It's the second night after she was assaulted by BX9 and Olivia's post-shower, in her pajamas and about to figure out a way to apply the capsaicin cream to her aching and sore lower back. When an NYPD number lights up her screen, she deeply sighs. The last thing she wants is to go in after her fourteen-hour day.

"Benson."

"Hello Captain it's Officer Stephens," he says. "There's a Detective Stabler trying to get up to see you," he adds. "He wasn't on the list so just checkin' to see if that's okay."

God, does she have the capacity or the mental energy to deal with him right now? They've not spoken to one another in months. Olivia got tired of the one-sidedness so she doesn't call or text him anymore. Doesn't reach out to check on him. She concluded that he doesn't return the favor and she has plenty of her own shit to deal with. Especially after last night's attack.

But she also knows how damn persistent he can be. Olivia's sent his last few calls to voicemail. It was only a matter of time before he tried the in-person route. Word travels fast in the NYPD and he's clearly just discovered what happened.

"It's okay, Officer Stephens," she tells him. "You can go ahead and let him up."

Elliot's going to be getting the natural look tonight. She's cleaned her face, not having bothered with concealer anyway, and gone through her nightly skincare routine. Olivia's not about to reapply or primp for him. So, after hearing his signature knocks, she grabs her robe, drops the cream in the pocket and prepares to send him away asap so she can futilely try to rest.

Olivia opens the door to concerned blue eyes but doesn't bother with a greeting. Just lets him step in, assures the officer outside that she'll be fine and closes it. She can feel the anger radiating from his body, sees his clenched jaw and balled up fists. He's barely containing himself then she hears it. The counting. Sees him taking slow deep breaths then releasing his hands.

"Why are you here, Elliot?" She asks. Her voice intentionally calm.

"I uh, tried calling, texting," he begins. "Initially because I just wanted to talk to you…then I heard – so I had to – I wanted to see…if you needed anything."

"I'm fine," Olivia offers. "Noah's in a safe place, I'm liaising with the Bronx Gangs captain to figure out who did this and I didn't sustain any injuries that would put me on the DL," she tells him. "So do not get any ideas about going on some rogue mission of revenge on my behalf. It's the last thing I need. Understood?"

Elliot scrubs a hand down his face in frustration but nods his acquiescence.

"Copy that, Captain."

He watches as she bends to retrieve the shotgun from near the fireplace and her back chooses that second to shoot pains through her muscles.

"Fuck," she rasps.

She braces her hands on the mantle and does a mental count until the pain subsides.

"Where does this go?" Elliot asks, taking the shotgun.

Olivia hadn't heard him move towards her.

"In the—the closet next to the sofa," she manages.

He places it in the rack, closes the door and turns to find her in the same position.

"What is it, Liv?"

"My lower back," she answers. "It's not great after long days."

"Or after having some asshole literally kick you when you're down."

"Don't."

"Sorry I…just hate seeing you hurt."

That draws a laugh then a moan of pain because it hurts when she does that.

"Explains a lot actually," she quips. Like why he couldn't face her to tell her he was putting his papers in. "Look, it's late, Elliot. I'm tired and I'd really like to get some rest," she adds, turning to face him.

"It's only 9 o'clock."

"I've been up since 5a.m. so whatever you wanted to talk about please just…get to it."

Elliot looks surprised but nods in understanding. He's used to being instantly welcome in her home. Since his drug-induced confessions regarding the infamous letter, he hasn't been back. Olivia's since moved. He can count his blessings she bothered telling him.

"We were ambushed on what was supposed to be the last day before our unit is shut down."

"Shut down? Since when?" She asks, gingerly moving to the leather couch.

"Well, the purpose of the task force was to gather enough evidence to prosecute Richard Wheatley," he answers. "That happened a while ago. There's a deputy chief inspector acting as Bell's rabbi that wanted to put her in 1PP."

"What does that mean for you?"

"Ayanna offered to put in a word for whatever unit I wanted but after the shootout…she turned the promotion down," he answers, joining her on the opposite end of the couch. "So, the task force is still together…for now."

Elliot tries not to read into the relief he sees crossing her face.

"I added an eleventh shooting to my jacket so I had to see a shrink."

"Really? How'd that go?"

"At first, I told him what he wanted to hear so I could get my badge and gun back."

