Authors Notes - This follows on from the scene in the season 2 episode 'Abuse' where Elliot draws parallels between Olivia and Ashley (the little girl being emotionally neglected by her mother), but Olivia refuses to discuss them so Elliot gives up and says "I'll get you a coffee.". This is my own little AU take on what might have come next!

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Coffee

By FicFairy

"Elliot."

He knew what was coming. It wasn't hard to miss. The look in her eyes, the hesitation in her voice, the scenario that had brought them there, he'd been there before and he knew what it all meant. Knew what it all meant, knew where it was going, but didn't know how to stop it, which was why he had no choice but to let it run its course. Let Olivia run her course.

"Yeah?"

"Does coffee have to be 'just' coffee?"

He didn't respond, although he knew precisely what her words meant, the implication was pretty hard to miss. He didn't respond because he had no response, at least no response that wouldn't embarrass the hell out of his partner and so he just waited, watching her face, searching for some sign that she was realising on her own how inappropriate her words were.

Nothing. Just the sad puppy dog look. The one he hated. The one that broke his heart.

In the end, it was too much to bear. Yes, embarrassing her was hard, but it was the only way to deal with her, get her to pull herself together, if she wasn't able to do it on her own.

"Olivia." He tried not to sound too much like a patronising father, since he knew she hated that even more than Maureen did. "You know I can't." He held his left hand up, wiggling his finger, displaying his wedding band for her. There was that horrendous moment where she looked like she wanted to die and then, to her credit, she did it, she turned it around.

"Good." She gave him her trademark smile, the cheeky one, the teasing one, the one didn't quite reach her eyes, "Wasn't interested anyway."

He knew he ought to let it go. Ought to head to the coffee machine like nothing had happened and move the scene on. Move them on. Get them back to the way they should be. Benson and Stabler, Stabler and Benson.

But he couldn't. For a multitude of reasons. Because they'd been in this exact place too many times before. Because she needed help. Because she wasn't Benson, she was Olivia and she needed him to be a friend instead of a partner. It might have sounded like a come on, but in fact, it was more. A lot more. It was a cry for help.

He moved to her side, placed his hands on her shoulders, could feel them shaking, the only telltale sign that she was close to tears. To breaking point.

"I don't think coffee's going to cut it this time Benson." The Benson was necessary. He needed to lure her into a false sense of security. If she knew what he was planning she'd resist, chain herself metaphorically to her desk and refuse to leave for love nor money. So no, business as usual to fool her. "O'Grady's. 10 minutes. Be there or," he glanced towards a notice board in one corner of the squad room, the small ads one that they used to hawk unwanted gifts, their spouses businesses and kids requests for babysitting jobs, "I'm sticking a sign up there that says you want my ass."

"You are an ass." Olivia responded, but she was already getting to her feet, knowing there was little point in arguing. He watched her as she headed for the bathrooms, and then called after her.

"10 minutes Benson. And don't be late."

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She appreciated the 10 minute break It gave her the perfect opportunity to lose the half a bagel and diet soda and 2 cups of coffee she'd managed to consume since breakfast time. Not that it stopped her feeling sick to her stomach; at Ashley's response when she realised that Olivia wasn't taking her home, at the memory of those cots crammed into that room, and thanks to the abject humiliation of realising she'd hit on her partner. Rule number 1 of being a cop. You do not hit on your partner. Especially if you're female. Unless you're keen on losing your badge, your self respect, or both; in which case, it's a must.

She rested her head on the mirror in the bathroom and closed her eyes. She was looking for an escape, but it didn't come. Instead the cots just appeared more vividly, with Elliot sat on one of them giving her come to bed eyes, while Ashley sat underneath it, looking desperate and disappointed.

What the hell had she done?

It wasn't about her mother though. Elliot was wrong on that. Yeah, sure, there were parallels, slight parallels, maybe even more than he knew, but that didn't mean it had influenced her in any way. She was just trying to help the kid. That was her job wasn't it?

She opened her eyes again, splashed her face with water, which if anything, causing her mascara to run, made her look worse not better. She thought about retrieving her make up bag from her desk and trying to fix her face, but decided against it. Heaven forbid that Elliot should think she'd made herself pretty for him. Instead, she wiped the mascara away, took a deep breath, headed back to the squad room, grabbed her coat and left.

There was a Scotch in O'Grady's with her name on it.

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He didn't speak to her when she arrived, just slid a tumbler of Whisky across the table to her. She took it but didn't knock it back. She'd seen her mother perform that action too many times to start following suit. She drank, sure, but carefully. In a measured fashion. She had no wish to follow in her mother's footsteps.

Instead, she just sipped it, then looked up at Elliot.

That was when she saw it.

She pulled a face, "Oh. Elliot. No. Not tonight. Please."

He held his hands up, in what was clearly meant to be a submissive gesture, but no amount of gesticulating could change the look on his face. The concerned father one. She looked at him hopefully,

"Please Elliot. Can we just drop this? I've had a long day," That was true, "I'm tired." That was true too. "Its just not the right time."

