A.N. So here it is, the next chapter. It's short, but I wanted to get something out. And I listened...sounds like you guys want Alex to be left alone. Works for me. E/O is my passion, and don't worry, this will be E/O! Thanks for the reviews. I really appreciate them. It helps motivate me at 4 AM when I've been up for 22 hours and am trying to get out the next chapter. So keep 'em coming! (Oh, and I'm working on acquiring the capital to buy them, but until then...they belong to DW)

Alone and Alive at the Deer Head

A Story by Elisabeth Carmichael

- - -

At some point, the soft buzz of night became the scurrying of early morning as the sun, still hidden, began to turn the sky a serene shade of soft lavender rose. Olivia groaned, realizing she had failed to get one minute of sleep all night. Looking over at the clock's red numerals, she decided it would be pointless now to try and go to bed. Six in the morning. Only two more hours before the doctor's office would be open. She picked herself off the couch, rubbing her hand over her hair so it stood up even more erratically, before walking off to get ready for what she was sure would be another very long, and potentially life shattering, day.

Six-thirty in the morning. The sun began to peak above the curve of the Earth, catching the gleaming facets of the skyline, reflecting penetrating rays onto her hardwood floors. One and a half hours to go. She started the coffee pot.

Seven in the morning. The sun cast a soft yellow tint to the hazy sky, filling her apartment with a warm glow that almost seemed suffocating with her closed windows. One hour to go. She poured the forgotten pot of freshly brewed coffee down the drain.

Seven-thirty in the morning. The sun was now strong enough to make the floor by the windows warm underfoot, almost painful. A half hour to go. She rubbed the wax onto her hands before working it through her hair in pieces, a semblance of normalcy.

Seven-forty-five in the morning. The sun was now the only light source in her apartment as she sat quietly on her couch. Fifteen minutes to go. She jumped as her cell phone started ringing.

"Benson."

Her face dropped as she ran a laboured hand through her hair and let out a heavy sigh.

"Alright, be there in 10."

Anybody's guess how many minutes to go. A victim was waiting at Mercy. Whatever urgent news her doctor had called her about three times the day before would just have to wait until she was done with this victim. Damn.

- - -

"What'da we got?" she jammed her fists deeper into her jacket pockets as she approached Elliot.

He gave her a slightly longer than appropriate glance before returning to his memo pad, "Thirty-eight year old female, attacked and raped outside her studio in TriBeCa, rape kit turned up some hairs and semen so if we get a suspect…"

"How is she?"

"Pretty beaten up. Probably better if you talk to her. Name's Clarisse Arnout." He pursed his lips together, sliding his memo pad into his jacket pocket. "You okay? You look like hell." His eyes twinkled as he said this, concerned but not harsh.

"Didn't sleep," she shook her head, "I'm fine. Go on finish with the unis who found her."

- - -

By the time she had a free moment to even remember she was supposed to call her doctor back, it was past closing time. Damn. Sometimes the world just conspired against her. This morning's case had them driving all over the five boroughs, each and every one of them. Evidently this victim was the fifth in a string of rapes, one in each borough, all similarly horrific, all targeting single, successful artists.

Across the desks, Elliot seemed lost in another world with a slightly dishy grin plastered on his face. Internally, she groaned, he had been particularly attractive today, or her body had been particularly attracted to him. He had placed a hand on her shoulders, entirely platonic, and entirely too fast, but God how it unnerved her. If she had any doubts that they did in fact sleep together on a night that now seemed so very long ago, they were gone with that touch. Her body knew, and it was hungry for more.

But damn did these thoughts terrify her. That she could be dying, maybe her blood tests turned up leukemia or something, and yet all her mind could think about was his body meeting hers in the most intimate of ways, making up for their compromised memories of their first time by carefully learning every ripple of the other's body. Damn, she had it bad if he could obliterate the anxiety created by her doctor's calls.

"Liv?" he wore a bemused look, dangerously seductive in the most unintentional way.

Slowly she came up from her reverie, recognizing the change in her heartbeat that accompanied his affectionate use of her nickname. "Hmm?" It came out rather dreamy, her mind still slightly foggy from her daydreams.

"Lizzie's doctor said it might be a good idea if you came to dinner sometime…you know so things are okay with you two."

He said this cautiously, knowing there was no good way to phrase it, no way to not remind Olivia it had been under her watch that Lizzie had attempted…that the disease had manifested itself as a suicide attempt.

Her mind seemed still elsewhere as she calmly replied. "Yeah, yeah sounds like a good idea. When?"

Elliot stared at her blankly, entirely shocked that World War III did not erupt. "Uh, tomorrow night?" he studied her for signs of a change. "I'll have to double check with everyone, but…"

"Alright," she sounded almost serene and certainly not at all like her normal self.

Elliot looked at her with a raised eyebrow and questioning eyes, hoping to glean some understanding as to why her personality seemed so off kilter. And then it hit him.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, making the sign of the cross with his eyes and then silently, "three calls in one day…God please don't be a brain tumor, please I can't lose her."

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