Part 1: She's a dark horse.

Law and Order: SVU is the intellectual property of Dick Wolf. The use of the characters, settings, and plotlines is not malicious. This is a work of fiction.

"You sure you can do this?"

It was a question she'd been asked more than once. Her answer never changed. "Yes." She nodded, her dark bangs falling into her eyes. With one finger, she flicked them away, then wrapped her hand around the amber bottle and raised it to her chapped lips. She drank, long and slow, and tried to forget the list of lies she'd told that day. Half-truths that spewed from her mouth and false statements written on paper, made legal. She slammed the bottle down, nodding toward the bartender for another one. This one was to forget people. People she could no longer look in the eyes, and some she never had. She sipped and looked toward the man to her left, his blue suit looking dingy in the hazy light of the bar. "Of course."

"Well, I have to ask," the man said, signaling the barman for a drink of his own. "You're too close, now. If you feel like you can't do this anymore, then you're going to have to choose, and...well...I think we both know which choice you'll make." He leaned against the bar, staring at her for a moment. "There's only so many times you can go on these undercover gigs by yourself before he starts asking the right questions. Fuck, you almost blew your cover out in Oregon because..."

"This time's different," she interrupted, reassuring both him and herself. She flinched as she remembered several situations where she'd gone undercover, sometimes willing and sometimes not. Every time, though, she ended up hurting the only person in the world she trusted without question or pause. "Well," she scoffed, again bringing her beer to her lips, speaking against the rim, "...the lie is the same, but he'll be there this time." She took a long swig.

The man beside her curled his lips and shook with a laugh that was something between sad and bitter. "Always comes down to him." He downed his dark drink in one swift shot and grimaced as it burned his throat.

"Always," she said with a nod.

He looked at her, a stern seriousness in his eyes, though she was staring straight ahead, at nothing. "You really think you can still play the game? I mean, do even remember what fucking team you're on?" He watched anxiously as the bartender poured him another shot. He chugged it back and looked at her again, the same pained expression on his face as before. "This time, yeah, he'll be there, but you're working different angles. As your point person on this, I need to know that Special Agent Olivia Benson won't burst into flames, letting Detective Benson rise from the ashes and give some low-rate police department the credit for a case it took us months to build. I need to be sure you can keep..."

"Porter," she spat, turning her head sharply, needing him to stop babbling. "I know what I'm doing. I know how to do my job."

"Just remember what your job is, Olivia," he said, lowering his voice and speaking harshly into her ear. "Don't forget what your real job is, don't get your lines crossed, and if you fuck him, make sure you can look him in the eyes the next. Don't make him an accessory to all of this, and don't set yourself up for heartache."

She snorted and furrowed her brows, briefly thanking the gods that there was something he didn't know, and then she crossed her arms. "Wait, you're giving me relationship advice? That's like asking Julia Child how to make a TV dinner."

"No," he said, shaking his head. He ran a bony hand over his angular face. "I'm giving you survival tips." He shoved the hand that had scrubbed along his chin into his pocket and pulled out two crisp twenty dollar bills. He situated them under his empty shot glass and said, "Whether you're aware of it or not, he only really knows half of you. When he's grunting out your name, does he really know who he's talking about?"

Fuck. He did know, after all.

He grabbed her arm, just below her shoulder, and he gritted his teeth. "I let you go because I realized I can't have all of you. The irony is, neither can he."

She sneered at him as she watched him walk away, her eyes following him out of the bar. "Shit," she hissed, rubbing her eyes. She slid the empty bottle toward the en of the counter and tossed a twenty dollar bill of her own onto the sticky marble. She scooted off of the stool, grabbed her leather coat, and pulled it on as she followed in Porter's dusty footsteps.

Pushing the bar doors open, she took a deep breath. The icy New York air filled her lungs, and she wasn't sure if she was suffocating or relaxing. She looked around as she pulled her black leather gloves on, taking in the seemingly mundane evening, but she was seeing intricate details. She noticed a man with a limp, and she rolled her eyes as she took her first steps toward the apartment building. "Ankle bracelet," she mumbled to herself, knowing the man was wearing government issued Lojak on his right leg. She passed couples, some kissing, some fighting, and she knew from looking which were relationships and which were affairs, and which were somewhere in between.