"Course you did," Olivia comments.

"But Ayanna called me on my bullshit, ordered me to go back."

"Good for her."

"I told him that since Kathy, I see through a lens of everything being…a loss, an ending," he explains. "And that I hate endings."

"Obviously," she comments. "Look, I'm glad you're talking to someone," she says, standing again, preparing to show him out. "But this could've been a text or a phone call."

"Neither of which you've been responding to," he says, standing as well.

"What is all this, Elliot?" Olivia asks.

"I'm trying – I talked about you in therapy," he confesses. "I told him I lost a partner recently but that wasn't true. I did that when I left without a word," he continues. "Kept selfishly leaning on you when I came back like no time had passed. When you called me on it and told me how one-sided it was, I took it to heart," he adds. "But instead of putting in the effort of getting any semblance of that friendship back…I've been neglectful—scared."

If she's paralyzed by the possibilities of what they could be, maybe Elliot's scared of the same.

"Of what?"

"A few things, actually," he admits. "You returning the favor of ghosting me," he names. "But you've always been the brave one so…telling me to my face you don't want any kind of relationship outside of a professional one," he adds. "I don't want that and I wanna work on something more but I feel…stuck."

"Stuck?"

"There's all these memories of what we were to each other but I don't know what to say or do to move past that," he explains. "So, when asking you out didn't work – I stopped trying."

Olivia returns to the couch and Elliot joins shortly after.

"I did too," she confesses. "And I also feel…stuck," she tells him. "Paralyzed by what could be but...knowing I'm not over how you left," she admits. "This new shrink of yours have any suggestions?"

"Yeah. He says I need a new beginning."

"Easier said than done," she says. "I've uh – I've talked about you too," she continues. "My shrink says I should figure out what's between us or move on to someone else."

He clasps his hands in front of him, tilts his head with a smirk.

"Sounds like the same advice," he comments. "Maybe we should save some money and just see one of 'em."

A little partner therapy is definitely not the worst idea he's ever come up with. Even if he is joking.

"Is that something you'd be willing to do?"

He's immediately shocked. Eyebrows raised, mouth hanging partially open. But he rallies when he realizes she's serious.

"Uh, yeah," Elliot starts. "Yes," he says more confidently. "If it means a chance at getting any of the best parts of what we had back? Absolutely."

"Good," Olivia tells him. "I've been seeing Dr. Lindstrom for years so it'd probably be better to see him than the department shrink, no offense."

"None taken," he says, standing. "I'll uh, let you get some rest now."

She follows him to the door and when she reaches for the knob her back twinges again.

"Shit," she groans.

Elliot notices the tube of cream in her pocket and pulls it out.

"This help?"

"Just got it today," she answers after the pain subsides. "Haven't tried it yet."

"Well, I've used it before after overworking myself at the gym," he informs her. "It's great after a long hot shower."

"Did the long hot shower already so…"

"Yeah, I'll uh, let you get to it then."

Except Elliot doesn't open the door.

"You sure you're gonna be able to reach your lower back?"

"I'll manage."

"How?"

"Elliot," she says, exasperated.

"I'm not offering you a full body massage there, Captain," he asserts. "I know the lower back is a bitch to reach, especially when you're probably sore in other places."

"Have much experience taking a beating?"

"Wheatley sent me a message early in his investigation," he informs her. "I told Eli to run while two guys showed up outside the hotel, punched and kicked the shit out of me," he adds. "So yeah, I do."

"Why didn't I know that?"

"Didn't wanna keep burdening you with my problems," he answers. "Plus, we've established that I'm not great at…communicating with words," he offers. "Please, Liv."

They've got a ridiculous amount of shit to wade through so her former partner seeing any part of her skin that isn't hidden by clothing seems a long way off. But tonight, the pain in her lumbar is kicking her ass and she'd really love some sleep.

"Fine," Olivia says, throwing the locks again. "Follow me."

He drapes his coat over an arm chair before they walk down the hall opposite the kitchen, past portraits of her and Noah into her bedroom. A decent sized abode with a queen-sized bed, warm colors, a view of the city through open linen drapes, gauze curtains and an en-suite outfitted with a bathtub. A rarity for NYC.

"This is really nice, Liv," he comments. "You uh, you made a real home for you and Noah.

