HARM
Towel drying her hair with one hand, Olivia poured a generous amount of red wine for herself with the other, then drank a third of it and let out a relieved sigh, like it had taken several pounds off her shoulders. Putting the glass down, she replenished the original dose, pretending that first sip didn't count. She'd been indulging herself with a glass of wine every night for the past few days, ever since that night she came back from the hospital after the Gitano case – well, that night, it had been a whole bottle. She'd had countless arguments with Elliot before, but that was the first time she had felt like their partnership was really at risk. He had literally said it.
That night, after she hadn't been able to risk his life to take out a child-molesting psychopath, not twenty-four hours after he'd let the same perp kill a little boy and flee with a little girl to check on her non-fatal throat cut, he had told her, threatened her, that nothing of the sort could ever happen again if they were to remain partners, and then he had left her behind at the hospital, with those words to make sense of, exhausted and shaken as she was after that grueling case. And all she'd been able to do about all that when she arrived home was recruit the company of a bottle of wine.
Despite any conflicted feelings involved and the unavoidable hungover, Olivia had woken up the next morning with a plan: she needed to get away from Elliot for a while. To her, the problem wasn't the fact that, in his words, they had "chosen each other over the job". If he had given her any chance to actually talk about what had happened, she would have told him that even if he had decided to run after Gitano and the kids, he might not have been able to save the little boy anyway. He was looking at it like it was a simple either-or situation, her life or the little boy's, both in his hands to choose.
But he hadn't given her that chance. Instead, he had blamed her for his "wrong choice", made a scene in front of the whole precinct, and then finished with that lovely speech about their jeopardized partnership. She had tried to tell him how it didn't make any sense for him to expect her to risk his life on a slight chance to shoot the perp; it wasn't just that she couldn't do it, but he had to know that risking the life of a hostage held at gunpoint went completely against every protocol. It was like he had wanted her to prove something with that choice, then blamed her for failing the test.
If Olivia was being really honest, things hadn't quite been the same between them since his marriage had fallen apart. Of course, the whole situation affected him and made him even moodier and prone to throwing fits, but she had noticed that he was also colder towards her. Maybe he wanted to make it clear to everyone that there was nothing between them, that his separation had nothing to do with her. Maybe he wanted to prove that to her. Maybe to himself.
If only he would talk to someone – anyone – about it, he might have a chance to process all that was going on in his life and in his mind, but instead, he kept reacting with actions he himself didn't approve or understand, making the lives of everyone around him harder for no reason. She wished he would just talk to her about what was really bothering him.
But no. All he had decided to do about all of that was tell her that whatever had happened during that case, whatever had made them prioritize each other's lives over two victims', all of it had to be stuffed down, hidden under lock and key. It didn't make any sense to her; suppressing those feelings was like depriving a fire of oxygen; the flames would stop, but their original cause would forever remain unknown, undiscovered, ready to cause more fires in the future.
All of that and the bottle of wine had mixed up in her system while she slept and it had somehow worked to make things clearer, helping her to come up with that solution. The captain hadn't been surprised when she told him she wanted a new partner, he even seemed to agree. But of course, he had tried to ascertain that she was really sure that's what she wanted, as well as confirm it would be a temporary thing and let her know that SVU's doors would always be open for her.
It was for the best. Elliot had said it himself. We can never let that happen again, otherwise we can't be partners. Then maybe they couldn't. If she needed to shoot at him to prove their partnership still worked, that alone was proof to her that it didn't. She was tired of managing his feelings anyway, making excuses for his tantrums. Staying away from him for a while: that was the plan.
And Computer Crimes seemed like a good change, at least for the time being. SVU cases were always hard to deal with, and with time, they took a toll. Doing something different for a while would do her good, as well as getting some distance from Elliot, whose calls she had been ignoring, since staying away was the whole point, and also because she wasn't ready to talk to him about leaving yet.
When she heard that Elliot had a new partner and that he had punched the guy in the face on their first case together (some of the witnesses said she was the reason for the fight), however, she decided it was time to face him. Maybe if she could convince him that this change would be good for them both, he'd give the new guy a chance. When she saw him changing out of his ruined olive-green shirt, though, she knew it had been a bad choice. It was too soon. But she didn't turn away. Instead, she did her best to clear the air and establish a truce. He was cold about it, but didn't pick a fight either, so she figured it was a good sign.