She took another chilled breath and turned her gaze toward the skies. There weren't any stars, she noticed, and for a moment she missed Oregon. A case had taken her there, and she spent hours each night looking at the stars. Wishing on them. She pushed the memory back down, locking it away, when she remembered those sleepless nights, wishing she was somewhere else, with someone else, unable to control her need for him and unable to lie when asked who he was.

It was the moment she realized that it didn't didn't matter what job she had, where in the world she was, she was his. He was the only person in the world whom she had given everything to, the only one in the world that could break her. She prayed every night that he never would. That somehow, when the truth came out, he would still want her, still be there.

She trudged up the hill, then up the few stone steps to her front door. She swiped her key-card through the lock and opened the door, rolling her eyes at the fact it was colder in the building than outside. She breathed into her gloved hands as she nodded to her doorman, and she took the stairs up three floors, believing if she stopped moving for a single second her body heat would diminish.

Already holding her key in her hand, she sped up just a bit to get to her door a bit faster. She grabbed the knob, but froze before she slipped the key into the lock-hole. Her door was already open. She dropped her key into her pocket, taking hold of her gun instead, and she readied it as she slowly turned the knob and pushed.

"Relax," he said without turning around. "It's me."

She dropped her arms and holstered her gun, kicking off her shoes before closing her door, making sure to lock it. "What are you doing here? It's almost two in the morning."

"Better question," he said, turning to look at her with crossed arms and heavy eyelids. "Where the hell were you?"

"El, I...don't do this, okay? Not tonight." She pulled off her gloves one by one and tossed them onto her discarded shoes, then hung her jacket on a hook behind the door.

He took a step toward her. "We got off at midnight, I went home to get a bag ready, I came right here and..." he searched her eyes, hoping to see clarity. "Where were you?"

"I went for a couple of drinks with..." she paused. She didn't want to risk setting him off. Not tonight. "Casey." The case got to me, and I wasn't sure you were coming here tonight." Not a lie. Not the whole truth.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he padded toward the couch, the crumbled throw blanket now on the floor. He waved a hand at the disgruntled looking sofa. "I was waiting for you, I...I fell asleep."

She turned her eyes up and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry," she said, wandering over to him, She put her arms around him and said, "If you would have told me, I..."

"Well, then, it wouldn't have been a surprise." He kissed her forehead and ran his hands up and down her arms. "You're here, now, so...can we just...go to bed?" He kissed her lips softly and guided her into the bedroom. He plopped onto the firm but bouncy mattress and watched her intently as she undressed. He couldn't hide the smirk on his face. "I can't believe we have to leave at fucking six in the morning. What kind of seminar is this, again?"

"LEEDS?" she said over her shoulder pulling the worn-out blue v-neck sweater over her head. "Law enforcement executive development? Strategic planning and media relations? Is any of this ringing a bell?" she laughed, seeing the clueless expression on his face. "We found out about this weeks ago!"

He looked at her, biting his lip to keep his arousal at bay, and he crooked a finger at her.

She narrowed her own eyes, giving him a hungry smirk, and then walked toward him, her underwear clad body falling into his. She looked into his eyes as she felt his hands move, aware that he was tugging off her panties. She kicked up her legs to allow him to do so, then looped her arms around his neck so he could unclasp and dispose of her bra.

"Love this part of the night," he said, smiling wickedly at her. He moved over and let her elongate, then sat up and pulled off his boxers, the only thing he'd been wearing. He threw them like a basketball, across the room and into the hamper, and he flopped back onto the bed. He pulled her into him, curling his naked body around hers, and then nuzzled into the crook of her neck. "Why do we have to pretend to care about any of that? Can't we just bust the guy at the airport?"

"You really don't listen when Cragen speaks, do you?" she scolded playfully.

He shook his head, being sure his lips ran along an expanse of skin, making her moan softly. He loved that sound.

"All part of the cover, El." She kissed his forehead then sunk deeper into him. "It's all...just part of the game."

A new story.

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Peace and Love

Jo