A/N: Because my imagination likes to run wild and my brain won't stop bugging me until it gets what it wants, here is a new beginning.

DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story is allllllllllllllll mine. © TStabler

I'm supposed to be the soldier, who never blows his composure - Toy Soldiers (Eminem)

It comes in waves.

The guilt ebbs as the pain flows. The tides change and the two switch places. Love is the constant, the foam rising to the surface as it crests and crashes against stone, stark reality.

She pretends it doesn't exist, the battle raging inside. She carries on like nothing's wrong, smiling at colleagues, grimacing every time she swallows bitter, lukewarm coffee because it's expected. Because she knows they'll worry, they'll see her weaknesses, and she's tried so damn hard to convince everyone she doesn't have any.

It isn't Munch's raised eyebrow that gives her pause. It's not Cragen's cold stare or Fin's questioning grunt. It's the tilted head and glazed eyes of her partner, the way his lip is caught between his teeth, the way he's leaning back in his chair with one foot propped up on the other leg. The collar of his deep blue shirt is unbuttoned and tie loosened, the barest bit of his chest exposed. When she catches his eyes, he smiles at her.

That's what breaks her. That's what causes this wave to feel more like a Tsunami, causing an earthquake in her stomach and an incredible volcanic eruption in her head. She plops into her chair, the coffee cup hitting the desk a bit harder than planned and spilling over onto the blotter, leaving a pattern like raindrops on today's date. Her head drops into her hands, a frustrated and self-loathing sigh escapes, and she knows he hears it.

"Hey," his voice hits her ears.

Another wave crashes.

"What's wrong?" He leans forward, concern lacing the words and dripping from every feature in his face.

She raises her head. She tries to smile. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Bullshit," he snaps. He knows her so well. Better than anyone. Better than herself. "Talk to me."

Her smile fades as she rakes her fingers through her hair, and another wave of saltwater nausea rolls into shore. "Christ," she hisses, rolling her eyes. "I can't…" she scrapes her teeth over her lower lip and shakes her head. She wraps a determined hand around her coffee and opens her mouth, taking the plunge into the deep water.

"Benson!" Cragen's voice yells as he slams the phone on Munch's desk back into the cradle. "You and Stabler, down to the docks, we got another one." He nods at her, glares at Elliot, and turns to storm away, retreating into his office with a slamming door.

"He's still mad at you," she notes, getting out of her seat.

"Yeah, no shit," he counters, rising and grabbing the keys off of the top of a skewed pile of paperwork. He pulls his coat off the back of his chair, grabs hers off of the hook on the wall beside their connected desks, and he looks at her. "M'lady?" he teases, bowing his head and holding her jacket open for her.

With another roll of her eyes, the guilt and sadness ebb, giving way to high-tide for love and devotion. She shoves her maroon-sweater arms through the sleeves, sighing again, and she tugs on the leather as she turns to him. "Ready?"

"What's wrong?" he whispers the words, his lips an inch away from hers.

She smells his breath, the mint of his toothpaste only slightly overpowered by coffee and chocolate donut. "Nothing, why do you keep…"

"You were gonna tell me, you were ready to tell me, then Cragen opened his big mouth and…" he shakes his head. "Please, tell me what…"

"Not here," she spits, yanking on his arm. She pulls him out into the hallway, through the heavy metal door leading to the stairs. Once the latch catches behind them, she takes a breath. "You have to promise, I mean, swear on your fucking life, if I tell you...you won't hate…"

"Nothing you could do or say," he quips, reiterating a mutual promise made years ago that they've whittled down to those six small words. They could be shortened even more if they're honest.

To three smaller ones.

"There's something...I guess I've been keeping from you," she admits, and the waves swell again, her eyes close.

His widen. "You're pregnant!"

"What?" Her eyes pop open and she looks at him as though she's certain he's gone insane. "No! Fucking...no." She takes another breath. "It's about...shit, it's about Kathy."

