I. the first time was in the back of his ford crown victoria, rain drumming against the roof like a frantic heartbeat. you were shivering after a botched pursuit through the hudson, and he’d wrapped his jacket around your shoulders. the air was thick with the scent of wet pavement and his cologne. elliot reached over to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your jaw. for a second, his blue eyes weren't looking at you like a partner, but like a man who was drowning. then his radio chirped, the spell broke, and he pulled away to answer dispatch, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

II. the second time was a celebration that felt like a funeral. maureen’s graduation party had ended, and the house was quiet. you were helping him dry dishes in the kitchen while kathy laughed in the other room. your hands brushed over a ceramic plate. his skin was hot, electric. he didn't pull away. he leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours, his breath hitched. "you're the only one who really sees me," he whispered. the floorboards creaked as kathy walked toward the kitchen, and you both jumped back, the distance between you feeling like a physical ache.

III. the third time was in the precinct locker room, midnight oil burning. you were stitching a graze on his forearm, right above the usmc tattoo. he was watching your face with an intensity that made your hands shake. "careful," he grunted, but his voice was soft, devoid of its usual edge. he caught your wrist, pulling your hand to his chest so you could feel the steady, heavy thud of his heart. "it only beats like this for two things," he said, "the job and you." you looked up, ready to give in, but the door swung open and munch walked in, complaining about the coffee.

IV. the fourth time was the hardest. it was the night before he vanished to rome. he stood on your doorstep, jaw set, eyes tired. he didn't say goodbye, he couldn't. he just stepped into your space, his powerful frame casting a shadow over you. he grabbed your waist, pulling your curves flush against him, his hands gripping your hips with a desperate possessiveness. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. he almost kissed you, his lips brushed your skin, but he choked out a "take care of yourself" and walked into the darkness before you could scream for him to stay.

the one time was different. kathy was gone. the grief was a third person in the room of his new apartment. you’d brought him dinner, tired of seeing him waste away. the tension that had simmered for years finally boiled over. there was no hesitation this time, only a raw, jagged need. he pinned you against the wall, his large hands framing your face.

"i ruined it," he rasped, his voice cracking. "i left and i ruined everything."

"elliot, look at me," you breathed, reaching up to touch his beard.

he didn't wait. he crashed his lips onto yours, tasting of whiskey and regret. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his thick thighs, his muscular arms holding you like you were the only anchor left in a stormy sea. it wasn't pretty or poetic; it was a collision of years of yearning and the heavy, silent weight of everything they’d lost.