"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

Silence filled the confessional. Elliot knew that the priests were often overworked and overtired – much like detectives – and more than once in his life he’d heard a telltale snore rumbling softly from the other side of the booth; but this was the man he had been confessing to for the majority of his life, and there was little chance Father Alonse would fall asleep during Elliot’s confession today..

He was one of only four people, including Elliot, that knew Elliot’s secret. That knew of his ongoing struggle to be who he thought he should be.

The only person to share his pain when he failed. When he lost the battle with himself.

When the silence continued Elliot decided he should just keep on talking.

"Father, it’s been sixteen months and eleven days since my last confession."

"Yes, my son." A heavy sigh. "You’ve been gone a long time this time."

"I tried," Elliot whispered. He skid from the hard seat to the floor, kneeling. The wall was smooth and warm where he laid his hands flat across it, just beneath the tiny screen. "Father, I *tried*. I always try."

"Tell me what you’ve done, my son." Quiet voice. Supportive. Perhaps even tender. After all these years, this man, at least, felt Elliot’s struggle, and felt compassion for him where others would not.

"We had a case... it was horrible. So terrible I can’t find the words to describe it. Seven little girls dead, two others raped, their innocence taken from them... I missed my children’s birthday party, I was away from home for two days and more."

"I read about it in the newspaper. You caught the man. He will never hurt another child."

"But he’s going to *live*, Father, and I wanted to kill him. In my heart, I wanted him to suffer the way they did; spread out and wounded and bleeding and crying." The anger rose in him, choked him. He bowed his head and gripped the wall. A fingernail broke. He ignored it.

"Justice is the Lord’s province, Elliot, not yours or mine. He will pay for his crimes."

Elliot absorbed that. His name, and the gentleness of the voice that spoke it.

"That night, Father...when it was all over. When they took him away and I was left alone... I doubted."

The reasons weren’t always the same. It wasn’t always a case or a tragedy. Sometimes happiness drove him into sin. Wanting to share it in ways he should not. Could not.

Sometimes it just hurt too much to keep it to himself, and there was no one that would understand.

"Your faith faltered. It has done so before. Why was this time significant?"

Because it had been so long.

Words he couldn’t say here. So he told the story instead.

"I couldn’t go home. I called... Kathy had gone to bed, the kids were all asleep. It was Friday, I knew she would want to sleep late the next morning. I needed to see - him. I thought, we could just talk..."

He probably hadn’t been thinking straight. No pun intended. After that case, the cumlative effects of sleep deprivation, he could give himself that excuse.

He hadn’t been thinking straight.

First he had called home.

"Hi, hon. I know it’s been a long couple of days, but I’m just going to crash here. I’m too tired to drive home. If you need to call, get me on the cell, the office is crazy right now."

Elliot paused. Time was running out on the answering machine, but he had to be careful how he said what he wanted to say next.

"I should be home in time for breakfast or right after. I love you, Kathy."

He clicked the send button and the message was done.

He put the phone in his pants pocket and straightened his tie. Then he shifted his shoulders in his jacket and felt the lump in his outer pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out the toothbrush Kathy and the twins had brought for him.

‘The best present a guy ever got’. That’s what he’d told his two youngest children as he hugged them. Thier mother did a fantastic job, raising them almost on her own a lot of the time.

It was almost enough to make him change his mind. To make him take off his jacket and go home. He could crawl into bed beside his wife of sixteen years and hold her close. She might kiss him, and he would kiss her back, glad of her warmth and taste. If she touched him and his body didn’t respond to her caress, she would blame it on the case he had just closed. He didn’t even have to say anything now. She wouldn’t either. And one night, this weekend or maybe next week, he would wake her and make slow, sweet love to her, just the way she liked it, and everything would be good.

He didn’t want to take his car. There was always the teeny, tiny chance that someone would see it and remark upon it; parked so far from his home, in such a different neighborhood. Besides, it was a crowded street and he probably wouldn’t be able to find a place to park.

He took a cab, giving the driver the Sunset Park address and then settling back and closing his eyes.