Deep down, she had to admit, she knew maybe he was right about the bigger picture. She didn't at all agree it was a black and white thing, a little boy's life or hers, and neither did she think the right thing to do was to forget what had happened and why, but she knew her feelings for him had crossed the line of acceptable feelings between partners long ago; she just didn't think that it interfered with the job. Actually, she thought it might be one of the reasons they worked so well together. If nothing ever happened, then why would her feelings make any difference? Maybe Elliot was just overreacting and reading too much into the whole thing. He saw her throat being cut, her body falling to the floor; it was a normal reaction to not want your partner to bleed out and die. And yet, he had acted like it was a big problem, and that it was somehow her fault.
But Elliot had always known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it wasn't her fault. He knew he shouldn't have gone to Huang; he wasn't a talking-about-feelings kind of guy, but he had been too lost, too out of his mind, and next thing he knew, he was knocking at the psychiatrist's door. He couldn't get the image of that little boy with his throat cut, really cut, surrounded by a pool of blood, out of his mind – or the image of Olivia with her own throat cut, her hands trying to staunch the blood, and as much as he knew and beat himself up about the fact that her life was never in danger, he couldn't get over that split second of utter panic before he knew she would be fine and what it had made him do, what it had made him sacrifice.
If only he had decided to run after the perp, the little boy would still be alive, and he wouldn't be in this bar downing his third whiskey shot, overwhelmed by the blame; Huang had only helped him see that he had been blaming Olivia to deflect his own guilt. She made me turn away. How did she make you do anything? He had let completely irrelevant and inappropriate feelings take over and make him make the wrong choice, only to find out she wasn't fatally injured. And as if that wasn't enough, she had done the exact same thing and almost let a little girl die because she didn't have the guts to risk his life to shoot the perp. It was all wrong. So completely wrong. How couldn't she see it?
He had measured his words so carefully. After that (ridiculous, he had to admit) scene at the precinct, yelling at each other for everyone to hear, he figured he would talk to her carefully this time. She had ridden in the ambulance with the victim, the luckily intact, but brotherless little girl, while he drove alone to meet her there, almost two hours later, which gave him plenty of time to plan what he was going to say. And yet, she hadn't understood. She had done the exact opposite of what he had asked, begged of her.
Olivia hadn't shown up at the precinct the next day. Elliot figured he'd give her some space, but as he arrived the following day to find her desk and locker empty, without a single word from her, it got him worried. He tried calling her, but there was no answer. He tried to convince himself she'd come around, but the following day, he found out he had a new partner and that she had a new assignment. He felt betrayed; he made it a point to delete her phone number from his cell phone's memory. Hell, if she could delete him that easily, then so could he; if that's how she wanted to handle it, so be it. But then she showed up, seeming amused at the fact that he had gotten into a fistfight with her replacement. He had the clear, infuriating impression that she was purposefully trying to mess with his head. She had to be.
To make matters worse, the case he and his new partner were investigating had required them to work with Computer Crimes, precisely Olivia's new assignment. She had seemed comfortable there. Not at all affected by the fact that he wasn't sitting on the desk in front of hers, while he was here trying to forget how empty he had felt when he had to face her empty desk. It was all emptiness in his life now: empty home to go back to, empty office to face every morning. And all Olivia had to say for herself was that "they needed a change". He was fed up with change.
Elliot wasn't buying her excuse, but he had been afraid to push for more explanation; just as with his visit to Huang, asking about her true reasons for asking to be reassigned might shed light on things he'd rather not know. You wish what? That you didn't care so much? He had wanted to punch the doc almost as much as he had wanted to punch himself. He had wanted Huang to tell him how to get over those feelings, whatever they were, not tell him there wasn't anything he could do.
He had talked to his priest too; he had complained about how everybody kept leaving him. The father seemed to understand, asking if it was somebody from work he was talking about. Unfortunately, a call had interrupted their talk, but the priest suggested he called his wife for his penitence. Even though it didn't make sense to him at the time, he later understood. That was exactly it: it wasn't Olivia he should be missing, he should be thinking about. Much better advice than Huang's psychological crap.
Maybe staying away from Olivia was a good idea, the best idea. And the solution to the original problem: if she wasn't there, he didn't have to be afraid of making the wrong choice again. He shook his glass, hoping the clinking of the ice cubes would help him believe his own thoughts. If it was such a good idea, why couldn't he stop wondering why she had left? He threw back the rest of whiskey mixed up with water from the melted ice, letting the remaining cubes hit his upper lip as the last drops fell into his mouth.
