Part Two

Three months later, the incident was more or less forgotten. Olivia, well, if Olivia had ever remembered it, she never mentioned it. As for Elliot, besides a desperate lingering desire to see her in that dress again, he figured his mistake wasn't bad enough to merit the guilt trip he'd initially intended to take. In fact, it had been a total accident and, considering that Olivia wasn't angry about it, he didn't see any reason to dredge it up.

They were working on a new case, a string of rapes and murders spanning half the city, and the exhaustion of the chase was beginning to catch up with them. On their way in to see the latest crime scene, Elliot watched his partner yawn. He wished he could send her home to get some sleep, but he knew she wouldn't dare rest while a vicious perp was out there on the loose. He fell in step beside her in the stairway, realizing as he yawned in response that he probably needed sleep just as badly. It wasn't like he'd been relaxing and leaving the work to her.

He ducked under the crime scene tape, lifting it for Olivia, and nodded at the pair of Queens detectives who'd arrived first. The taller of the two looked at him oddly for a moment and then he seemed to recognize Elliot, though Elliot didn't have any recollection of meeting the other man. Rather than explaining himself or even politely returning Elliot's nod, the guy glanced at Olivia with a smirk before turning to his partner.

"Oh, look, the frigid division of the panty police is here."

Elliot narrowed his eyes, waiting for Olivia to verbally castrate the asshole. She usually set pricks like him straight with a few choice words and Elliot relished the rare opportunity to watch her lose her temper.

But Olivia ignored the bait, catching Elliot's eye and nodding toward the hall as though the two snickering jackasses were silent and invisible. "Body's this way."

Elliot looked back at the morons who were standing before him with their heads together giggling like a couple of school girls. It wasn't just a slam against what he did; it had been an insult of his partner as well.

His unhappy face caught the attention of the dipshit who'd spoken, perhaps as the other man noticed he was seriously outweighed should a fight erupt. Ever pleased with his innate ability to intimidate, Elliot snarled. "That's the best you got?"

The detective's face sobered even more, his eyes darting around as if someone might be willing to help. Finally, the man swallowed hard and decided to stare at his shoes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Fuck off."

He waited a while, until they were in the car heading back to the precinct before he brought it up, knowing if he were lucky enough for her to talk to him, it definitely wouldn't be in the vicinity of those two. "You ok?"

She shrugged, continuing to stare out the windshield so intently he knew she wasn't seeing anything at all. Her shrug told him more than she knew, though. Her utter lack of a denial worrying him. Her standard response to an inquiry like that from anyone was "I'm fine." It was telling that she wasn't even going to bother. But he erred on the side of caution, letting her have space in case it wasn't really anything important. If something was really wrong, something he needed to know about, there's be plenty more indication than Olivia opting against a sparring match with some chauvinist.

Her quiet, distracted mood lasted, however, and by the end of the day, Elliot realized she hadn't spoken a single word since the encounter. When he stood up to leave for the day, he made the offer, though he'd already steeled himself for her to refuse.

"Want a ride home?"

She looked up at him, her instinctual response starting to escape her lips. "No, I'm going-" She stopped abruptly, standing up and coming around her desk. "Actually, yeah, thanks."

He wasn't able to keep the smile off his face at her unexpected acceptance. It wasn't often she let him help her, so even if it was only a ride home, he felt proud that he'd stumbled onto something useful.

The ride was awkward. The juxtaposition of the silence in the car and the noise of Manhattan made Elliot wonder if he'd made another mistake. Olivia wouldn't talk about what was bothering her on a good day. A melancholy Olivia definitely wasn't going to share. Resigned to suffering through the drive, Elliot nearly jumped out of his skin when she spoke.

"Let's get a drink." Her words had been as unplanned as his invitation had been; he could see it in the way her eyes widened slightly when she turned to look at him. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her uncertainty showing.

He couldn't imagine a worse idea than sharing a drink with someone who already appeared to want to be somewhere else, but he couldn't remember the last time she'd suggested that they have a drink together. He couldn't swear she'd ever suggested it.

"Anywhere in particular?" He thought of that crowded bar he'd driven her home from and prayed like hell it wasn't her favorite spot.

"Anywhere's fine." She turned back to the window, leaving the decision to him, trusting that he'd make a good choice, but a moment later, she glanced back at him. "Unless you have plans. It's ok if you don't want to-"

He felt bad for her, for the way he could see she was rethinking the offer the very same way he had just felt about giving her a ride. He reached out without thinking, laying his hand on top of hers, squeezing gently. "No, no, it sounds good actually."

And though the idea of having a drink hadn't initially appealed to him, at the sight of her soft smile, he knew there wasn't a damn thing he'd rather do.