The ride would be expensive, but he’d made enough in overtime the last two days, they could afford it. He would have to pay cash, so there wouldn’t be a charge on his card that Kathy might notice, and that would leave him pretty much broke, but he could catch a ride back in the morning or take the subway.

He was just going to talk. Because there really was only one person that knew him all the way through.

It was completely dark when the cab pulled over. He climbed out and handed over the majority of his cash. It was the money he’d meant to buy the twin’s birthday present with, but he didn’t feel any guilt over spending it. He’d worked hard enough the past two days he could spend some on himself.

The house was dark, except for a faint light from the third floor. That either meant the man he had come to see was awake or had fallen asleep reading.

Elliot went up the steps, and knocked on the door.

He waited a few moments, checking the street casually. It was well lit, not like his area, where if as streetlight went out, it was liable to take a couple of months to replace it. Most of the parents in his neighborhood were strict, though – all working class Catholic families, for the most part – and they weren’t likely to be letting their kids out after dark anyhow.

It was okay to wake this man up. That had been made clear years ago. When he’d been told that it was better to wake someone up than crawl off into a hole and eat his gun.

Not that he would ever do that. Not that he’d ever really thought about it. Not seriously.

He knocked again, a bit more assertively, and retreated down a couple of steps.

It bothered him, when he allowed himself to think about it, that this thing he had actually existed, in part, because someone was worried enough about him to make himself available just because they thought he could be a danger to himself.

It was too damned late and he was too damned tired to think about it.

The door opened.

Hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold he felt inside, Elliot peered up at the man inside the door.

"Hey." He lifted a shoulder, half a shrug under his coat.

"Hi." Warm-looking cotton shirt, long sleeved with a round neck. Teal or some other combination of blue and green that Elliot couldn’t name.

"Can I -?"

"Of course." Door held open, room for him to step by. He went up the two stairs and did. The door closed and he was there, face to face.

Balding head, gentle features, intelligent face. Wise eyes.

Warm, welcoming, strong body.

"It’s been a while."

"Yeah. I -"

"Yeah." And those arms reach out, wrap around him, pull him close and hold him. Not too tightly. Just hold him. And it was okay to lay his head on a square shoulder that smelled like Polo and close his eyes. Sag.

Deep breaths. Breathing the scent of him, of this place. Odd sanctuary, where it was most dangerous for him to be.

"I just want to talk." Pulling his head up, meeting those eyes. A wry smile and a small shake of head tells him that he’s not believed.

"Okay."

One arm still around him, around his shoulders and holding him closer than he usually walks with someone, even Kathy. The second door off the foyer, the den; televsion quiet in one corner, fire dying down in the other. Two big armchairs and a desk, folders and files stacked wherever the computer is not.

He’s steered to the chair closest to the fire and pushed gently into a seat.

"Take off your coat and act like you’re going to stay." Kind words, gently teasing him. A smile that made his heart lift.

"Yeah." He does as he’s told, letting it drape over the back of the chair, sitting back against the cold of it, carried in from outside.

Drinks are poured, though he didn’t ask for one. Gin and tonic for him, scotch for his host.

Fire stirred up, a log added.

Then the man sitting only a foot away from him. Close enough to reach out and touch, if he needed to.

God forgive him, but he needed to.

Elliot reached out with his free hand, hesitating in mid-air, and it was caught and held, strong fingers laced through his. A squeeze and he could take a breath again.

"So." Another gentle smile. "Talk."

A sip, and then another.

"I don’t know what to say."

"Elliot. You know I’m not going to interogate you. Your reasons for coming are your own. I’ve told you many times that you are always welcome here. I will always try to give you whatever you need from me."

"Are you saying that as a doctor or as a man?" Elliot raised his head and stared directly across the small space. "Am I talking to Emil or Dr. Skoda right now?"

"You mean, are you talking to a shrink or your occasional lover." Skoda clarified and returned the words to him. An old headshrinker trick. Elliot didn’t mind. He wasn’t Skoda’s patient. Never had been. Elliot could talk to him, but it was strictly in a non-professional sense.