He set the glass on the counter. Maybe what was bothering him was how she hadn't hesitated; she had just left. Their partnership couldn't mean so little to her. He knew it didn't. He was going to ask for another shot, but he suddenly couldn't contain the urge to see her. He would just ask her why; that would help him put this to rest, and he would be able to focus on what really mattered. In a hurry, he stood up, took his wallet from out of his pocket and left the money for the drinks on the counter under the empty glass.
Olivia was lost in thought with her glass of wine when the doorbell rang, making her jump slightly. Before she could even wonder who it was, she heard three loud bangs on the door. With her heart racing, she considered getting her gun, but it was on her dresser in the bedroom, too far away. She decided to walk barefoot to the door, careful not to make any sound, just to check who it was and decide if she needed the gun or not. Leaning against the door with her fingertips to look through the peephole, she was surprised to see Elliot there, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently.
Before she could decide what to do, he banged on the door again, this time calling her name. "Olivia! I know you're in there."
She jumped backwards, startled by the knocking. She couldn't understand; Elliot was the last person she expected to see there. She turned her key on the lock, undid the latch and opened the door. So much for their truce, she thought, sensing his visit at that late hour wouldn't be a pleasant one.
"Elliot, what are you…" she started saying, but he interrupted her.
"It's not good enough," he blurted out, shaking his head, like he had been struggling to hold that inside for hours. He walked in past her without waiting for an invitation.
"What the hell are you talking about?" she managed to say, with no other choice but to close the door and turn to look at him.
"That bullshit you gave me," he said with an intense glint in his eyes she couldn't quite make out. Maybe it was anger? "About us being partners too long, that it's too complicated. That's not good enough. I want you to tell me the real reason you asked to be reassigned."
"Elliot…" she sighed, looking down, already missing her glass of wine terribly.
"What did I do to you?" he asked, impatient, approaching her.
"Just drop it," she pleaded, exhausted, but he wasn't having it.
"No," he challenged, getting much closer now, puffing out his chest like an animal trying to scare his prey. Olivia wanted to step back and get away from him, but she felt like she didn't have the energy. "Just tell me, I think you owe me that at least. I'm not leaving until you tell me the truth. What do you mean it's too complicated?"
Olivia caught the faint smell of alcohol coming from his breath as it hit her face and finally understood why he was there.
"Have you been drinking?" she accused. "You must have, to show up at my door wanting to talk."
"Don't change the subject!" he raised his voice. "I just want to know."
Olivia sighed, letting her shoulders drop; maybe if she took the bait he'd leave sooner. "You don't think it's complicated?" she asked. "What about that conversation at the hospital? About us losing our objectivity, that we can't be partners?"
"Exactly my point," his blue eyes glared at her. "I said I didn't want to wreck it. That's exactly what I was trying to avoid. Why did you have to do that?"
"Have you considered that maybe your feelings aren't the only ones I'm thinking about?"
"It all seemed okay with you before I said anything," he accused, raising his voice. "It seemed okay with you to let two innocent children die to save each other!"
She scoffed. "Oh, so now not only you're blaming me again for that, but also you regret what you said and you're taking it out on me?"
Elliot was outraged. "Don't give me that bullshit, stop trying to twist this around!" he yelled, rather intimidatingly, but she didn't flinch. Olivia was used to it, she had seen him blow up in the interrogation room a thousand times.
"I think you should go," she stated simply. "Go sleep it off. If you still want to talk when you're sober, we'll talk."
"I'm not drunk," he said, trying to curb his anger through clenched teeth. "Just answer me."
"My God, Elliot, why can't you just drop it? We clearly need a break from each other. You've just made it clearer than ever."
"I don't need a break," he protested. She wasn't getting it. How could he make her understand? "I don't want a break."
"It's for the best," Olivia tried to keep her voice calm and her tone final.
"The best for who? With everything I'm going through, I don't need you to abandon ship too. Nice going kicking a man when he's down."
"Abandon ship? You know exactly where to find me. I'm still here, living in the same place, you have my phone number on speed dial, I'm working practically next door. It's not like I fled the country."
He knew that her words made sense, that they said one plus one equals two, but this wasn't Math. He didn't know what the hell it was. He stood there, that intensity in his eyes.
"Why does this bother you so much anyway?" she asked.