He narrows his eyes. "What?" He purses his lips, but then he sees something in her stare. His lips unwind into a half-smirk and he says, "Liv…"

The blast shocks him, but it's her body hurling into his that silences his words. He instinctively curls his arms around her and folds them up into a tight ball as they roll down a flight of stairs just in time to avoid the second blast, closer to the staircase, which sends part of the wall and broken door flying through the air. They hit the exact spot he and Olivia had been standing in a moment ago.

"What the fuck?" he asks in a hoarse voice, his arms pulling her even tighter to him. He holds her steady, keeping her still, pressed to him, until he's sure things have stopped blowing up. The smoke begins to fill the stairwell and he rises, with her in his grip, and runs her down the stairs despite her protests. "I know," he replies, hearing her say that they're leaving people upstairs. "Look!" He juts his chin upward.

Her eyes shoot to where he's indicated and she heaves a sigh of relief, seeing Munch, Fin, and Cragen coughing and wheezing their way through the hole in the demolished wall. She lets Elliot pull her down the stairs willingly now, and when he pushes the last door open and swerves to lean against the side of the building, she falls against him.

He runs his hands down her back, up her arms, and then cups her face. "Look at me. Look at me!" He searches her eyes and then scans her body, looking for any sign of injury.

"I'm okay," she says, her fingers lacing with his as they rest against her cheeks. She nods and repeats herself because she knows he needs to hear it again. "I'm okay."

He nods back at her and then pulls her into him again. "Thank God," he whispers. And then he looks at someone a few feet away. "What the hell happened?" The question comes out angry and he makes no move to let go of Olivia as the man walks toward them.

Cragen says nothing as he wraps his arms around both of them, ignoring their embrace in favor of his own emotional display. "You two all right?" he asks them, pulling back and slapping Elliot on the back twice. It's as close to an apology as he's going to give and in his current state, he's more concerned about their well being than his irritation.

Elliot nods, his chin rubbing against the top of Olivia's head as he stays firmly wrapped around her, ignoring her gentle pushing against him. He's trying to calm down, and right now, having her in his arms is the only thing making it possible. "What the hell happened up there?"

"Two charges," Cragen says, his voice wavering slightly as his hand shakily rests on Olivia's shoulder. "Small. Precise. One in the elevator, one near the stairs. Bomb squad is coming down here, they'll figure out exactly where...exactly what…"

"The elevator and the stairs," Olivia said, popping her head up. She lets out a gasp as she turns and apologizes to a laughing Elliot, who rubs his chin where she'd hit it as she moved. Once he assures her that he'll live, she turns her head back in Cragen's direction. "Someone wanted to…"

"Trap us in the unit," Cragen nods, knowing what she was saying. "Luckily the second blast blew a hole in the wall instead of caving it in, and we ran like hell. Everyone's out."

Olivia nods and gives one last fruitless push in efforts to put some distance between herself and her partner.

Her partner.

She closes her eyes and feels the oceanic emotions sweep over her, waves of guilt, slight grief, even slighter happiness. She remembers. She has to tell him, especially now, when his wife would be rushing down here playing the part of the panicking spouse. "Shit," she whispers, and she doesn't know he hears it.

"What?" He asks the question softly, tenderly, as would a lover. His hand trails down her back and u-turns before the danger zone. Caressing back up her body. As would...a lover. "What's bothering you?"

Besides this? she thinks, but she says, "Fuck, I need to tell you something. Personal."

He eyes Cragen, who is fully wrapped up in a conversation with the captain of a different department and three members of the bomb squad, fresh on the scene. "So tell me," he whispers in that bedroom voice he seems to have fallen into.

She blinks, wondering what has sparked this tenderness, trying to remember if any of the blown brick and mortar hit him in the head. She narrows her eyes, bites her lip, and for a moment she moves closer, under the impression that kissing him is a good idea. He isn't moving away, in fact, he seems to be meeting her move for move. But she comes to her senses, rolls her eyes at herself, and shakes her head. "Not..not now." She finally gathers the strength to do two things at once: push herself away from him and stifle the surging surf spiraling into a whirlpool in her stomach.