Emil wouldn’t have it any other way. He considered the separation of personal feelings from patients the most important rule.

"I want to talk to you," Elliot answered softly. "I want to tell you. That I’m confused. That I’m lonely. That I ache in the night and I want to cry."

He stopped and took a big swallow of his drink, lowering his head and staring at the dark blue carpet. Emil knew him well, and had given him a tall glass. It was mostly tonic. If he needed to be drunk to be here, then he didn’t need to be here.

"Tell me." A brush of warm breath on his cheek. When he looked up Emil had moved and was on one knee in front of him, still holding Elliot’s hand. "What makes you want to cry?"

"The wanting," Elliot said roughly, pulling away, scooting further back in the chair. Emil didn’t follow. "I want – I want things I shouldn’t want. Every day I see so much pain and I get so angry – and I want –"

"You want to be comforted." Emil reached out again and stroked knuckles down Elliot’s face. "I know that you know you do all you can. You know it won’t stop, even if you find another way to make a living. But you want someone to hold you and tell you that you make a difference. That what you do is important."

Unable to speak, Elliot nodded. He pressed his face into Emil’s palm when the hand opened.

"You aren’t going to survive like this," the man continued. He looked at Elliot. Concerned, caring. Worried. "You can’t keep denying your fundamental self."

"I don’t have a choice." Elliot put his glass down on a sidetable and clamped a hand on Emil’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment as he absorbed the strength there. This man would hold him up, support him when his will failed. "God will forgive me this, but the rest - to live like that? Give up my wife, my family? I can’t."

Emil leaned in, ready to catch him when he fell.

"But I can’t do this, either!" Elliot rumbled, grabbing at him blindly. "I can’t lie awake every night wanting to cry and afraid to. I can’t live without you and I can’t live like that -!"

The first sob tore out of his throat like thunder, making it impossible to talk. Elliot clung to Emil like a child. Hurting inside, trapped between his expectations and his reality, there was nothing else he could do.

Strong men don’t cry. He’d been raised to believe that and even though he did not put that burden on his own son, it was always there in his mind. That and the knowledge that crying really didn’t ever change anything. It released the pressure for a while and cleared the mind, but the problem stayed when the tears were gone.

Emil held him, silently. No words of comfort or promises of surcease. The torment wasn’t of Elliot’s making, but he chose it by choosing to live his life the way he thought it was supposed to be lived.

He’d never questioend that in his mind, not really. He could not be gay. Could not be a homosexual man.

Could not betray his family, his church, his beliefs and his future.

Wanted to, so badly it made him cry.

Made him cling to Emil and sob like his heart was being broken. Made cry like everything good in his world had been taken from him.

Words were impossible. When at last he ran out of tears, and his throat was raw and sore, and his eyes felt swollen and gritty, he opened them to find himself sittting on the floor. On Emil’s antique Persian carpet. On Emil’s lap and in his arms.

"I don’t know how much longer you can do this," Emil whispered into Elliot’s short hair, his lips caressing the skin. "You’re going to kill yourself if you keep trying."

Elliot shook his head, and, with an act of will, loosened his grip on the other man. He left his face pressed into the crook between neck and shoulder, unwilling to look up and see reality. Then, with a sigh, he pulled back and sat on his heels, one han on Emil’s shoulder for balance.

He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his free hand, making the ache flair.

"We’re done talking." It came out more harshly than he intended, but that was par for the course. He often found hinself sounding cross when he actually wasn’t.

"Then let’s go upstairs." Emil shifted, and stood. He pulled Elliot up off the floor after him, and they walked up the narrow, carved oak stairs, Elliot behind Emil, Emil holding his hand, fingers laced tightly with Elliot’s.

He had only been here a few times, really. Two dozen, tops. But every time he came back Elliot noticed something different, and realized that it all stayed the same. This time he saw that the upper hallway had been painted; walls once a rich peach were now a deep maroon. It gave the walk an enclosed sensation, despite the open stair-rail that looked down into the foyer.