Why indeed? Elliot tried to answer that question in his mind. He just wished it didn't bother him. You wish you didn't care so much? She clearly didn't. "You know what? You're right, it's for the best. What good does it do to have a partner who can just turn her back on me like that."
Maybe it was the wine, or maybe she'd just had enough of his crap, but she couldn't take it anymore. She lunged at him, trying to slap him or push him towards the door. She wasn't sure which. "Son of a bitch," she yelled, with tears glinting in her eyes. "You're a goddamn son of a bitch, you know that? I can't believe you just said that. Get the hell out of here!"
Elliot was shocked; she rarely lost her shit like that. Maybe she cared after all. Why couldn't she just tell him? He struggled with her, defending himself from her blows and eventually being able to restrain her arms.
"Son of a bitch!" she repeated, her voice breaking as a tear rolled down. Elliot regretted his accusation. He wanted to wipe the tear from her face and apologize, but she forcefully freed her hands from his grip and walked away, wiping the tear herself. "For someone who has such a hard time talking about feelings you sure know exactly how to pick the most hurtful thing to say." She turned to face him again. "If I'm such a traitor then what the hell are you doing here yelling at me?"
Elliot sighed, too tired to argue any more. This wasn't going as planned at all. What was the plan anyway? He remembered he didn't have one. He didn't have an answer either.
Olivia took a deep breath. What was Elliot doing there? What did he want from her? She just wanted to be away from him for a while until the dust settled. It had just been a difficult case. They both needed time, but he was ruining her plan. Why did he always have to do the opposite of what she wanted?
"Damn it, Elliot, why can't you just say what's going on? What do you want from me? Do you want me to come back? Is it really so hard to just say what you want for a change? I'm tired of trying to read your mind. How's that for a real reason? Don't you see that acting like this you only make things worse?"
"Worse?" he snapped. "How can it get any worse?" Call your wife. He hadn't. Instead, he was here, and Olivia's denial wasn't helping. "Worse than not knowing why you leaving me bothers me more than my wife leaving me? Why I'm at your door and not hers?"
Olivia's eyes widened with shock. It was a big jump from we can't let that happen again to saying her leaving was worse than being left by his wife. What was this all about anyway? "What are you saying?"
He didn't know. All he knew was that he needed her to make it stop. To make things go back to the way they were. "I'm saying I don't want this," he yelled, walking towards her again with desperate eyes, as if he was being magnetically pulled, halting only when he was only a few inches away from her. "I'm saying we need to undo this, we need to make it stop. You need to stop..." he shook his head, in search of that missing word, but couldn't find it.
There he was, blaming her all over again, and for what? He couldn't even say it. "Stop what?" she yelled back, impatiently. "What am I doing?"
Olivia had never seen Elliot look at her like he looked then; it was a look of love and murder, lust and anger. She could tell he wanted to do something, but she didn't know if he wanted to hug or hit her. Instead, he grabbed her upper arm to pull her towards him, and it took her a moment to realize he was actually kissing her, because the way he pulled her and collided against her lips could easily have been a punch if he were using his hand instead of his mouth. But it was a kiss. Now she was more lost than ever, and she knew she should push him away, she thought that she wanted to, but she just couldn't.
He kissed her mouth, forcefully, indignantly. How couldn't she see what she was doing to him? He tightened his grip around her arm as he pressed his lips against hers, then he felt her palm on his chest, in what felt like an attempt to push him away, but instead she grabbed a fistful of his shirt to pull him closer. That seemed to unleash something in him; he broke the kiss and took her other arm to drag her and push her against the wall with a thud. He stared at her for a moment and saw the shock in her eyes. It was her last chance to make him stop. He tried to plead with his eyes, but hers lowered to stare at his mouth in anticipation, and there was nothing he could do. Holding her arms to the wall, he kissed her again, less forcefully this time, pressing her lower lip between his, taking inventory of its softness, its taste. He was off the deep end.
As his body pinned hers against the wall, Olivia became painfully aware of the thinness of the fabrics that stood between them as a last barrier. It was Elliot. Kissing her. And she was vehemently kissing him back. Maybe she understood more than she allowed herself to recognize: this was the problem. This was what they had been desperately trying to avoid. When he was married, it was easier. Now, that he wasn't, what was stopping them? It had always been there. Always at arm's reach, yet a million miles away. A lever that couldn't be unpulled, a bell that couldn't be unrung.
