Disclaimer: If I owned them, Elliot would never be on screen. He'd be busy acting other things out. Lol. ANYWAY, I don't own them.

Author's Note: I think there's like a chip in my brain which is seriously against updating within FIFTY weeks. I'm so sorry. Life has completely gotten in the way; uni assignments have piled on and work continues to be a pain in the proverbial. But here's Chapter 4!

I noticed from the reviews of last chapter, that I seem to have gathered a following of perves. That's so cool. Welcome my friends. LOL! Anyway, you guys are totally into the smut! They need to work some shit out before they get it on okay? BUT, this chapter may satisfy some of your desires. I STRESS the word SOME (SAM and HANNAH!). If you want smut, if you want anything, you gotta tell me. So PRETTY PRETTY please, leave me a review and let me know what you think. I'm busy at the moment and again, I can leave the story at this for the time being. Convince me otherwise and the clothes might finally come off next chapter. Deal?

Thanks to Sam for providing the setting for this chapter. Apparently, it exists, so hey, you wanna make out with your man (or woman) head there!

To my beautiful, beautiful beta. You are the unequivocal best. Even when you need to time for yourself, you still manage to find time for me and my ramblings. Thank you.

Enjoy. Read and Review please! And of course, enjoy!

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"I thought he was going to kill me."

Elliot laughs, wrapping his palms tighter around the flimsy paper cup. It's filled with probably the worst coffee he's ever had. But the steam coming from the surface is keeping his face warm, so he doesn't really mind. Not when the view in front of him is so breathtaking.

The sun continues to crawl up from the horizon, the rays of light reflecting off the water and onto his skin; and can't remember the last time he actually saw something as beautiful as this. He turns his head into the direction of the early morning breeze and winces as it bites at his cheeks and hands. He pulls the cup tighter, the heat from the coffee helping immensely.

It was his idea for breakfast, and Olivia had been partially right about nobody being open at the early hour. But they had been lucky, and found a vendor setting up for the day outside Central Park. They had waited patiently while the overweight and incredibly hairy man filled their cups; then clumsily wrapped their pastries in brown wax paper which looked as if it hadn't been used in years.

Turning from the vendor, Elliot realised the last thing he really wanted to do was go back indoors. Not when his lungs were breathing in so much easier than they had in a long time. He suggested they take their breakfast to a bench somewhere more private.

He watched as Olivia pulled her bottom lip into her mouth as she thought. Taking his free hand, she led him away without a word as the vendor began to look her up and down with an appreciative and seedy smile.

With a warning look back, he found himself being dragged through the North Gate of the park, Olivia silent as the moist earth sunk under their sneakers. He frowned slightly at the intricate path they were following; in all his years in New York and with all the crimes scenes he had visited within the park's perimeter, he had never been to the place Olivia had led him to.

From less than twenty feet away, he'd heard the distinct sound of running water; the noises of the city completely drowning out the further they moved within the park. Rounding a turn in the path, a bridge replaced pavement; below which, was the source of the sound he'd heard further back.

Holding hands tightly, they had helped each other traverse the uneven ground leading down to the water's edge. Before the entrance to the tunnel, Olivia had bent quickly to deposit their breakfast on a protruding rock; taking in a deep breath, she dropped to sit cross-legged on the cold surface, her face bright as she patted the spot next to her.

Now, there was nothing but the sound of birds and trickling water around them; a puff of air escapes his lips as thoughts about inner peace and finding his centre momentarily cross his mind.

Since when did he become so bloody introspective? Maybe Olivia's brief stint as a pseudo hippie was already rubbing off on him.

Realising Olivia is watching him curiously; he covers for his silence by taking another sip of his coffee, buying himself a few more seconds to remember what they were talking about. He has a feeling he might have to get used to this; Olivia is becoming more and more of a distraction.

A welcome distraction, of course.

"Cragen loves you, Liv," he grimaces at the bitter aftertaste. "Me on the other hand...he was probably thinking of the most effective way to kick my ass."

Olivia shakes her head, her smile growing, but she doesn't disagree. She shifts against him as she draws her knees up so she can rest her elbows on them; her tea balancing precariously in her fingertips; but her attention has been drawn back to the area surrounding them.

"I miss this place." Her voice is soft, barely audible above the rustling of the trees.