She thought it would work. It usually did. But not - apparently - this time.

"When will be the right time Liv?"

Oh god. Liv. She was in more trouble than she'd thought. She could count on one hand the number of times he'd called her Liv. It didn't bode well.

"When you finally crack? When you finally give into the grief and 'go'? We're waiting for it. For you. Every second of every day. Craagen, Munch, Finn, me. Even Kathy."

"Kathy?" She wasn't particularly enamoured with the idea of any of them sitting round pondering her mental state, but the mention of his wife truly perplexed her. "My grief is Kathy's business?"

He nodded slowly, and she realised he hesitanted suddenly, leading her to suspect that she wouldn't like what was coming next. She wasn't wrong.

"You spend day in, day out, with her husband, in a possession of a gun. Sure Liv, its her business."

Her jaw dropped, as all she could do was stare at him. Incredulous. Unable to belief what she was hearing, "She thinks I might shoot you? And she's calling me crazy." She reached down to her belt clip, yanking her gun from its holster, and pushing it across the table to Elliot, "Here, take it if it makes you feel better." She downed her drink then, her fear of turning out like her mother dulled by the insane turn of events the night was taking. As the amber liquid burnt her throat, she looked at him, shaking her head, "Do you think I might shoot you?"

He sighed, "I don't know what you might do." She opened her mouth to argue but he didn't give her chance, "I mean, if it's any consolation, I don't think it would be intentional. But you can be a loose cannon. What if you lose it with a perp? What if you lose it with yourself? I'm your partner, it would be very easy for me to end up between you and a bullet."

She wanted to tell him he was wrong. Because he was wrong. But yet, she didn't know how. Words were cheap. Actions spoke louder. Especially hers. And so, yes he was wrong. But…

She got to her feet, "I need another drink."

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It didn't take much to see he'd hurt her, and as bad as he felt about it, he saw it as a necessary evil if he was going to help her. That said, when she came back to the table he realised instantly that it was going to take plenty to get her to talk; she was clearly in no mood for it. She'd put down the shutters. Closed off. Gone cold.

"Olivia." He said gently, reaching across the table to touch her hand gently, although she quickly pulled it away, glaring at him reproachfully. "Something is going to give with you if you don't come to terms with who you are and where you come from, and with what you've lost. Right now, you deal by getting over involved with vics and coming on to me. That won't be enough for you forever."

"I don't come on to you." It surprised him that she didn't deny her emotional involvement with the victims they encountered, but even more so that she was so vehement in her denial with regards to him. After their encounter in the squad room he'd assumed it was undeniable. He looked at her questioningly,

"No?"

She shrugged, "Today doesn't count."

He wasn't giving her that, "Today does count." Again she shrugged, "So today counts. That's once. Once Stabler. Munch has hit on you more time's than that."

He allowed her the joke, a small deflection of humour, even responded with his own, "Munch is hotter than you are." but he was quick to move on again, "Three times Olivia."

He saw her eyes flash angrily and braced himself for her response which he didn't doubt would be savage. She was on the defensive now, that much was obvious.

"Fine. Its 3. And no doubt you're about to list them for me. Well fine. Do it. Boost your ego and enjoy it. Because I fail to see what its got to do with anything."

"What it has to do with is me being your port in the storm. The stranger you cling to. I am to you, what you were to that little girl."

She said nothing in response. Not at first. Just put her head in her hands and then slowly looked up at him wearily, and then,

"You're not a stranger."

And that was the moment, the moment he knew he had her. She'd stopped with the debating, the denying, the splitting of hairs was only her way of holding onto the final vestiges of control in their discussion. He got up from his seat opposite her, and moved to sit beside her, taking her hands in his. When she didn't argue, instead gripping his hands tightly, he pushed her just a little bit further.

"I'm not your father either."

"But you're always there for me." The words were a million miles away from anything he'd heard from her before. They were soft, almost whimpered, a childlike declaration that seemed incongruous coming from a grown woman. And suddenly, because of them, all bets were off. Things were different. He reached round, wrapped an arm around her. "Of course I am. I'm your partner. That's why I want to help. That's why I want you to talk."

She looked torn, and he could understand why. He'd never seen her look as vulnerable as she did in that moment, and he knew she wouldn't be comfortable with the feeling. That said, she needed to talk, and for the first time she probably knew it as clearly as he did. He pulled her closer, and then - hoping it wasn't a step too far - he gave her a final nudge. "That's why, if you turn a gun on yourself some day, I'll be right beside you, trying to stop you, even if it means taking the bullet myself."

Her response was a sob. A sound she'd always been so keen to hide from him in the past, and yet now failed to do so, if she'd even been attempting to in the first place. And then, clinging to him more tightly, she looked up at him, and uttered the words he'd waited their whole partnership to hear.

"Ok. I'll talk. If you'll listen, I'll talk to you…"

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