He looked up, and Emil waited for him to finish looking.

Elliot looked at him, and smiled, just a little.

"It’s nice."

"It’s been a while since you were here. Hope the changes don’t scare you off." Emil smiled back. It was kind and sweet and encouraging.

Sometimes he treated Elliot like he was fragile; made of something precious and delicate that would brak if Emil looked at it wrong. As much as it went against the grain to be treated that way, a part of Elliot thrived in it. Grew and became stronger and made him feel... wanted.

Loved.

Safe.

He never felt safe. Couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t had a secret that could destroy his life. This was just part of it. He’d spent all of his adult life lying to everyone about who he was, and he planned to do it until the day he died.

It was a secret too big to be carried alone forever.

"You need to eat something?" Emil looked as if the though had just occured to him.

"I couldn’t."

"I have a couple of things to do downstairs. Settle yourself and I’ll be up later." Skoda waited for him to follow the directions.

He was assuming Elliot was going to stay the night, and Stabler didn’t say anything to change that. There wasn’t that much of the night left, but maybe he’d be able to catch a few z’s before he had to go home and play Daddy tomorrow.

Not had to. He corrected himself tiredly as he shed his suit, shirt, shoes and socks. It wasn’t something he *had* to do, going home to his family. It was what he *wanted* to do. Even if it was hard, and he forgot sometimes why he wanted it. It would only take a couple of smiles from the twins, or a smart crack from Maureen and he’d remember.

There was a moment of hesitation from Emil, who stood with a faint frown between this eyes. Elliot looked at him, unsure what his own face was showing.

Emil stepped to him and used both hands to tilt Elliot’s head down. He kissed him gently on the forehead.

"I won’t be long."

Elliot stared at the door for a few minutes after he left.

He realized he’d just been standing there, without a thought in his head. It was unlike him, just another reminder of how tired he was.

This whole thing was unlike him. Or too much like him., the self he hid so well, from everyone important to him.

He contemplated himself, standing in his boxers in another man’s bedroom. This room hadn’t changed since the last time he was here. The dark blue spread, the pale sheets, pillows plumped and set nicely. The housekeeper did that, he knew. He’d never seen her, as she only came a few hours during the day and he was only ever here at night. Usually late at night.

Like tonight.

He was wearing one of the solid black pairs of boxerss that he’d picked up ffor himself on his yearly shopping trip. The one he undertook the week after school let out. After ther Christmas bills were paid off and the kids’ school shopping was still three months away. Boxers, socks, shirts, maybe a suit, ties. And he was done for another year. Kathy had a tendency to buy him plaid shorts or ones with cute patterns. He liked the plain black. Cotton, nothing fancy. Except the button-fly, which seemed almost redundant but made him feel more secure.

He wondered what that said about him, that he needed that extra button to feel secure in his underwear.

There was a pretty good chance he was stalling. Emil would be back any minute now, and Elliot was still standing right where he’d been left.

Musing on his boxers.

Elliot turned to the bed and the boxers took center stage in his thoughts again. On, or off?

If he left them on, Emil wouldn’t initiate sex. He would wait to see what Elliot wanted. They didn’t share a bed every time Elliot came over, and they didn’t have sex every time they shared a bed.

If he took the boxers off, Emil would accept that as a welcome and start things himself.

Elliot sat on the bed and slumped. Even this decision seemed betond him. He wanted sex. He wanted sex with someone as strong as he was, as agressive as he could be. Wanted the hardplanes of muscle, the scrape of stubble and, especially, he wanted the dominating invasion of his body that would fill the empty place in his soul.

Even nwoing what would come afterwards, the way he would feel. The guilt and shame, he wanted that. Needed it.

Maybe it would be enough to be held. In strong arms, against a strong chest, strong hands soothing him to sleep.

The door opened and he didn’t look up. Just listened as Emil undressed, closet opening and closing, the rustle of discarded fabric.

"You’re stuck?" a gentle question, emphasized by the hand that caressed his head.

"Yeah." Maybe the decision would be made for him.

