A/N: Minimal smut. Have to save something for the final chapter. grin
Elliot woke to the sensation of a warm body pressed against his side and hair tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he smiled at the sight of Mikka curled up next to him, her long dark hair spread over both of their pillows. It wasn't often that he had overnight guests at his apartment; if he spent the night with a woman, he generally preferred to do it at her place. After their evening of fun at the shooting range, Mikka had insisted on seeing where he lived, and as with everything else, she could be very persuasive.
He brushed her hair off his face, and gently eased out of bed. Mikka sighed in her sleep and rolled over, burying her head in his pillow. He stood looking down at her for a moment. She was a beautiful woman and he had to admit, he liked the sight of her in his bed. It had been awhile since anyone had filled that spot. As he grew older, he found it harder to maintain the energy for long-term relationships, preferring to date here and there when he felt the need for companionship. It had never been a deliberate decision on his part to not marry or settle down; he had just never met anyone he cared enough about who could put up with his job and all of the baggage that came with it. Now, here was someone who understood the demands and wasn't intimidated by any of it, an intelligent and vibrant woman who made him feel more alive than he had in years. Unfortunately, she was almost twenty years younger and lived 700 miles away.
Shaking his head ruefully, he bent down to pick his boxer briefs off the floor and pulled them on before heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. This was going to be Mikka's last day in New York and he wanted to make it memorable. Tomorrow she'd be turning in her credentials and flying back to Chicago.
He had just finished setting up a tray with place settings for two when she came into the kitchen area dressed in nothing but the t-shirt he'd discarded the night before. This small intimacy caused a sudden flip in his stomach. Get a grip, Stabler; you're acting like a moon-struck teenager!
"Is that bacon I smell?" she asked, giving him a hug and a lingering kiss. Her breath smelled like the mouthwash from his bathroom and he smiled at the thought of her using his things. "I haven't had bacon in ages." She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. "You're just full of surprises, Stabler. Good in bed and in the kitchen."
He laughed in spite of himself. "Only good?" he asked, sliding his hands down to her ass to pull her close as he returned her kiss. She wore nothing under the t-shirt and when he hands encountered bare skin, it sent a stab of heat through his groin. "Didn't your mother teach you to get dressed before you came to the table?" He reached over with one hand to turn the gas off under the pan of bacon, and then returned his attention to stroking the smooth skin of her behind. She nestled in close to him with a soft laugh, one hand splayed against his bare chest, the other sliding down to stroke his rapidly hardening cock.
"I didn't know there was a dress code, Stabler."
"There is." He informed her with a deadpan expression before reaching for the hem of the shirt to raise it over her head. "It's all or nothing in this kitchen."
It was another hour before they got back to the kitchen for breakfast. Elliot let the bacon finish cooking while he scrambled eggs and made French toast. Mikka sat at the small table, sipping coffee and watching. Her long hair was darker than ever, wet from the shower they'd just taken together. Elliot wasn't sure if he'd ever look at his bathroom in the same way again.
"I wouldn't have expected you to be so…domestic," she told him, looking around the kitchen. His apartment was in a converted warehouse on the Lower East side. It consisted of an open living space with a kitchen at one end. The bedroom and a small bathroom were located just off the kitchen. The most remarkable feature of the apartment was an atrium that ran the length of the living room area with curved glass panes that stretched from ceiling to floor. It was obvious that was where Elliot spent most of his time. All of the furniture was in the atrium except for a large screen television and comfortable couch that sat opposite the kitchen area. Waist high bookcases separated the living space from the atrium, where there was a battered oak table and chairs, two overstuffed chairs on either side of a round low table covered with newspapers and books. The comfortable chairs were strategically placed so that they had a perfect view of the television screen. Mikka could easily imagine Elliot lounging in one of the chairs, his feet propped on the table, drinking beer and watching a game.
The décor was neat and simple and definitely an all male zone. No curtains or frills or wall hangings other than a few framed black and white photographs in the entry way.
Elliot piled the food on plates and picked up the tray to carry it all to the oak table in the atrium. Mikka trailed behind him with her coffee cup, lightly touching the surfaces of the furniture with the tips of the fingers of her free hand as she passed by.
"How long have you lived here?" She asked, sitting down at the table. Elliot put a place setting in front of her and took the other for himself. She liked that he took the seat next to her, instead of across the table. Picking up a slice of bacon, she nibbled at it while leaning lightly against his shoulder. She loved his solid presence. It didn't escape her notice that he returned the pressure.
"Almost ten years." He picked up his fork and attacked his own food, suddenly ravenous. "It's a bit of a commute to the precinct, but I like it."
"It's a great space," she told him, smiling. "It's very…you."
He laughed as he speared a piece of bacon. "Is that a tactful way of saying old and rundown?"
She bumped his shoulder with her own. "Don't' put words in my mouth, Stabler. That's not what I meant at all."
"I know," he said softly, leaning over to kiss her. "I'm not very good at taking compliments. Even about my apartment."
They took their time over the meal, eating , talking and browsing through the Sunday paper that Elliot had retrieved from his doorstep. He tried not to think about how much he was enjoying her company; Mikka would be gone in another day.
"What would you like to do on your last day in the city?" He asked as they finally got up from the table and began carrying dishes back to the kitchen.
"You don't have to entertain me, Stabler. I'll just go back to the hotel and pack."
He piled the dishes in the sink for later and reached out to pull her close. "I asked you a question—what do you want to do today? What haven't you seen?"
She leaned back against the cradle of his arms, watching his face closely to measure his reaction. "Well, if you really insist….I've never been to the Statue of Liberty."
He started to laugh and then realized she was totally serious. "Okay then. The Statue of Liberty it is."