A half hour later found them seated in a small booth nestled in the back of a dimly lit bar. The benches, the table, the patrons, even the bartender, they'd all had better, younger days. There was a dilapidated jukebox playing ancient country melodies into the thick air, scented with decades of cigarettes and sorrow. The pattern on the stained carpet was so worn away Elliot couldn't tell for certain that it wasn't simply old spills and dirt that had never been cleaned up. He could imagine the sneer a person would get if they attempted to order a cosmopolitan or an apple martini or whatever drink the yuppies were imbibing these days. It was exactly the opposite of that other bar; it was the sort of place that felt more like home than his own apartment.

Oddly enough, Olivia seemed every bit as much at home in the dive in work clothes and a beat up leather jacket as she had among the crowd of schmoozers in her fancy dress. But really, it wasn't that surprising. Elliot had never seen Olivia look out of place anywhere. She was a chameleon, able to blend into any environment. Her beauty always earned her stares, but she always looked like she belonged somehow. It was yet another effortless talent of hers for him to admire.

He waited until she'd taken a few sips of her beer before he tried again. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

She shrugged again, which for her was that same thing as a regular person shouting "I need help" into a megaphone. She wanted to tell him. She wasn't warning him off. Same thing.

"Who was he?" He had to make an educated guess, suspecting that timing of her bad mood coincided a little too perfectly with the guys from the crime scene.

Her head shifted sharply, her chin jutting out to the side. "Just some jerk."

Despite her denial, he knew he was right. "Seemed kind of personal to me."

She looked back at him, holding his eyes, resolve radiating from her. Whatever she said, he knew, would dictate the rest of the evening. She'd decided if she was going to talk or not. To his surprise, Olivia's face softened, her eyes revealing deep hurt and pain he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Remember Joe?"

He swallowed hard, pretending he had to search for the information. He didn't have to think. He knew the names of her boyfriends, of any man that made it past the first date actually. The names, their addresses, whether they had any outstanding parking tickets… He wasn't proud of it, but he figured someone had to know. She had no real family to speak of, only Simon, who wouldn't know if she disappeared. Elliot was the only one looking out for her.

After a reasonable pause, he nodded slowly, hoping that Olivia's upset would prevent her from recognizing the lie. "Couple months back, you were together a while, weren't you?"

Seven weeks. From the first mention of his name until long enough after the last that Elliot knew there was no more Joe.

He wasn't a stalker. It was just that since his divorce, he really hadn't had much else to do besides pay far too much attention to his partner's personal life. He had so little to do, in fact, that he was pretty damn sure the last mention of Joe's name had been right around the night he'd discovered that Olivia Benson in a certain red dress could do very bad things to his self-control.

Picking at the label of her beer bottle, she looked down. A sad smile formed on her lips. "That jerk was Joe."

"So things didn't end well?"

Rolling her eyes, she took a swing of her drink. "No."

Well that certainly gave him something to think about. She hadn't responded with a flippant remark. And seven weeks was plenty long enough that Joe's "frigid" would have struck a nerve. He slid to the edge of the booth, and nodded at the bar.

"I'll get us another round." They had barely touched the first, but he needed away from her for a minute. He needed to let his hatred show on his face and to ball his hands into fists until he could fight back the urge to punch something. If Olivia saw his visceral reaction, she'd stop talking, she'd try to calm him, she'd turn the tables and attempt to comfort him.

He returned to the table with a bowl of peanuts and two more beers. Olivia hadn't moved a muscle. Hell, she was still staring straight ahead as though he'd never moved. But when he slid the second beer in front of her, she belatedly processed his words.

"What are we doing here?" She motioned at the beer she'd barely touched. "I really don't even want this one."

Mindful of the lunch they'd skipped and the strong suspicion that dinner was a long way off, Elliot grabbed a handful of the peanuts before he stood again. "So let's go."

She stared up at him, obviously not having expected his agreement. "You just bought these. Have yours at least."

"I really don't want them either." He shrugged when her gaze turned questioning, embarrassed that he was going to have to confess. "You were the one who asked for a drink."

"And you're suddenly going to agree with everything I suggest?" She forced a grin as she stood up beside him. "Who are you and what have you done with my partner?"

Slipping his hands in his pockets, he allowed his arm to brush hers as they started to walk. "I want to know what's bothering you, so I'll be as agreeable as I need to be to get you to talk to me."

"It's not something I want to talk about at all, but doing it in public is probably a really bad idea." Her voice was quiet, her honest words revealing that she was nearly as desperate to tell him as he was to know.

She was being too open, too honest, and it scared him. He'd never seen her like this. She'd never given him so much information in such a short time. His imagination began to run wild, suggesting no end of horrible things that she wouldn't want to talk about and yet felt he deserved to know.

He stopped walking, his hand jutting out and grabbing hers, his voice a choked whisper. "Tell me you're ok." His eyes searched hers in the silence, seeking reassurance he couldn't find.

And once again she shrugged in response to him. "I can't."