"You can take them off and still just sleep, Elliot." a kiss pressed to the top of his head, then Emil walking around the bed and sliding in. Elliot opened his eyes and turned to look at him.

Smooth chest, nice build, gentle smile. One hand on top of the covers, waiting for him.

"You’re not usually shy."

"I know." Elliot crawled under the covers, too, boxers still on. "I feel off. Not quite real."

"It’s not a good feeling."

"No."

Emil rolled to his side and put a hand on Elliot’s chest, in safely nuetral territory. "I’m worried about you."

Elliot choked on a breath and rolled, reaching for Emil.

"So am I," he gasped the words, trying to pull Emil close to him with one hand whil ehe tugged at his shorts with the other.

"I’ve got you," Emil murmured to him, pulling Elliot close and helping him free himself of the binding black fabric. "It’s okay, Elliot, I’ve got you."

Elliot hung onto him, fearing more tears. Instead he found desire burning through him.

They kissed, and it was better than he remembered. Elliot moaned around Emil’s tongue, every part of him hard and needy.

He was needy, like a teenage girl from a bad family. He needed Emil’s strength, love and support, no matter what it cost him to get it. Even if he could only have it for a few hours. A few times a year.

"I want you." he couldn’t say he needed him. To say it would make it too real. He wouldn’t be able to deny it in the morning. "Want you," he repeated, moving against Emil. His cock rubbed against a hard stomach, his hands held onto a firm back. There was nothing womanly here; just muscle and strength and need.

"Lord, Elliot, you feel good." Emil’s hands danced over his skin, rubbing, petting. Elliot grabbed Emil’s cock less than gently and moaned to feel it, so hard and heavy in his hand.

"Suck me." Emilput his hands on Elliot’s head and urged him down. "Take me in your mouth."

Elliot could only moan, and obey. The taste and texture of Emil’s cock was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Smooth and salt and bitter, stretched across his tongue. Lying between Emil’s legs, he was periphally aware of Emil propping himself on pillows so he could watch what Elliot was doing. Knowing he was watching made Elliot like it even more. It excited him in ways a woman never had.

"Harder," Emil said, catching Elliot’s head between his hands. "Just the head. Use your tongue." and Elliot was rubbing himself into the sheets with the same rhythm his mouth was using. He wanted to come this way, with Emil’s cock in his mouth, but he wanted it in his ass, too.

"Don’t come," Emil said softly, almost a whisper. The room was very quiet, only faint slurping sounds to be heard. "Wait until I’m inside you."

The words almost triggered orgasm and Elliot froze, hands clenching on Emil’s thighs, bruising unthinking.

"Too close." He pulled his head away and lay his cheek on Emil’s hip, nose brushing curly hair. "I’m too close."

"I’m flattered," Emil chuckled breathlessly. "Come up here." With both hands he tugged and pulled until Elliot was on his knees, leaning over him. Elliot went in for a kiss and they got distracted a little while like that.

The distraction lasted well into the night. By the time Elliot slept, he was too exhausted to feel guilty. Literally couldn’t keep his eyes open. With his head on Emil’s chest and a man’s arms around him, he slipped into sleep so peacefully he almost didn’t notice it.

Listening to the beeping of a busy signal, Olivia Benson grit her teeth and resisted the urge to curse fluently. Her mother had raised her to be a lady, even under these circumstances, so she tried to be, at least as close as she could get.

Munch glanced up. He was standing beside what was left of the victim, covered with a tarp until the meatwagon could come for her. Olivia hated that nickname.

She didn’t want Munch walking over to sympathise with her, either, but he was.

"Lost your partner, Benson?"

She tucked her phone back inher purse, with more grace than necessary.

"It’s a temporary situation. Nothing to worry about."

"He didn’t go home last night." Munch nodded, doing his wise-man-see-all thing. "He told his wife he was staying at the station, but didn’t sleep there, either."

"What are you pretending to not say, Munch?

"Not a thing. Except that you don’t know your partner nearly as well as you think you do."

