"And Munch didn't even question it?" Olivia asks, a few drinks later.

"He's Munch," I say. "Of course he questioned it! He thought the guy had every phone in New York City bugged!"

I keep my eyes on Olivia's face as she laughs. God, that smile… I take another sip of whiskey. "The guys are gonna be so glad to see you," I tell her.

"Me too. I missed them. It was good to see Cragen today."

My head lifts a little higher at the statement. "When did you see Cragen?"

She swallows a mouthful of her drink and looks over at me with wide eyes, like she realized she told me something she shouldn't. "Oh," she says. "I, uh… I stopped by the House today."

My eyes narrow. "You did? When?"

"You were in an interrogation."

I think over the day, confusion probably clouding my judgement as anger starts to stir again, but I push it back. "The only interrogations I had today were short. Why didn't you stay?"

Her head shakes in tiny softly and her eyes close. "I don't know, I just…"

"Liv…"

"I saw you."

My chest starts to pound, and I take a deep breath to stay calm and force the redness not to reach my face. I'm trying not to read into the reasons why she would just leave without saying something to me.

"I was in the office when you came out of an interrogation and I saw you… with her." She keeps her eyes on her hands that hold her drink, refusing eye contact. She shrugs. "You seemed… comfortable with each other."

I continue to stare at the side of her face as I nod. "It took a while, but we found a decent rhythm."

She fakes a smile. "And you don't exactly get along with everybody, El. I didn't want to interrupt that. Like I did tonight."

"I don't want anyone else." I meant as a partner when I said it, but I don't correct the double meaning.

I know she catches it because she nods, staring at her hands. This is about the time one of us would cut the silence with something more lighthearted or turn the conversation to a case—a safe topic. One of my arms is slung over the back of the couch and I'm facing her when I look down, notice the way her jeans fit her thighs, one leg tucked underneath her. She's dressed modestly, but somehow her tee shirt hugs her waist and breasts in a way that make it almost impossible not to let my hands roam, an impulse I've kept myself from for eight years. Her tanned collar bone is exposed, decorated by a familiar fearlessness necklace. When I make it past her lips, up to her eyes, I realize she's been watching me ogle her. An embarrassed apology is on my tongue, but she beats me to it and speaks first.

"You have no idea what it does to me when you look at me like that," she whispers.

I was expecting a reprimand, a verbal slap in the face. Not that. Her face flushes when she realizes what she said, and she turns away, stands, and walks toward the kitchen. My mind reels at what she just revealed. It's always been safe for me to assume I was reading into things, but she just tore down the veil of safety. We can't keep skirting around this.

I follow her to the kitchen. "Should we talk about it?" I ask.

"About what?"

"About what we both know but are somehow still not talking about."

Her back is facing me as she finishes pouring more whiskey and sets both the bottle and her glass in front of her. She doesn't turn back around. "I don't think we should," she says softly.

"Why?"

She leans onto the countertop more. "Because it… It'll make it too hard."

I take a few more steps and stop a foot away. "Liv…"

Finally, she turns. "Please?" I swear I see fear in her eyes, maybe even panic, pleading with me. "Can we please just not say it? Not make it real?"

I understand the fear. I understand the need for silence. It's the same reasons we've kept from talking about it for the entirety of our partnership. But the door to my left also isn't an option right now. It's when her head lowers with the quiver of her chin that I realize she's falling apart and I instinctively step in and embrace her, a little confused.

"Hey…" I whisper. "What's wrong? What is it?" Her head is on my chest as I hear a sniff, but her hands haven't fully accepted the embrace, resting in fists at my sides. I know now that I was right in never hugging her before tonight. She already feels good and she hasn't even hugged me back.

After a moment, her head shakes and she lifts it, but I don't let go of her, as I think she was intending for me to do. She looks down at my chest. "Nothing," she says, shakiness in her voice. "Sorry." She still won't look at me, but she hasn't physically pushed me back yet either. I watch her sad expression, her eyes boring a hole into my sternum, her parted lips as she takes deep breaths to calm herself.

One of my hands makes its way to her cheek and my thumb swipes away a small tear. "I can't lose you again," I tell her for the second time tonight, and I realize I'm still scared of that happening, of her running again, leaving me.