"Thanks," she says, removing her robe. "I…thought it was time for a change," she tells him. "I moved into that place right after—something incredibly life-altering," she adds. "And we both needed more room to grow.

Elliot has to force himself to ignore how the well-worn pajamas hang from her body, those little creases between her ample bosom and the golden hue of her skin, even in winter.

"Can I ask about this life-altering—

"—Not tonight," she interrupts. "That's um, a therapy worthy topic," she continues. "Let's save it for that."

He nods as she lies down on her stomach, scooting over far enough for him to sit next to her on the bed. She crosses her arms beneath her pillow, turning to watch as he removes his suit jacket and rolls the sleeves up on his dress shirt. She swallows hard. It's a habit Olivia hasn't seen in years.

And they're both out of practice at fighting the temptation of their mutual attraction.

Elliot's earthy, masculine cologne permeates her senses as he sits next to her hip. It's something more expensive he wasn't wearing way back when. The second she got between him and a perp the night Kathy was blown up, she noticed it. And again, when she'd done the same a few months back. He shouldn't still smell so damn good after a long day.

"Let me know if it's too firm."

"Okay."

Elliot lifts her pajama top, horrified at the many purple and green bruises painting her otherwise beautiful skin.

"Son of a bitch," he seethes.

"If you can't—

"—Sorry. I'm—I'm fine."

When he runs gentle fingertips over the bruises, she gasps. It's been far too long since she's been touched, especially with the kind of tenderness he's using.

"Cold hands, sorry."

Olivia watches as he rubs his palms together for a minute to warm them before squeezing some of the capsaicin onto her skin. The cream is cold but she quickly adjusts. To the temperature but not his touch. As good as it feels, she doesn't know if having Elliot's hands on her is something she'll ever adjust to. It's equally addictive as his new scent.

"It's okay," she tells him. "Feels good."

The weight and texture of his now warm hands, his strong fingers kneading her bruised, aching muscles has her stifling a moan until one gets away from her.

"Too hard?"

"No—no that's…working," Olivia goes with. "Thank you."

"Happy to help."

He continues to massage the cream into her skin so she closes her eyes and lets him. For his part, Elliot listens to his sergeant and takes the opportunity to talk.

"Since I've been back, even though I don't deserve it, you've let me continue referring to you as my partner."

"Uh huh."

"But…I don't feel like I have a right to that," he confesses. "I haven't done enough to earn the title back," he adds. "And I have a mountain of guilt over abandoning you then not sufficiently apologizing."

"Good," she tells him, opening her eyes again. "Maybe I'm not the only one losing sleep since your return."

Elliot has stopped massaging her back and is now lightly running his nimble fingers over her skin. She's not entirely sure he's even conscious of what he's doing. And Olivia's too soothed by his ministrations to call attention to it.

"No. No you're not," he answers, meeting her eyes. "I think therapy is gonna be good for us," he adds. "Help us get…unstuck."

"Hope so," she says. "Because I missed you."

Elliot lowers her pajama shirt and raises his hand to caress the bruise beneath her right eye.

"I really missed you too, Liv," he asserts. "And I'm so fuckin' sorry about…everything," he continues. "I don't know why you haven't yelled, hit me or, used that shotgun on me, but I appreciate your grace and patience."

He uses his thumb to swipe at the tear that's escaped down Olivia's cheek.

"Thanks for that," she says, turning to sit against her headboard. "I think I haven't done those things because I don't wanna permanently close that door," she admits. "Losing you the first time…it was hard…figuring out who I was without you."

Elliot reaches for and holds her hand.

"You won't believe me if I make promises right now so I won't," he tells her. "But I'm not going anywhere, Liv. Not again," he continues. "I don't wanna hurt you anymore."

"People have been in and out of my life like a revolving door," Olivia says. "And I somehow feel blindsided every time," she goes on. "All of them managed to tell me to my face though."

"Yeah well, none of them were in—

Elliot stops when he realizes what he was about to let slip.

"—In a partnership like ours," he concludes.

He notices the ibuprofen on her nightstand and hopes she's not in much pain.

"Have you taken any of those yet?"

"I'll take some after I walk you out," she answers, recognizing but allowing the pivot from a more serious conversation.