Elliot opened her lips with his, demanding entrance, and to contrast the intensity of the kiss, Olivia felt his hand gently cupping her face, his thumb rubbing softly against her cheek, his fingers interlocking with her damp hair, and her own hand was now free to circle around him. She squeezed him as hard as she could; she wanted to keep him this close to her forever. Maybe even closer. He released her other arm, letting his hand travel from her pulse to her elbow, to her shoulder, then move down to seize her breast, making her gasp, while she used both hands to untuck his shirt and gain access to the skin of his back.
Their mouths had found a perfectly synced rhythm; Olivia moved one of her hands up his back and the other one down, crawling under his belt and sinking her fingertips in the tight muscle of his bottom. As she pulled him closer, she could feel his erection, and he groaned as she grinded against it. It wasn't the first time she had caused this physical reaction; he was a man, after all, and she was a beautiful, incredibly attractive woman. Like they told rape victims whose bodies responded to the aggression, it was an innocent physical reaction. Maybe not so innocent now, that he was having his way with her against a wall; there was no turning back now.
Olivia brought her hands to his chest to start working on the buttons of his shirt, as she couldn't get rid of it fast enough, and he took the opportunity to finally pull up her sweater. He broke the kiss to pull it off over her head and she could see the fire in his eyes, burning brighter than she had ever seen, while she got rid of his tie and started pulling his shirt off down his arms. Did he know how much she had always secretly wanted this? Was it that obvious? After so many years trying to conceal it, she no longer cared. She wanted him to know. She wanted to show it.
Elliot took in the view of her olive-skinned breasts encased by the white lace of her bra, and it took his breath away. "God damn it, Olivia," he breathed, attacking her mouth again and sprawling his hand on her stomach, letting it run up and down and making the hairs on the back of her head stand up as she let out a throaty moan. He lowered to kiss her neck and noticed Gitano's mark on her: the infamous cut, mostly healed, but still there, the visible reminder of how this was all unleashed. He kissed it lovingly, letting relief wash over him again as he held her warm, alive body.
Olivia put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away urgently, and for a moment he thought she would interrupt it, say they couldn't go through with it, but, to his relief, she just nodded in the overall direction of her bedroom.
"Come on," she said, breathless, taking his hand.
They walked towards the bedroom for what felt like a mile for Elliot, and once they were inside, he couldn't wait any longer. Pulling her to him again, he undid her bra, then ran his hands down her back and her ass and grabbed her legs to pull her off the floor, stumbling with her during the last few steps until they fell on the bed, in such a clumsy way that it made Olivia laugh; it was the sexiest thing Elliot had ever seen. How had he been able to stay away from her for so long? He muffled her laugh with an urgent kiss, pulling her bra off like it was burning her flesh, kissing her as if her mouth were the last source of air and he needed to breathe her in to survive.
His hands worked fast on her pants and panties and they were off in the next second. Even though he wanted badly to take a moment to contemplate the sight of her naked body, he had already run out of his air supply and had no choice but to dive into her again, now with full access to every inch of her skin. It was overwhelming.
Olivia grabbed the hair on Elliot's head as he kissed her hungrily again, then pulled them forcefully, almost plucking them out, when she felt his hand slowly entering her, his fingers exploring, spreading the wetness to prepare her. She took a moment to feel the weight of his body, the warmth of his skin, the fire of his hand as it explored every inch of her. She couldn't wait any longer, so she pulled him up again from where he had been kissing and suckling at her nipple.
"Please," was all she could say as her hands moved desperately to his belt, and she was in such a hurry that for a moment she forgot how belts worked, nothing that a little strength couldn't solve, and the next second she had her hand around him, making him growl. She was glad to see he had understood the urgency, because he quickly got rid of his pants altogether and grabbed her legs to prop her up for him.
With a last intense look from one of her eyes to the other, he slowly thrust inside her, stretching his way in, letting her adjust to him until they fit perfectly together, pushing painfully slowly, and when he had shoved himself in as deeply as he could, she threw her head back with a long, low-pitched moan that drove him crazy. Maybe this was what he had come here to hear from her after all. He finally understood. He bent down to bite her exposed neck, on the opposite side of her wound, pulling himself slowly out of her, then thrusting again, a bit faster, a bit harder, feeling her throat humming against his teeth before the sound came out.
