cragen. What about me?"

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. "What about you?" For the briefest of moments, he sounded like himself, like the old Elliot Stabler, itching for a fight, daring her to say something just so he could argue the other side.

She nearly fucking hugged him again.

She nearly fucking slapped him again.

"What about me? You said it yourself once, El, you're the longest relationship I've ever had with a man, hell, with anyone besides my mother. You don't think I want you in my life? You don't think I need you? You don't think I love you?"

He looked at her, his eyes darting back and forth between hers, searching for a tell, a sign that she was being dishonest. He must have given up on finding one because he shrugged and looked away. "You're better off without me, you are, we both know it. I'm just so pathetic you don't want to tell me."

"No, Elliot. I'm not better off without you. I'm terrible. I'm miserable and I'm hurt and I'm lonely and I'm rotten to everyone because the only person I ever trusted enough to love turned his back on me."

He bit his lip and looked down, moisture welling up in his eyes. "I swear I never meant to hurt you." He glanced back up, allowing her to see the tears sliding down his cheeks. "I would never hurt you. I really thought-" His words cut off and he wiped at the tears, a rueful smile coming to his face. "Even trying not to hurt you I wind up hurting you. See? You're better off if I just stay the fuck away."

She surged forward, ignoring the fact that straddling him was hardly the way to stop him from thinking exactly the wrong thing, and wrapped her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. "Stop saying that."

His voice was muffled from the way he'd turned his face into her hair. "It's true."

She pulled back far enough to narrow her eyes at him. "I'm going to hug you every time you say something like that."

He cracked a smile, though it was quite short-lived. "That's probably not a good way to stop me."

Pulling him back into an embrace, she decided to accept that fact that he'd voluntarily hugged her back as a bit of progress. "You are loved, Elliot. You might not feel it right now and you might not believe it right now, but you are."

His voice was back to the nervous, tentative one. "What if I never believe it?"

She released him, looking back in his eyes and recognizing that he was hoping for an answer. She smiled softly and ran her hands down his arms. "Then at least believe that I'm here and I don't want you to go anywhere."

She hoped he understood what she was saying, but she didn't want to directly ask if he was suicidal in case the mere mention would give him an idea he hadn't already come up with on his own.

His eyes locked with hers and, in the surprise there, she could see immediately that he did get her meaning and he had thought of it.

She had his attention like she never had, though she knew part of that might be simply because she was still kneeling over his lap. "Don't you even think about leaving me behind, Elliot. You're my partner. I go where you go."

"We're not partners anymore."

That was where he was wrong. All he needed to do was come by the one-six or check in with anyone who worked there. "We'll always be partners. Always. Got it?"

His chin trembled again and his eyes were pained, but eventually he nodded.

She stood up and reached for his hand. "Come on, it's getting late."

His face, which she hadn't even realized had lightened some, fell as soon as he heard her words. But rather than argue, he nodded and slowly stood. He turned toward the door, keeping hold of her hand even as he walked in the opposite direction.

He stopped when he was as far as his arm would stretch and looked back at her. "Night." He let go of her hand then, his energy waning as he faced the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" She leaned her head to the side, smiling when she saw his confusion. He really thought she was throwing him out. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm letting go of you any time soon."

He looked at her, at the way she kept hold of his hand even after he'd tried to release her. "I though you said-"

"I said it's late. I'm tired. I didn't say shit about you going anywhere." She watched his eyes as they moved to look at her couch. "No, Elliot, not a chance. I leave you out here to sleep and you won't be here in the morning."

"Oh."

She noticed that he didn't dispute her statement. They both knew a few hours alone and he'd start listening to the demons that lied about her not wanting him around. It would be harder for him to hear them if he was lying in her bed with her holding tight to him. Plus, she'd have access to her handcuffs in case he really tried to get away.

She led the way to her bed, kicking off her shoes and waiting for Elliot to do the same. He complied, nervous tension radiating off him as he lay on his back staring at the ceiling. She shook her head, lifted his arm from his side, and wrapped it around her shoulders as she snuggled into his chest.

"You're not getting away from me. Just give it up." She looked up at him for a moment, seeing his confusion at her actions. "If you really wanted a break from me, you never should have come back."

His arm tightened suddenly, almost crushing her. "I hated not seeing you."

She stretched her head up, using her hand to turn his face toward her, pressing her mouth gently to his, then pulling back and yawning. "I'm really tired. I don't think I've slept in months."

He put his other arm around her, rolling towards her slightly. "I haven't been sleeping either."

"Good night, El. Get some sleep. I'll be right here."

He smiled at her, allowing her to see how much he appreciated how she knew, had always known, exactly what he needed to hear. "You get some sleep too."

And for the first time in months, the pair found rest in the comfort they'd been missing, in each other, in their bond, in the circle of each other's arms.