He takes that as his cue and stands, moving out of the way and helping her up.

"Back feel any better?"

She twists from one side to the other without a twinge.

"Not as sore so yeah, thank you."

Her eyes rake over his body and that same familiar strut as she trails him back into the living room.

"Full transparency," she says as he's putting on his coat. "McGrath has me trying to clear the Bronx's SVU cases on top of this BX9 thing so it may be a while before I can get away for an appointment."

It's the life of a captain and between her case load and Noah, he can't expect her schedule to be as open as his.

"I understand," he tells her. "Just know that I'm gonna call or text you every day whether you respond or not," he adds. "Work on improving my spotty communication practices."

Elliot gets a small grin out of her.

"I'll do my best to answer," Olivia promises as they stand at the door.

He has his hand on the knob but he lingers.

"Liv?"

"Yeah."

"Can I—is it okay if I give you a hug?" He asks and she's not used to him sounding so unsure of himself. "I'll be gentle because I know you're sore but if you don't want—

Olivia stands on her toes and reaches for him before he can continue his rambling. She throws her arms around his shoulders, burying her face against his neck. Inhaling the scent she's now addicted to.

He instantly returns the hug, encircling her waist with both arms and dropping his head to rest against hers. Through the thin fabric of his dress shirt, Elliot can feel her heart beating against his chest. It's confirmation that he affects Olivia as much as she affects him.

They are slow to pull apart because who knows when they'll see one another again. But she lowers back to the floor and releases her hold. Olivia slides her hands down to rest on his chest, weening herself from his touch. It helps until Elliot slides his warm palms through her hair, caressing the skin beneath her bruise with his thumb. Her breath hitches when he replaces it with his lips.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," he rasps against her skin before pulling back. "Thanks for letting me up."

Elliot has touched her, soothed her pain and had his lips on her for the first time, all in less than an hour. He also makes her feel safer than all the cops assigned to her protection detail combined. And while curling up next to him sounds like exactly what Olivia needs, it's too soon and too intimate for where they are. Asking him to stay would be a mistake.

"I could…sleep on the couch," he offers. "It looks bigger and more comfortable than you're last one," he comments with a smirk.

"I have my own protection detail," she reminds him. "What do you think you can do that they're not?"

What a loaded question. He eyes her intensely and gives her a predatory grin but decides on a safe answer.

"Make you coffee in the morning," he offers. "And maybe apply that capsaicin cream again before you have to put in another 12+ hours at work."

It has always been easier for Olivia to ignore him via call or text than to say no while he's staring at her with those sincere blue eyes of his. The night he came back she foolishly allowed him into interrogation with a suspect knowing it was improper and she hadn't seen him in a decade. She's a captain but can't help falling back into the role as his partner sometimes.

That is why she's avoided him and his invitations for her and Noah. For as hurt and angry as she was when he left and still is now that he's back, Elliot has always been her Achille's heel. So, saying no to him is a challenge. Especially when she doesn't want to.

"Why?"

"Honestly, I think we'll both sleep better."

Olivia can't disagree. Her mood and sense of safety have already improved with him there.

"Okay," she acquiesces. "I'll get you a pillow and a blanket."

She goes to the hall closet and a few minutes later, she's handing him the items, giving him directions to the main bathroom and telling him he's welcome to whatever's in the fridge.

"Thanks, Liv."

"Welcome."

An hour later Olivia's fitful in her slumber and he's staring at the ceiling. When she accidentally knocks the glass sitting on her nightstand to the floor, Elliot rushes down the hall to find her sitting up in bed, clutching her chest. He picks up the fallen glass and avoids the damp carpet to sit next to her.

"You okay?" He asks, reaching for her other hand.

"Yeah—yes," she answers, catching her breath. "I'm okay. Just a nightmare," she says, taking in his lack of grogginess or raspy-sounding voice. "Doesn't seem like you were sleeping at all. Couch not as comfortable as you thought it would be?"

Elliot gives her a small grin but disagrees.

"It's very comfortable actually," he informs her. "Believe me, I've slept in worse places."

Like that shitty van he was living in by the river during the Albanian mafia case.

"Then what is it?"

