Rating: K+, booby mention

Disclaimer: Not mine, you know whose

Spoilers: "Wildlife"

Pairing: Elliot/Olivia always

Summary: Extended scene from "Wildlife". A short continuation of Elliot and Olivia's conversation in the hospital after he is shot and after THAT scene. Something short and fun before I go all angsty again…

A/N: Also – this is my 250th fanfic. Most of them are on this site so check me out if you like Kate & Gibbs ("NCIS"), The Doctor & Donna ("Doctor Who"), Jack & Liz ("30 Rock") or Castle & Beckett ("Castle"). Or, of course, these two crazy kids from the NYPD who never did get their happy ending.

"So what happens with Bushido and Tybor?"

"We're about to pay them a visit."

Opening the newspaper she brought him, Elliot humphs and starts hunting for the bogus story on his shooting. "Feel free to use a little force."

But his partner takes a seat on the edge of his hospital bed. "I think Cragen and Fin will have that covered."

He watches her sit and sigh, hands clasped on her thighs and eyes staring out the blinds of his hospital window. "Something on your mind?

"I called Kathy." Olivia turns his way, pausing before adding in a careful, contrite voice, "She's not coming, El. She's glad you're okay but…she needs some time."

"Well…" Elliot clears his throat, throws the newspaper on the tray table at his side, "it's not like the job gets any easier on a marriage."

Olivia drops her gaze and doesn't reply.

Breaking the silence, he assures her, voice weary and muted, "I'll sort it out after the case is wrapped."

"El—"

"Leave it, Liv."

She hesitates, whispers a soft 'kay and rises. Then, taking a few slow steps away, she lingers at the foot of his bed with a frown on her face and fidgety hands. Again, Elliot watches her, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Something else on your mind?"

"Do we need to talk," she faces him, hands sliding into her pockets, "about what happened?"

"If we do, can we please do it while I'm on painkillers?"

"Look…" She stares at the floor a moment, wags her head then lifts her forthright gaze to his. "I apologize. It won't happen again." Her shoulders shrug. "That's all I wanted to say."

Elliot holds her gaze, head bobbing slightly. "It better not."

"It won't." She nods once. "I promise."

He nods in reply. "Good."

"…Okay…" Olivia breaks eye contact, heading for the door but turning back just as she's reaching for the door handle. "Just to be clear—"

Elliot's head drops back in his pillow. "And I thought I was home free…"

She moves back to his bedside. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page—"

"We are."

"Because if you can't trust me—"

"Trust you? What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you stripping off and pretending to be a pro for those dirtbags."

"I only did that because I blew your cover. I exposed you—"

"I exposed you. You shouldn't have even been there—" Elliot leans forward in his bed, face creasing and heating with exasperation. "Those are some seriously bad guys, Olivia, and you are not as good an actress as you think—" His partner reaches out, easing him back into the pillow with one hand on his uninjured shoulder. Elliot acquiesces under her calming touch but mumbles, eyes skating up over her face, "Like anyone's gonna take you for a hooker..."

She meets his gaze without drawing back, replying in a soft mutter, "Yeah, well, clearly, they didn't buy your act either, Mike."

"So…" he slackens against the mattress, lets out a long sigh, "So maybe both us should stay away from undercover work."

His partner pulls back, brows crumpled. "…That's it?"

He blinks at her. "Is there something I'm missing?"

"Why aren't you more angry?" she demands, both hands gesturing in frustration. "Why don't you blame me? Those slugs in your shoulder—" she indicates his perforated and bandaged wing, "they were my fault."

Elliot lifts a hand to his chin, stroking his stubbled jaw in thought. His voice, when it emerges, is slow, honest and easy. "Why…? Because…I thought I was gonna die. For a second there…lying on that pavement. Then you showed up," his eyes meet hers, his mouth tugs up in one corner, "and I knew I was gonna be okay. My partner had my back and I was…" he shrugs his good shoulder, lowers his gaze, "I dunno…grateful, I guess." He pauses infinitesimally before adding in a sly tone, "And not just for the part where your nearly naked breasts were pressed against me." He looks up to see her brows raised and mouth slightly ajar. He spreads one hand in a gesture of innocence. "That was the drugs talking."

"Okay, I think we're done here." Olivia rolls her eyes and heads for the door. "I'm gonna go steal you some Jell-O."

Elliot grins, head tipping back in his pillow. "Ah, my hero…"

"Heroine."

"Whatever. Get me lime."

She stops in the doorway to brandish a stern finger at him. "And don't even think about getting outta that bed. I already bet Fin a fifty that you'd at least take the day off."

Elliot's legs shift under the bedding. "Unless you plan on cuffing me to this bed, that's not gonna happen."

Olivia takes a tiny beat, head tilting to one side. "Why would I need to do that?" she murmurs before moving to the chair by his bed and slinging his jeans over her arm.

"Hey—" He frowns as he watches her make for the door. "Hey, where you goin?"

"I'd take the shirt instead," she says, stride confident and voice dry, "but past experience tells me you're not shy about showing off those guns."

"Liv—"

"I'm gonna get that Jell-O," she tells him, not pausing on her way out.

"C'mon—!" But the door closes on Elliot's protestations. He slumps back in his bed, waiting hopefully, hungrily for her return.

-x-

Olivia reappears a short time later with two plastic cups of jelly, one lime and one raspberry. She eats the raspberry one, perched on the end of his bed, his jeans lying over her lap. Elliot eats his lime Jell-O, all the while eying off his pilfered pants. On his last bite, Olivia hesitates, laden spoon halfway to her mouth.

"So we're good now, right?" she asks him.

"We were never not good," he assures her.

"Good." She rises, throws the two plastic cups and spoons in the trash then glances at her watch.

"S'that mean I can have my pants back?"

Olivia shrugs on her jacket then picks up his jeans. "I wish I could trust you with these. But…" she falters momentarily then turns to the door with a rueful shake of her head, "no."

"Olivia…"

"Rest up!"

The words are tossed over her shoulder as she exits. An answering groan of frustration rises in his throat as he watches the door close, as he watches through the blinds as his partner heads down the hospital corridor, his pants safe in her custody. Elliot glances round the room, at the green scrub shirt on the adjacent chair, provided in place of his excised, blood-stained sweater. He tests out his shoulder with a tentative, miniature roll. Then immediately begins plotting ways to get out of his bed, out of the hospital. He wants back on the case. He wants closure. He wants revenge. And – maybe most of all – he wants to be back in the company of his thieving other half.

END.