Another breath and she responds, "Then why haven't you stepped away?"

I wonder if she can see the way my heart speeds up at the comment, shocked by the way she brought back my comment about how Dani was fair game because she was dispensable. She's putting things into perspective, reminding me of the repercussions if we do this, but I can't quite see straight. Not after all that time apart, not after embracing her for the first time in our partnership, or after multiple insinuations about our feelings tonight. Stepping away has to be her decision because I can't do it on my own volition right now.

"Do you want me to?" I ask. And I mean it. If she wants me to step away, as painful as it may be, I'll bear it for her.

She finally, slowly, looks up at me. But it's only seconds before her eyes close tightly and she whispers, "No."

My heart rips, the pain of not being able to take this further and the comfort of her softening posture wage war inside me. Her balled hands at my sides loosen and a shiver of goosebumps runs up my back when her hands flatten and slide around me. I step in, impossibly closer, and pull her back into my chest, closing my own eyes at the sensation of her touch. I notice the softness of her breasts against my upper abdomen, and as I dip my head and breath her in, the scent that is so uniquely and familiarly her breaks the restraint of my arousal. I know it's forming and I can't seem to find the will to care. I imagine my hands slipping between us, feeling her stomach, slipping them up to fill as much of my hands as I can with her breasts.

I push it back, breathing deeply as I try to control my thoughts. But then she sucks in a breath and unbeknownst to me, my hands have roamed, and one made its way under her shirt, my palm on the warm skin of her lower back. I wonder how to do this—How to step away from her. How to stop what's happening and leave her alone tonight. God, I need to know what's going through her head.

"What do we do now?" she whispers into my shirt, beating me to the question, her hands sliding over my back as she nuzzles deeper into me.

"It's up to you," I say.

Her head shakes. "Don't put this on me. I… I need to know what you're thinking."

She's right. She's been so forthcoming tonight, so much more honest, and I'm still making her be the bold one. I need to be straightforward, tell her how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking.

Even if I get slapped for it.

Her head lifts, but just a few inches, her chin against my shoulder, her head against my cheek. I feel her hands dig into me with just a bit more pressure. "Please, talk to me."

I let out my breath and focus on the kitchen cabinets in front of me. "I'm thinking…" I try to think of some way to candy coat it, at least a little. But I come up empty. "God, Liv, I'm thinking I don't want to step away from you. Ever. And I'm thinking I don't know what to do because I never want to lose you again, but fuck, I'm thinking of every single one of your curves my hands want to feel right now."

Her breath is labored, and I'm startled by my own confession. But not half as shocked as when she replies with a whispered, "Me too." She brings her head back to look at me. "I want you too."

There's so much that I want to do and say, but all I can seem to do is drift forward, and my lips land directly onto hers. It's light, soft, and intense. Then, it's out of my chest before I can stop it. "I'm so in love with you, Liv," I hiss as she rests her forehead against mine.

Her already-closed eyes tighten more. "Don't say it," she says. She brings her hands to my neck and holds me in place. "We survive this because we don't say it."

I sigh into her. "Okay."

Her grip on me loosens and my entire body starts to deflate, knowing this is about to end. It feels like a death, but it's the only way to keep our partnership alive.

"You should go," she says. "Before…"

I nod. "Yeah." I step back from her and just stare. A sad smile forms on her lips. "You'll be back at work soon?"

She takes a deep breath. Exhales. "Give me a couple days. But yeah, you're not getting rid of me that easily."

It makes me laugh. "Trust me, nothing about you is easy."

We're careful not to touch as I leave, our goodbyes drawn out with longer looks and half-hearted smiles. Something in my chest aches as I walk out onto the streets of New York. I have no idea how we will move past whatever just happened, but we will. A call will come in and we'll jump into work, focus on the victims, take down the perps. Because that's where it all matters, that's where it all started, that's the singular reason we connected in the first place: justice.

Going further with Olivia would be selfish. It would sabotage what we have. Because maybe this ache is part of what makes us work, part of what drives us to do what we do. Maybe, along with talent, hard work, and passion, the ache is the defining ingredient to what makes us us.

To what makes us Benson and Stabler.