He can't say he's aching to touch her. That he'd feel better if he could hold her until he falls asleep with the knowledge that she's safe. Or, that hearing her name in a 10-13 revived his PTSD like someone took defibrillator pads to his heart. To use her words, that's a therapy-worthy conversation.

"Can't seem to turn off my mind," he goes with. "And doing push-ups until I pass out would have your living room smelling like the squad gym."

Now that she's calmed down, she notices his state of undress.

"That's why you're down to your shorts?" She asks. "Didn't know you were such a big superhero fan."

Elliot stands quickly, backing away from her bed and hiding behind the door in his navy-blue boxer briefs with MARVEL on the waist and the Captain America shield on one leg.

"Shit, Liv. I'm sorry," he tells her. "I rushed in here without thinking."

Olivia tries to hide her laugh but fails miserably, clutching her left side in pain but not able to stop.

"Hey," he starts. "They were a gag gift, okay?"

"From who? The other Avengers?" She asks, splinting her ribs with a pillow.

"It's laundry day," he excuses, starting to smile. "Go ahead and yuck it up, Benson," he tells her. "I'm going to get my pants."

"Wait," she says. "You have to wear those clothes tomorrow," she reminds him.

Olivia roots around in a few dresser drawers until she finds an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Put these on."

She ventures into the kitchen as he gets dressed. He joins her a minute later, climbing on a bar stool.

"Sorry, El," she manages. "It literally hurt me more than it hurt you."

"It's okay. I'm sure you needed it," he says, watching her uncork a bottle of red and get two glasses. "Feel free to laugh at my expense any time."

"Good to know," she tells him. "If you spill this on my carpet, they'll never find the body."

It's his turn to laugh at that, until he sees the expression on her face and realizes she's being serious.

"Copy that, Captain."

Elliot follows her back to the bedroom and catches the remote she tosses his way.

"Go to the NBC app," she tells him. "The Golden Girls are under my favorites."

He shakes his head and smiles as he cycles through the many choices before landing on the popular show.

"Won't all that laughing just keep us up?"

"You're right," she admits. "You pick."

Olivia sips on her wine as he stands on the other side of the bed near the window scrolling through her apps. She can't help but notice it doesn't feel out of place or awkward to have him there.

"BBC Earth it is," Elliot tells her, sitting at the end of the bed.

"You can come up here with me," she offers, getting his attention. "If you want to."

He stands, carefully sips his wine so as not to waste it, sits it on the nightstand and joins her in resting his back against the tufted leather headboard.

"Get the lamp on that side, please."

The curtains and drapes are closed so the only light comes from the big screen on the opposite wall. They sip their pinot and listen as Kate Winslet narrates 'Oceans: Our Blue Planet'. Between the wine and the sounds and sights of the colorful underwater documentary, the two of them are snoozing in twenty minutes.

Morning finds them in more precarious positions. Olivia's on her back while Elliot coats her side, an arm thrown over her waist, his face resting against her shoulder. She covers his arm with her right hand, the other trapped between them.

Used to naturally waking at the 4 o'clock hour, there's no alarm set. So, she turns on her side and continues sleeping with her former partner spooning her from behind. When his sounds at 6 a.m., neither of them hears because it's on the end table in the living room down the hall. By the time Olivia wakes the digital clock next to her empty wine glass reads 7:07am.

"Fuck," she says. "El, wake up."

He grunts behind her but otherwise doesn't move. Olivia can feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, his firm but gentle palm against her stomach and his cologne now permeates her senses.

"Elliot," she says. "Get up."

"Let's just stay home, Liv," he surprises her with, as if they live together, sharing a bed every night. "Call in sick."

God, she would love that. No McGrath. No Bronx cases that aren't even hers. No cocky Duarte to deal with. But also, no Noah. And the sooner she arrests the BX9 asshole that greenlit her, the sooner she can bring her son home. Then there's the fact that she and Elliot, despite literally sharing a bed, are not where she wants them to be before they get intimate, despite how natural and comforting it felt.

So, she crawls out from under his hold and hits him with a pillow.

"Ow."

"Get up, detective."

Elliot finally opens his eyes and gives her a lopsided grin. He's cute. Sexy. Even with red, creases from the sheets and morning breath. But it's time for him to go.

Just under an hour later they're dressed., caffeinated and headed out.

"Thanks for…everything," Olivia tells him. "I slept better than I have in a while."