He grabbed her hips to guide her as she moved to meet his thrusts, feeling himself get even harder as he watched the muscles of her belly controlling the roll of her hips against him, and it suddenly hit him that this was really happening: Olivia was wrapped around him, moaning his name as he thrust into her, and he understood that this was the anger he felt. Anger at her, for making him want her so badly. How did she make you do anything?
Elliot raised one of her legs for a better angle, and Olivia felt him pushing impossibly deeper than before, making her let out a wail, which only fueled him to ram faster and harder; she thought she was going to lose her mind. His breathing started to get throatier, and she knew he was getting close. She tried to hold on for as long as she could, but only for a couple more thrusts, until she felt her orgasm immobilize her from the waist down with pleasure and make her head so dizzy that for a second she thought she was going to faint. One more hard thrust later, it was Elliot's turn to let out a long groan, then fall, spent, with his head against her chest.
A few minutes of listening to each other's panting breaths went by. When he felt recovered enough, Elliot raised on his elbow to look at Olivia. She had her eyes closed, but she opened them and gave him a small smile, which he returned. He touched her jaw lightly to remove a strand of hair from her face. Then, he lay on his back and, with a swift movement, put his arm under her back to turn her around so she would rest on his chest.
Olivia adjusted to find the best position and circled his torso with her arm. One of his hands rested on her back, while the other came to meet her arm around him, and he noticed she shivered slightly.
"You cold?" he asked lightly, pulling the covers with his foot.
She cuddled closer to him. "No," was her answer, but she welcomed the covers and the squeeze of his arms.
Olivia sighed, wondering how long this would last. How long until it all crumbled on top of them? How long could they pretend to still be under the effects of alcohol and impulsivity, how long until this outlet of sexual frustration wore out and they had to face reality? How long until Elliot's loving arms turned into accusing fingers, yelling at her at the precinct, breaking her heart in hospital halls?
"El?" she called after a couple of minutes torturing herself with those questions.
"Yeah?" he replied.
She hesitated. She didn't want to open that can of worms, but it would have to be done sooner or later. She figured she'd pull the band-aid at once. "What now?"
Elliot took in a deep breath, then let the air escape in a long sigh, making her rise and fall along with the heaving of his chest. He had been dreading that question, but he knew they'd have to answer it soon. All he knew was that he had Olivia in his arms, and he wasn't willing to let go anytime soon. That conclusion helped; a few hours earlier he would have thought that this would make things even more complicated, but somehow, now he didn't. Things actually felt simpler than they had in a very long time.
"We'll have to think of something," he started. "But it's gonna have to be something that includes this right here. You and me, like this."
It was her turn to prop herself up to look at him, with her brow furrowed. She had been bracing herself for the "this has been a mistake" and the "this can never happen again" speeches, but he seemed to be actually saying the opposite.
"Oh, and since you wanted me to say what I want for a change," he continued. "I still want you to come back."
Olivia smiled, and her shock amused Elliot.
"But… doesn't this change things?" she asked, poking the bear. He wasn't making sense.
He let out another deep sigh. "I was just thinking about it. About that little boy and about you with your gun pulled, unable to shoot." Olivia nodded, staring deeply into his eyes. "Would you do anything different tomorrow, after this, than you did then?" he asked.
She considered it for a moment, but there had never been a doubt in her mind. "No."
"Me neither."
"Okay, but that takes us back where we started… What about putting each other over the job and not being able to be partners?"
He remembered Huang's words. You wish you didn't care so much? That's what makes you a great partner.
"I know, but I've just realized something. Do you honestly think that we would have done anything different if this had happened three, five years ago? Would you have taken the shot?"
She shook her head. "Never, not in a million years."
"Well, there you go," he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "I was too hung up on why I had made that choice, but I hadn't realized it's not something new. It's not something that changed. Maybe we should never have been partners."
"But we work well together," Olivia protested. "We always have. Our closure rate's the highest in all SVUs in New York."
"I know," he agreed. "So maybe we should be partners forever."
She smiled. "We've done more good than harm, haven't we?"
"I like to think so," he smiled back, then became serious. As he spoke, things became clearer in his mind. He was understanding it himself as he explained it to her. "I'll never forget that little boy. Or any of the victims we've lost. But there's always going to be another victim, and we need to keep trying to save them. I think we stand a better chance if we do it together."
Olivia nodded, squinting, looking for any signs of doubt, but he seemed calmer and more certain than she'd seen him in a long time. She lay back down on his chest. "All right then."