"Elliot Stabler would never cheat on his wife."

"See what I mean?"

"Errr!" unable to restrain herself, Olivia growled in an unladylike fashion as she turned her back on him and stalked off toward the Captain’s car, where Cragen was on the phone as well, trying to talk himself out of a political disaster. He covered it and shouted at her as she approached.

"Benson! Where the hell is Stabler? The mayor is already after the Chief and it’s going to hit the fan!"

She shrugged.

"Got me, cap’n. He told me he was going home last night."

She stared up at the dark, dreary sky as he began wheedling the VIP at the other end again.

"No, we don’t want the Feds. We can handle this. At least give us a chance to try!"

Munch sauntered up beside her.

"You ready to listen yet?"

"I don’t need Elliot to work this case."

"True. You could always partner with moi..."

"Where is he, Munch? What’s her name? I swear, if you’re right, I’m going to tear a piece out of his hide and use it as a trophy!"

"Benson!" Cragen was covering the phone again and glaring at her. "Munch, take her to find Elliot. It’s time she knew."

"Time I knew what? What the hell is going on here? Captain?!"

She let Munch take her elbow and lead her to his car.

"Munch, where *are* we? It’s four am, I’ve got a dead Senator’s daughter, no partner, and you’re dragging me into the suburbs?"

"You want to find your partner, Olivia? You want to know all the secrets? This isn’t a conspiracy theory. This is real."

He parked on a block of nice houses. Studying the area, Olivia saw Elliot’s car.

"He’s really having an affair?" she slumped in her seat, depressed. Elliot Stabler, the family man. His love for Kathy and the kids was a fundamental aspect of her respect for him.

If Cragen knew, and *Munch* knew, then this must have been going on a long time. *Years*.

"Where is he, Munch?!" she sat up and began to climb out of the car. She was almost shaking, she was so angry. How dare he lie to her like this? He’d lied about everything!

"Just wait, he’ll be out soon. He can’t stay all night, you know."

"Where is he, Munch?!" she slammed her door hard enough to rattle the car and ran around to his window, leaning to get in his face. "Where IS HE?!"

For the first time since she’d met him, John munch looked flustered. Apparently, he was as suceptable to feminine rage as most men.

"There." He pointed at the third building down. When she turned and began stomping toward it with determination – not an easy thing to do in those heels – he shouted after her.

"It’s not what you think, Benson! You’re going to be sorry you asked."

Ignoring Much’s warning, Olivia marched up to the door and banged on it, disregarding the fancy brass buzzer.

She waited barely a five seconds before hitting it again. then again. She was lenaing on it when she finally heard footsteps on the other side and took her finger off at last.

When the door opened and the man blinked out at her, she couldn’t say how shocked she was. She wasn’t even sure what she had to be shocked about.

"Olivia?" Emil asked. He looked half asleep. "What time is it?"

She looked up and down the street again. No, she’d never been here.

"Emil?"

They’d had two dates, nearly two years ago. Nice dates, filled with conversation and companionship. Somehow neither of them had called the other to ask for a third.

To say she was confused would have been an understatement.

"I’m -"

"Looking for Elliot?"

Why had he said ‘Elliot’ and not ‘Detective Stabler’?

"We have a case. He wasn’t answering his phone."

"How did you -"

"Emil, who is it?"

The voice was quiet, pitched low and coming from the right. The direction of the stairs. Olivia knew instantly that she wasn’t supposed to hear it, but that voice was too familair to her for it to escape unnoticed.

She shoved at the door, nearly knocking Emil over, and pushed past him into the foyer.

"Oh my God. Elliot."

Standing on the stairs, halfway up, one hand on the banister. He was wearing boxers and a stunned expression.

Emil tried to push by and block her view of him, but nothing would erase what she saw from her memory.

Bruises. Finger-sized bruises, on Elliot’s shoulder and upper arm. The kind of thing that showed up the morning after and you couldn’t remember exactly when you’d gotten them because you’d been too caught up in the moment to notice.