"No thanks necessary," he says. "Being here with you worked better than the push-ups ever have."

She can't argue with the results of his work out though, tries not to blush at the memory of having him wrapped around her, even if it was innocent.

They step outside her apartment door and Elliot waits as she locks up. Their trip down the elevator and through the lobby is silent. It feels surreal but not at all wrong to her.

"I'll call you," Olivia says.

"I'll answer," he promises.

Under the watchful eyes of her front desk clerk and the uniformed officer on her detail, they avoid touching. Seeing him leave after so obviously spending the night will be fuel enough for the rumor mill. They simply go their separate ways.

"I'm not ready," Olivia says for the third time as she backs away from him.

It's equal parts mental, physical and emotional exhaustion when she all but collapses against the kitchen counter.

Elliot's silent for a few minutes that feel like an eternity. She knows he's disappointed, feels rejected again, and probably thought trusting him to pick Noah up was a sign that things were better between them.

"Liv, it's okay," he says, surprising her.

He approaches her slowly as if she's some type of cornered wounded animal. Which doesn't feel that far off.

Olivia squeezes her eyes shut, unable to tolerate the way he's looking at her, so understanding. The tears she's been holding onto finally fall. Slowly and then unrestricted once she hears his retreating footsteps.

She gasps when she feels Elliot blotting at the moisture on her cheeks with the tissues he went in search of.

"I'm sorry you're in so much pain," he rasps. "Especially the parts I'm responsible for."

She tries to calm herself, she does. But between the tenderness he's showing and his voice, Olivia braces herself against the counter and cries harder.

Elliot heard her say she's not ready for an intimate relationship but he hopes she's prepared for at least the friendship she offered so long ago. Because friends console friends. And she's in desperate need. So, he pulls her to his chest, wraps her in the love she seems to be warring with herself over accepting.

"I've got you, Liv," he whispers, peppering kisses on her cheek and against her hair. "I got you."

At his words, Olivia tightens her arms around his neck as he moves his warm soothing palms up and down her back. They stand holding one another long enough for the tears to cease and dry on her face. She hears each breath in her ear, smells the sage and musk of his cologne, feels his heartbeat against her chest and all but tastes the skin of his neck the way her face is buried there. Olivia leans away, palms his face and sees everything she's ever wanted reflected back.

"I'm so tired, El."

"I know."

Suddenly he picks her up, bride-style, causing her to gasp. Reflexively, she puts her arms around his shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"You gonna tell me you didn't mean that literally?"

"No," Olivia admits. "I meant it in every way," she rasps, resting her forehead against his.

"Then let me take care of you."

"Okay," she whispers against his lips. "Okay."

She tells him which bedroom is hers and Elliot carries her there. He sits her on the bed while he enters her en-suite, turning on the water.

"You're gonna take a long, relaxing hot shower to shake off this day," he begins. "I'm gonna order that chicken and broccoli you like from the Jade Dragon with extra egg rolls so you won't eat mine," he adds, earning a small grin. "And then we'll see what other soothing documentaries the BBC has. Sound good?"

Olivia stands and lays her palm on his forearm on the way to the bathroom.

"Sounds perfect."

Six months later…

Elliot wakes her with warm open-mouthed kisses on the back of her shoulder. They are touching from head to toe, flesh to flesh. Last night was the first time they'd made love. Therapy helped a great deal to get them there but it was her former partner's surprising patience that won her over in the end. And the way he's a pushover for her son is icing on the cake.

"We're off today and Noah's at the McCann's," Olivia reminds him, eyes still closed. "That means I get to sleep in, so why are you waking me?"

His hand slips to her stomach, pulling her impossibly closer.

"I wanna put all this uninterrupted time off together to good use," he rasps against her skin. "Don't you?"

Finally, she opens her eyes and turns on her back to look up at Elliot.

"You've been here since last night," Olivia reminds him. "You've woken me up twice to…make good use of our time off," she adds, garnering a smile from him. "And that's not even counting the sex we had before I slipped into an orgasm-induced coma," she adds as he moves lower. "Some uninterrupted sleep wouldn't hurt."

"Uh huh," he says, kissing her neck.

"You pop any of those little blue pills after the shower?"

He pulls back to give her an incredulous glare.

