A/N: Constructive crit is most welcome. I'm looking to improve my writing. If I wasn't, I wouldn't post it here. I promise not to bite anyone who points out problems with my story. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Law and Order: SVU.

As I leaned back in my desk chair and stretched, I threw a glance at the clock. Nearly two in the morning. I surveyed my desk, piled with stacks of paper, the largest of which consisted of completed forms. The others still needed to be filled out. I considered sticking around for a while to finish, but when I was overcome by a huge yawn I decided against it.

"I'm heading out." I declared for the benefit of the only other detective remaining in the office. I began to gather my papers and after a minute realized I had received no answer. I turned around to see why, and found my fellow detective slumped in his chair, fast asleep.

I walked across the room to stand in front of him, debating as to whether or not I should wake him up. I watched him silently for a few minutes. His usual tough demeanor had dissipated with consciousness. I smiled slightly, as little things came unbidden to my mind: the time he had given his favorite coat to a terrified victim in the middle of a freezing December night; the time he'd coaxed a little girl from behind the walls she had built around herself after years of abuse; his guilt over a years old case he couldn't solve; and his desperate, risky venture to save a toddler and return her to the only family she had left.

As I gazed down at him I found my eyes drawn to his lips. Unable to resist, I leaned down and pressed a tender but brief kiss to the corner of his mouth. I lingered, standing there and watching him a moment more, before turning away. I had only taken a single step back toward my own desk when a strong hand caught my wrist in a firm but gentle grip. I froze, terrified that he was awake and of what I'd see in his face if I turned around. "What was that for?" he asked softly. "I...I'm sorry" I muttered, refusing to look at him. Exerting light pressure on my wrist, he turned me to face him. I didn't resist, but kept my eyes on the floor just to his left. "That's not what I asked," he admonished mildly.

"Why'd you do it?" There was silence. "Tell me." He implored when I continued to stare resolutely at the floor. I shook my head slightly, not really sure what I was denying

"Because," I muttered, "you've…I…I…" I sighed again and said so quietly that he had to lean forward slightly to hear, "I don't know. A moment of spontaneity. It was nothing." There was silence for a long moment. Then, in an odd voice, he said,

"Look me in the eye and tell me you really mean that." I stood for a moment, wondering whether was giving me a chance to get out of this uncomfortable situation, or if he wanted to be sure I was telling the truth. I suspected it was the later, but if it was, what did he want the truth to be? Was I to tell him that it was no more than a momentary lapse in judgment, or did he want me to say that it was something more? There was no way to gauge his thoughts without looking at his face.

So, very slowly, I forced myself to drag my eyes across the floor to his black dress shoes, up to where his fingers were still loosely wrapped around my wrist, past his open collared black shirt and leather jacket, until I finally met his steady hazel eyes.

Looking up had been a mistake. His face gave nothing away. He was too practiced at hiding what he thought and felt. That, however, wasn't the worst of it. Meeting those eyes I knew I couldn't lie to him. I could have lied to the tiles, told them it was nothing, just a whim; it was what I had told myself for months, but there was no way I could deny to his face that I had feelings for him. There was no way I could look away either, his gaze held me like a deer in the headlights of a car.

I took a slow, steadying breath, preparing to tell him the God's honest truth.

"I care about you."

He blinked, and his shield slipped slightly, revealing something, but only for the briefest of seconds, and there wasn't time to identify just what it was. His guard was back up in an instant, and when he spoke there was no inflection in his voice to give away his thoughts.

"As a friend." It was a statement, not a question. At every turn he gave me a chance to deny feelings for him. Clearly he didn't want them to exist. It was rejection. He hadn't said anything outright, but it was there all the same. I felt as though a block of ice had settled into my stomach, and I found myself fighting tears. I kept my face as serene as possible.

This was one of my worst fears, but I wouldn't make it worse by letting him see my weakness. I took another breath, trying to steady myself for the damning confession, but it was a shaky attempt. "As more than a friend. I have feelings for you that I can't deny, even if they are…unreciprocated."

A single tear escaped and slid slowly down my cheek. For a second, nothing moved except his eyes, which followed that lone tear. An instant later his mask had shattered, revealing a face full of concern. He stood, his right hand still loosely clasping my wrist. His left hand came up to cup my cheek, and his thumb gently wiped away the errant tear.

Then the corner of his mouth twitched upward very slightly. "It's not like you be wrong twice in a row," he said. I watched his face, confused. He shook his head very slightly, the slight upward twist of his mouth becoming a genuine, tiny, smile. "You really don't see it do you?" When my blank expression didn't change he continued, "you're feelings are not 'unreciprocated,' as you so elegantly put it." At this my eyes widened slightly, but I dared not hope.

"Wha--what do you mean?" I asked. His smile grew, close to a grin and his eyes danced.

"You're gonna make me do this thing right aren't ya? Alright then." He looked me straight in the eye, "I care for you," he said, repeating my exact words, "as more than a friend. Much, much more." And with that he leaned down and pressed his lips full to mine, in a gentle, soft kiss, almost as though, despite the bravado with which he had just admitted his feelings, he was still uncertain of how I would react. I kissed him back, wrapping my arms tight around him. The hand cupping my cheek slid around behind my neck, burying itself in my hair, and he pulled me closer to deepen the kiss.