"Olivia - it’s not -"

"It’s not what I think?" with both hands, she pushed Emil out of the way and took the first step, but didn’t get too close to her stunned partner. "Munch has been smirking at me for the last hour, Cragen told me to give it a rest, everyone seems to think there’s something I shouldn’t find out, but I wouldn’t listen. Because I thought there wasn’t *anything* I didn’t know about my partner. About *you*, Elliot."

He raised a hand as if to reach for her, but his eyes were on Emil. Olivia choked on what she would have said.

"I don’t know you at all."

Elliot made a sound. A small sound, like he was in pain. When she stared at him, she saw such pain in his eyes. But she couldn’t let it touch her.

"W- I have a case. There’s no time for this." With the words out, she started to back down the stairs.

"Wait, I’ll come with you," he said the words, but didn’t actually move.

"No."

She turned her back on him and went fast toward the door. Emil met her there, and held it open.

His eyes met hers, but he didn’t say anything. She paused, just long enough to study his face.

She saw no guilt. No shame. Only worry, and the kindness that had attracted her to him in the first place.

Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Elliot. He had his arms wrapped around himself. She’d never seen him look so vulnerable. They didn’t spend much off duty time together, but she thought she’d know if he were that vulnerable. That capable of hurt.

She’d thought a lot of things, fifteen minutes ago.

The door closed behing Olivia. Elliot slumped until he was sitting on the stair, haning onto the railing for dear life. He heard himself moan, but didn’t feel connected to it.

"It will be alright."

Emil knelt on the stair in front of him and pulled him into an embrace. This was a comfort Elliot would never have accepted from Kathy. Here, he put his head on Emil’s shoulder and grabbed the back of his robe in tight fists, struggling to breath.

"Tell me what you’re afraid of," Emil said softly.

Elliot shuddered. He was afraid to speak, but knew Emil wouldn’t stop until he’d answered.

"If she tells Kathy -"

"I’ve told you before, at some level Kathy knows."

"If she *tells* her, then I - I’ll lose my kids."

Emil didn’t say anything. He pressed his lips to the top of Elliot’s head.

"That’s not all."

Sometimes it was a bad thing to have someone know you so well.

"The kids..." he moaned, and shook harder. "The kids. They won’t ever want to see me again. They won’t -"

"They won’t respect you? Won’t love you? Elliot, they’re your children. They’ll be confused, but they will understand."

"I can’t risk it."

Feeling suddenly stronger, Elliot relaxed his hands. He didn’t let go. He let himself hold onto Emil for a few moments longer. Let himself enjoy the feel of the strong arms around him. The hard body pressed against him. The smell of Emil’s sleep sweat and tendered arousal.

He vowed silently to himself that it would be the last time he felt it.

Finally he loosened his grip all the way and leaned back.

Emil kept hold of his shoulders.

"Elliot?"

"I’ve got to go. Olivia said we have a case. I need to shower and get dressed."

"I’ll make some coffee."

"No - you go back to bed." Elliot ran a finger across his lover’s jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble. Something else that meant ‘man’ to him. "I’ll let myself out."

"Elliot." There it was, the warning tone in Emil’s voice. The one that said he knew what Elliot was thinking, and didn’t like it.

Elliot leaned in to kiss him, keeping it warm and sweet.

"I’ll let myself out," he repeated, before getting up and going up the stairs.

He tried not to think about it as he bathed and dressed, but everything took on a certain poignancy. Because he knew he wouldn’t be coming back here again. It made everything that much more special.

When he came out of the bathroom, Emil was in the bed. Propped up on pillows, watching headline news and waiting for him.

Elliot crossed the room and bent over tokiss him. One last time.

"I don’t like what you’re thinking," he said when Elliot let him go.

"You’re not a mind reader." Elliot pulled his jacket on, buttoned the lowest button.

"Sometimes," Emil said.

"Not today."

He looked at Emil for a long moment. Dr. Skoda. His lover, of more years than he wanted to count.

No more.

He left without looking back. Caught a cab two blocks away.

Went straight to the station. He’d call Kathy later. When -

- when the words would come.