NOTE: Coda to S06E09: Weak. I suggest watching before reading. Enjoy!

"You took off without me."

Olivia looks up at the sound of Elliot's voice, meets his eye for a split second before turning back to her desk. There's paperwork splayed out in front of her, the pages lit only by the glow of a distant lamp. Elliot watches as her attention shifts back to the work, her hand moving across the surface as she fills out forms.

"Shouldn't you be at home?"

"An empty house didn't sound appealing."

"So you came here."

Elliot hums, takes the seat at his desk across from Olivia. At this hour, they're the only ones left in the squad room. "I wanted to check on you," he says, his voice quiet. "See if you're okay."

Olivia looks up, her brow furrowed lightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You know why."

"I'm fine," Olivia tells him. The words are short, snappish. Barely convincing.

"Then why'd you leave?"

There's a huff, the sound followed with a gentle thud as Olivia's pen hits the desk. Elliot watches her sit back, arches his brow as he waits for an answer.

"I thought you'd want to talk to Rebecca yourself," she says, and the accusation is clear. It sends a spike of annoyance through Elliot, has him stifling another sigh.

"What's your deal?" he asks, his voice more tired than it is confrontational. "You've been pissy all week."

"I'm no—"

"Yeah, you are," Elliot interrupts. He sighs again, louder this time, and leans forward. "First you're happy to see Hendrix, then you get pissed at every mention of her. I mean—is it some sort of grudge? You think she thinks she's better than you?"

"No."

"Then what?" Elliot asks. "'Cause I'm not the only one who's noticed."

"It's not—" Olivia starts, stops. She exhales slowly, lifts a hand to rub at tired eyes. "You're my partner," she says eventually. "I just thought you'd take my side over some shrink you barely know."

"That's what this is about?" Elliot shifts again, his arms crossed where they rest against the table. Like this, he's got a clear view of Olivia's face; can stare into her eyes as he talks to her. "You're annoyed I disagreed with you?"

"No," Olivia answers, her tone harsher than it had been before. "You're free to think whatever the hell you want, Elliot, I just—"

Olivia cuts herself off mid-word, has to turn away from Elliot's expectant stare. She shakes her head slightly, lets the sentence remain unfinished.

"What," Elliot says. "You're jealous?"

The words slip from his mouth before he can stop himself. His voice is quiet, throaty. Almost as if it's a secret. He's nearly surprised to hear the question, hadn't exactly meant to voice it, but he knows it's true. The silence that follows, the look on Olivia's face… he knows it's true.

"You are," he says, and it's as if his voice is filled with wonder. He isn't sure how to feel about it, about what it means. "Liv—"

"Don't," Olivia tells him. She's no longer looking at him, her face turned to the side, like she wants to shut him out. Elliot stares, a tight tension forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Liv," he says again, but Olivia shakes her head.

"Just leave it," she says. "You were right, I was wrong. It doesn't matter now, so just…"

She trails off, her fingers threading through the short locks of her hair. Elliot watches, waits for her to look at him again, but she doesn't. He stands after a moment, moves to rest beside her, to settle on the edge of her desk.

"You've got nothing to be jealous about," he tells her. He smiles as he says it, his lips upturned in a small little smirk. "You really think I'd pick her over you?"

Olivia doesn't answer, but she doesn't really have to. Elliot can read her, the lingering uncertainty. He hates that it's there at all—doesn't understand how Olivia can doubt how much she means to him. Swallowing thickly, he lets the silence stretch, the air between them tense; heavy until he decides to break it.

"You know, when Kathy left me," Elliot starts, "she said it was because of the job. But when she says the job, what she means is you. And when she says you, what she means is how I feel about you."

His words are honest, unguarded. Olivia's head snaps toward him, her eyes wide, the deep brown shining in the light. Elliot's smirk broadens at the look, the smile impossible to stifle.

"You're a good detective," he whispers. "I'm sure you've figured out how that is."

"Elliot," Olivia says, and it sounds like some sort of plea. Like a simultaneous don't and please, like the breaking of every unspoken boundary they've put in place. She doesn't say anything else, barely dares to breathe.

Elliot gets it. This conversation, it's not one he ever thought they'd actually have. But he's started it now, and he sees no good reason not to finish it, to do what he's wanted to for a long time.

Reaching forward, he slips off the desk, curls his hand around Olivia's chin. To lean forward, to capture her mouth in a kiss—it's easy.

The first press of lips is quick, fleeting. It lasts mere seconds, almost like an experiment, like a tester. Elliot pulls back just enough to catch Olivia's eye, to make sure she wants this, to make sure she understands what he's trying to say. The second he knows she does, he's leaning forward a second time, is kissing her properly. Harshly. Is letting every supressed flicker of desire bleed into the touch.

For a moment, that's all there is. The precinct fills with the sound of their breathing, with the slick, wet sound of kissing. Elliot pulls Olivia from her seat, until she's standing, until he can wind his arm around her waist, pull her body toward his. It feels right, to be intertwined like that. Feels natural.

They need to pull apart eventually, and they do. Olivia is the first to move, her head tilting to the side, her chest rising and falling with quickened breath. She doesn't step back, though. Doesn't move out of Elliot's embrace. Instead, she rests her forehead against Elliot's chest, her head ducked to hide her grin. Elliot holds her there, his hand curled around the back of her neck.

"This whole thing is ridiculous," Olivia murmurs eventually, but it's said with a quiet, breathy laugh, like she can't quite believe it's happening.

"Yeah," Elliot agrees, his voice barely audible. He trails his hand down her neck, her shoulders. Settles his palm against the small of her back, where her shirt's ridden up. "The good kind, though."

Olivia hums, tilts her head back, to the side. Her lips graze Elliot's jaw, drag across his skin when she speaks. "What now?"

Elliot stands there, slides his thumb back and forth, over the bare strip of Olivia's skin. "How's your apartment sound?" he murmurs after a brief moment of hesitation.

Rather than answer, Olivia reaches a hand behind her. She grabs Elliot's, shifts until their bodies are detangled but leaves their fingers intertwined, and pulls him toward the precinct's exit.

It's as good an answer as any.