He turns to look at her, surprised at the abrupt change in subject. He hasn't asked why she brought him here, why she's been so quiet since they've sat down. But if he knows anything about her, it's that she'll speak to him on her own terms; when she's ready. So instead of avoiding the subject like they've been adept at doing for so long; he simply nods, showing her he's listening; to continue.

To tell her something about herself, something he doesn't know.

"Do you remember the Eldridge case?"

Her question surprises him, and he levels her with a curious gaze. She's looking out at the water, her fingers picking at the cheap plastic cover of her cup. She wants him to know.

"Denise Eldridge," he answers slowly. "The alcoholic."

Olivia's smile disappears; replaced now with a wry smirk. Her head drops forward, and her fingers pick up speed. She's apprehensive, and he knows he's just as nervous; because they don't do this.

Benson and Stabler talk shop; their personal lives kept personal. It was their way of keeping perspective; of staying grounded. They allowed the other the space to figure out personal issues because it worked for their partnership.

But next to him, pressed so tightly to his side, isn't Detective Benson. Not right now anyway.

It's Olivia.

And if whatever lying between them is to work; he's going to have to reach out. He starts by taking her cup of tea from her hand, placing it next to his own on his right. He slides his hand to hook over her leg, his forehead resting against her temple.

He kisses the side of her head. "Tell me something I don't know about you, Liv."

Her hand comes up to cup his jaw and she presses her lips against his quickly, her thumb swiping at his chilled cheek. "This is where I come when I want to get away."

"From what?" He shifts her bangs to the side.

"Everything," she shrugs. "Nothing."

He nods, because he knows what it's like to want to get away from it all. He's never really had the luxury; he always had people relying on him to put on a brave face when he was hurting most. But when it did get too much, he also had a place he would find himself drawn to.

His old house in Queens had a deep backyard; lush with trees and shrubbery along with an antique mahogany seat his in-laws had bought him and Kathy when Kathleen was born. Hidden from the view of his old bedroom and the kitchen window, he would allow himself the space to alleviate the suffocation of his responsibilities and the job.

And although he never admitted it, he would more than often end up in tears. Despite the obvious tracks on his cheeks and the redness of his eyes, Kathy never questioned him. Which was good, because he never really had an answer; sometimes, he just needed the time alone.

He understands fully then, why Olivia has a place like this.

"The first time I came here was when I was sixteen," she breaks the silence, sitting up straighter. "My mother was drunk, and I came this close," she holds up her thumb and index finger together to indicate the hair's breadth, "to killing my mother. Her head hit the wall so hard, I thought I had."

She lets in a wracked breath, her jaw clenches as she tries to hold back the onset of tears. "She was bleeding and she told me to get out; so I ran. I didn't even see where I was going until I ended up here."

He turns to look at their surroundings again, and can see the appeal. The silence isn't judging, isn't expectant, isn't questioning.

It doesn't make you want to do things you'll regret.

It calms you; allows you a moment of clarity which the outside world deprives you of when things get too hard.

And she was sharing it with him. She was closing the gap they had worked so hard to maintain the past two years of their partnership and the thought alone has him closing his eyes tightly as they fall into silence again.

But for the first time in a long time, it's a welcome one. One full of understanding and potential; both concepts he thought had fallen out of his grasp when Olivia left for Oregon.

But she was giving it back to him.

She was giving him a second chance.

Another shot.

He'd be stupid to let it go again, so he pulls her tighter and his voice rasps out. "I used to sit alone in my backyard in Queens, Liv. I'd sit there and I'd think about how much easier my life would be if I hadn't knocked Kathy up, and I'd cry at how selfish that sounded."

He feels her tears on his nose as it presses into her cheek. "I'd cry for what a shitty father it made me seem like." He kisses her roughly, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. "I'd cry for all the victims we couldn't save on any given day."

He doesn't quite know where this sudden inclination to share all of this has come from, but he knows he won't stop it.

Can't stop it.

She turns her face to meet his lips again, a strangled moan escapes as his hand runs down the side of her body. "When was the last time you came here?"

He breathes the question onto her lips and he's not sure he wants to know the answer. He fears the last time she was forced to get away, was because of him; but as her tongue seeks his out, he knows it's no longer matters.

As long as he's the reason she keeps coming back.

She pulls back, her lips swollen; eyes unwavering. "After I told Cragen I needed a new partner, I came here because I thought I'd find something telling me I'd made the right decision."

His eyes drop quickly to her lips and back up. "And did you?"

She cocks her head, her bangs brushing tips of her eyelashes again. "You're my partner Elliot, but we did need the space. At the time, it may have seemed rash; but in hindsight, it was for the better."

