A/N: Kinda short, but there you have it. I own nothing.
Rashly unpredictable.

They'd laugh, if it wasn't true. But more often than not, it is. They've heard the term used when referring to them, and ignore it, because, half the time, he doesn't know what he's doing, and she doesn't, either. But they can always make it look like they do know. And it is this that puts them among the sets of partners who can finish each other's sentences and follow each other's leads and everything in between.

At this moment in time, the two of them sit at their desks, across from each other, and he is supposed to be preparing for trial, and she is supposed to be finishing paperwork. But instead, they are flicking a paper football back and forth.

"So," he says, as she flicks it at him and nearly catches him in the eye, "You think we fly by the seat of our pants?"

She smirks. "Yeah, I do," she says. "I think that every now and then I think we have what we need to go, but most of the time, I don't."

"So, you think that we're trigger happy, or just too focused on the job to let things go?" he asks, and flicks the paper football back at her.

"Both," she replies. "I think that we're unpredictable in the sense that no one ever knows what we're going to do, because they don't know us like we know each other."

He laughs. "Yeah, I would say that's true," he says. "But then, Munch and Fin aren't like that, and they know us."

"That's just them, though." At this point, she leans back in her seat and ignores the paper football sitting on her desk. "I'm not saying I think there's something wrong with it, but that's just the way they are."

"I see." He leans back in his own seat and sighs. "You know, I agree with you. We are unpredictable."

"Tell me about it. One day we're fine, and the next day we want to kill each other," she quips. "Tell me that's not unpredictable."

"No, Liv, that's just volatile, and that's just you."

"Let's not talk about volatile, Mr. Poster Boy for Rage."

"I hate that nickname. Can't we drop it yet?"

She laughs at him and flicks the paper football back, this time hitting him squarely in the face. "Nope," she says. "Besides, I'm the only one who calls you that, and it's only when you're being annoying."

He is suddenly reminded of high school and flicking rubber bands at people when he flicks the football back at her.

"I think," he says, "That we're also unpredictable in the sense that we're impulsive and we don't always wait before we go ahead and do something."

"That would explain why half the time we come into the squad room, either Munch or Fin is saying 'Dad's mad'," she replies. He smirks.

"That," he says, "Is usually aimed at me, not you. And I think we can usually predict that from a mile away."

"So, it's not just you and I that are rashly unpredictable and impulsive anymore, then, it's the unit as a whole," she says, and he nods.

"Yeah, it's us as a whole," he says. "The pieces of this puzzle change every day, haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Oh, I've figured out plenty of things, I just haven't figured out why I bothered coming back to you."

Silence, because for a moment, this sounds wrong and is one of those unpredictable things, but then both of them laugh because they know what she really meant.

"Yeah, definitely unpredictable," she says, when the sound fades away. "Rashly and impulsively so."

Munch enters the squad room just in time to hear this comment, and looks at the two of them over his glasses.

"There's a word for that," he says, and before they can ask, he goes on. "Quixotic. It means 'impulsive and rashly unpredictable'."

They smirk at him. "You think it describes us, then?" Elliot asks, before Olivia can say anything, and Munch nods as he walks over to his own desk.

"Can't think of anything that would describe the two of you better."