"Twenty-four years, Liv," he says. "I'm never gonna get you out of my system," he adds. "I have plans for you, Captain."

If they include executing all of them in a twenty-four hour period, she's going to have trouble walking come Monday and she will NOT be explaining why to Fin and or the newbies. So, she pushes him off her and strolls into the shower.

"Stay there," she orders. "And you can work on breakfast after you use Noah's bathroom."

Elliot doesn't miss a step as he eyes her predatorily.

"But I was just about to eat."

Olivia rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Laughs and mumbles that he'll be the death of her as she closes the bathroom door and locks it for good measure.

After shampooing, conditioning, washing her body and blow-drying her hair, she dresses casually for the day in light-washed jeans and a white V-neck t-shirt. The captain follows her nose to the smell of coffee and pleasantly finds him newly showered and shaved at her kitchen stove, equally casual in black jeans and a matching t-shirt.

"I hope you don't smell like my kid's body wash, Stabler," she says, sitting at the breakfast bar as he slides her a mug of coffee.

"I went down and got my go bag from the truck last night while you were in that orgasm-induced coma," Elliot tells her smirking. "What do you want in your omelet?"

"Spinach, tomato and mushrooms," she answers, sipping and grinning that he's figured out the way she takes it now. "Half egg whites—

"—Half whole eggs," he interrupts. "I remember."

"I'm glad your plans for me include sustenance."

"Gotta keep up your strength," Elliot says. "Can't have you tappin' out on me too soon."

"Need I remind you which of us is younger than the other?"

Elliot plates up their omelets and joins her at the breakfast bar.

"Who got a leg cramp during our second round?"

"I have low potassium," Olivia excuses, cutting into her omelet.

"And whose ankle gave out in the shower while I was trying to enjoy my…dessert?" He asks, biting into a piece of toast.

"It has more screws in it than that Ikea furniture at your place."

He nearly chokes on his eggs laughing and has to sip on his coffee to recover.

"Okay but, remind me who put whom in this orgasm-induced coma you spoke of?" He continues questioning, not bothering to try to hide his smirk.

Olivia grins around her next bite of food but is out of excuses. The cocky bastard.

Memories of the amazing night they had, prevent her from coming up with a single blessed thing. Their third round included riding him in the king-sized bed she indulged in when moving to the new place, and their third had her palming the back of his head as he used his tongue and fingers on her in the shower, but neither compared to their first time.

They started out in a slow but passionate missionary position but before she could finish, Elliot flipped her, angled her hips up and fervently pounded into Olivia with reckless abandon. With the way she screamed, she hopes the higher mortgage equates to great sound proofing.

"This is a really good omelet, thank you."

"No comment, huh?" He says. "You're welcome," leaning over to kiss her temple.

"I like this."

"I know, you just said—

"—Not the eggs," Olivia tells him. "This. Being here with you. Feeling the comfort and ease of what we had as partners combined with our new dynamic."

"Me too," Elliot agrees. "I like being…unstuck."

"So do I."

She lays down her fork, stands, prompting him to abandon his breakfast. Olivia moves between his legs, putting her arms around his neck as he encircle her waist. They've waded through a lot of traumatic shit both together and individually before getting to where they are now. She doesn't want to waste any more of their time than he does.

"I love you," she whispers against his lips before giving him a short sweet kiss.

Despite Elliot having said and demonstrated it to her on more than one occasion in the last six months, it's a first for Olivia.

"Yeah?" He asks, grinning.

"Yes," she says, palming his face with both hands. "I'm your partner, for better or worse, remember?"

"Yeah," he tells her. "I love you too, Liv," he asserts, resting his forehead against hers. "I don't think I felt like I was really home until just now."

"You are, baby. You are."

"Should've been here sooner," he urges, pulling back to look into her eyes.

Even with everything she's been through. William Lewis. The losses of Mike Dodds, Tucker, and Simon. Adopting Noah without Elliot there to witness. Her multiple promotions. Those like Barba and Stone who came into her life but couldn't stay. The relationships that didn't work out. The victims she fought for and lost. The uneven number of lows versus highs that had her questioning whether she'd ever be happy. Or even deserved it.

They all culminated to bring her exactly where she is right now. Their parallel universe.

"No El," she asserts. "You came just in time."