"Liv!" He calls to her as she walks away from him, but he follows fast, repeating himself. "Liv! Wait!"

"We have work to do!" she shouts back. "We have to get down to the dock, they're waiting, we're already fucking late."

He runs, he reaches out, and he grunts as he grabs her arm and pulls. "Okay. We almost just fucking blew up! I think the body by the bay can wait a fucking minute!"

"The body by the bay is somebody's daughter!" She yells at him, yanks her arm from him, but before she can say anything else, two members of emergency response and the Fire Marshall head their way.

One man, taller and more stocky than the others, pulls off a green gas mask and coughs once, holding out a hand. "Stabler," he says with a nod, shaking Elliot's hand and then moving in for Olivia's. "Benson, wish this was more of a social…"

"What happened up there, Phelps?" Elliot snaps. He folds his arms, his dust-covered coat wrinkling and puckering.

Phelps rubs a hand across his forehead and sighs. "Near as we can tell, small grade explosives, designed to block the floor's exits and disable the elevator. When we got up there, white gas was being filtered into the squadroom, it, uh...seems like someone wanted to knock everyone out. We got a bit of the line, lab'll run it, see what we're dealing with."

Elliot looks at Olivia, his stunned and scared face matches hers, and he exhales. The breath is shaky, and he thanks his lucky stars that no one is there to see how completely terrified he is, because the only one who gets to see his vulnerable side is Olivia. "Shit," he spits, and he drags a hand down his face.

Cragen makes his way back over, followed by Fin, and he looks paler than usual. "Dodged a bullet," he says, one side of his cheek wedged between his clenching teeth. "You two, uh, we're still on the clock, ya know? Both of you, go get checked out. EMTs are waiting," he points over his shoulder to the ambulance.

Olivia and Elliot both look that way, a glimpse of Munch getting his blood pressure taken while almost certainly hitting on the pretty EMT who's taking it. They chuckle, the same low laugh, and then look at each other as if it still surprises them how in-tune they are.

Cragen speaks again. "When you're done, you need to, um," he scratches his neck. "The dock. Warner isn't the most patient person. I'll call you when it's…" he stops, a brief vision of Olivia and Elliot being crushed by the crumbling building playing like a bad movie in his mind. He shakes it off, blinks rapidly, and says, "When we get the all-clear to go back up there. Until then, uh, just...do your jobs."

Olivia shakes her head, still in shock, disbelief. "Who the fuck would…"

"Morales is reviewin' tapes," Fin says, his arms folded. "We had the building inspector here two days ago, checked the vents and the alarms. Might'a been him. It's a place to start." He shrugs and pushes up the sleeves of his black turtleneck. "You two sure you're okay?" He looks at Elliot. "You need to call the wife and kids?"

"No," Elliot answers on a sigh. "Why worry them? I'm fine, Liv's fine, everything's okay." He looks at Cragen. "Right?"

"Luckily," Cragen gives a single affirmative bow of his head. "Just the elevator and stairwell, nothing, uh...nothing else…" he waves a hand. "Besides being covered in dust and rubble, nothing else was damaged. You're worried about files and compromised evidence, it's all...okay."

Munch walks over, a fury in his eyes behind his glasses, and he pulls down his shirt sleeve as he opens his mouth. "Anyone want to tell me why I was almost barbecue Munch and what we plan to do about it?"

Phelps turns sharply. "You will do nothing, John," he retorts. "This ain't a sex crime."

"Technically," Cragen pipes in, "SVU is sex crimes, children, and the elderly." He hides a grin. "John's a victim here, we can take the case."

Elliot chuckles at the way Munch looks at Cragen, but he leads Olivia away from the brewing argument. He spirals his arms around hers, resting his hand on her wrist, and he tugs lightly, leading her in the direction of their silver Ford four-door. "Breathe," he says softly to her. "I'm okay."

Her brows knit together and she angles her head in his direction. "How did you…"

"I know you," he laughs, and then, when he reaches the car, he unravels his arm from hers and looks into her brown eyes. "And because the only thing on my mind has been whether or not you're really okay, so I figured…" he shrugs. "We're always thinking the same fucking thing anyway." He winks at her and tells her without words to get in the car, and he rubs his eyes before slipping behind the wheel.

He brushes away bits of plaster and dust before sitting, but once he straps in and closes the door, he shoves the key into the ignition and says, "No one's around, now. What do you have to say to me?"

"Jesus, you really want to have this conversation now?" She's trying to avoid it, thinking of excuses, ways to put it off, but looking at him now, she sees the worry in his eyes. She can tell he's scared shitless, and she knows she can't. With a deep and heavy sigh, she leans back against her car seat and tries to find the best way to begin. "You remember...last...no, it, uh….two weeks ago. I had that date, I went to Fratelli's with…"

"Don't say his name," Elliot groans, rolling his eyes. He slaps the blinker bar hard, his jealousy coming out in small, unnoticeable ways.

She chuckles and briefly wonders why he gets so bent out of shape when it comes to her love life. "With him," she emphasized the word and gave him a pointed look. "We were waiting for someone to come take our order, and, uh...I was people watching, and…"

"He proposed," he gasps, and it sounds excruciatingly painful. "Liv, you can't..."

"No! God, will you stop and let me talk?" She shakes her head at him. "He didn't propose, he didn't even...yeah, that's never gonna happen." She sees him relax and she cocks her brow at him. "Like I said, I was looking around the place, and..." she pauses, licks her lips, and she takes a deep breath that makes her ribs crack and her heart hurt. "I saw Kathy...with...not you." She flinches, realizing she sounds like a five year old trying to explain what she was doing in Mommy's purse.

"Not me," he repeats, trying to follow. "So...she was with...another guy?"

Olivia clears her throat and feels the car jerk as he turns the wheel too hard. This is going well. "Uh, yeah," she nods. "At first I thought, ya know, business meeting, it was an accountant or something, but…" the waves crash. Her stomach lurches. She's not sure if it's Elliot's driving or what she's about to tell him. "He...they…"

"Spit it out, Benson!" he yells, slamming on the brakes. The car screeches and he turns to her, wide-eyed, nostrils flaring. "What the hell are you trying to tell me, here?"

"She kissed him," she winces. "Not a friendly peck on the cheek. They...it was very...clearly a date." She waits for the explosion. It doesn't come. She opens one eye carefully, and she sees that he looks eerily calm, his shoulders rounded and his face a bit lax. "I'm...I'm sorry." She drops her shoulders and opens the other eye. "I wasn't going to tell you, I thought...ya know, it wasn't my place, and she'd tell you if…" she pauses. He gives her silence. "When I realized she wasn't going to say anything, and she would just come down and traipse around the squadroom like fucking June Cleaver, doting on you over every fucking little thing…" she stops herself, knowing it isn't the best time to let her own unrequited feelings come to light. "I had to tell you. I'm so...I'm so sorry."

He remains silent. He looks away from her, the unreadable expression on his face catching the light at a new angle. He drops his gaze and stares for a moment at the embossed emblem of the horn in the middle of the steering wheel. He runs his hands over the leather in circles a few times, contemplating something. "We're here," he says, and then he's out of the car and halfway down the pier.

"Fuck," Olivia hisses, opening her door to follow. She walks toward the flashing lights and busy uniforms, and she feels the waves crash again, this time slower and softer as if it's the last time they'll ever hit the rocks.

The secret's out.

She's told him; it will stop eating away at her, she hopes, and she prays the fallout is limited and she won't get caught up in the war she knows is brewing between Elliot and Kathy. But, as she moves closer to him, catching up to his large frame, she submits and understands there's no way she's going to let him fall alone.

They're about to go down.

Like toy soldiers.

A/N: Uh oh?