He knows she's right, but he doesn't have to like it. But rather than arguing, he thinks kissing Olivia is a much better form of communication.

They're better at that sort of thing anyway.

Olivia seems to notice a shift in his mood because her eyes have dropped to his mouth and stayed there, her own open slightly as she dispels little puffs of air; still catching her breath. He doesn't give her much of a chance as he ducks his head and captures her lips in a searing kiss; Olivia's hands rising quickly to cup his jaw.

Despite the wind, her lips are soft and pliant as his tongue delves and pushes against her own. He feels the vibration of another moan on the tip of his tongue as his right hand somehow reaches through the layers of clothing to run along the heat of her skin. His fingertips blaze a trail of fire, her stomach muscles contracting as his hand runs across them.

He can't remember a time when he's been overwhelmed by such conflicting sensations. The wind is bitter and unrelenting against his skin, but he's burning up. Olivia's mouth is hot against his; her hand is smouldering on his back as she pulls his shirt from the waistband of his jeans.

It's not tentative and as Olivia bucks up against his hardening length, he realises he shouldn't have expected it to be.

Not when their fights left a tension so thick, it took days to clear.

Not when the electricity between them was so fierce it practically crackled with life.

Not when Detective Unstable Stabler was pressed so closely, so intimately, to Detective Kickass Benson.

The thought alone drives a groan through him so loud it forces his lips from Olivia's. But he's more than happy to make do with the amount of skin on her neck on offer, his hands moving down her body in a hard direct line. Their destination is very apparent, and from the way Olivia shifts her hips, she's on the same wavelength.

"Elliot, someone might come." Despite her protest, she leans her head back further so he can suck on the skin showing above her sweater and jacket.

"Yeah," he breathes onto her skin, hands still working the button of her jeans. "You, hopefully."

Her neck vibrates against his lips as a laugh rumbles through her. "That sort of line work on Dani?"

If she had said that to him twelve hours ago, he might just have walked out of any room they were in. Hell, he'd have probably slammed something in frustration and revelled in the way she would have flinched at the sound. At the way he'd use his body to take up more space than necessary just to intimidate her as much as possible.

But now he plans to use his body in a more productive way; and the sounds coming out of Olivia's mouth tells him she won't offer much by way of complaint.

He can't help the grin which seems to have permanently fixed itself on his face, and he continues his ministrations without pausing; his hands nimbly tugging the zipper of her jeans down despite their numbness.

He pauses however, when he feels Olivia's hand leave his back. He looks up curiously to see her reach behind her, her hand coming up with their now flattened breakfast.

She wrinkles her nose. "Wasn't going to eat it anyway."

He laughs, taking the destroyed pastries from her hands to throw it somewhere behind her. "Where was I?"

His lips descend onto Olivia's, and he feels a breeze on his back as her hands draw the material of his shirt up as far as his jacket will allow. She shifts so her legs are open wide enough to accommodate him, his right hand pulling her left leg as high up onto his hip as the position will allow; trying to get closer.

He wants to get closer.

Her head dips back further, breaking contact with his lips; her heart beating a fast rhythm against his chin as his lips brush against the top of her breasts. "Elliot, Jesus...stop."

He brings his head up and stills his hands. "Liv?"

Her hands pull out from under his jacket to cover her eyes; which are still closed and tilted away from his pressing gaze. He brushes her cheek, turning his hand it so he can pull her own away, repeating it with her other one. But her eyes are still closed.

"Liv?" He rubs her thigh. A smooth circle in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

She lifts her head to look at him, a huge smile on her face. "We are not going to have sex in the middle of Central Park when I can't even feel my ass, Elliot." She runs her hand down his stubbled cheek. "I had to stop you before we got too carried away."

He lets out a strangled groan as his hard-on remains pressed intimately against the heat between her legs; and he tries to even out his breathing. "You're going to kill me woman."

Her palms move to flatten against his chest, not quite pushing him off; but he knows if he wants to save face, he'll need to move anyway. "You okay?"

He grunts, closing his eyes. He tries to picture as many unsavoury things as possible while counting backwards from thirty. He lifts himself up off Olivia, moving to her side; but he keeps his eyes closed. Because if he sees her swollen lips and mussed up hair, he'll need to count back from three hundred. And they need to make a stop at the precinct before heading home.

He doesn't really want to wait longer than necessary.

Olivia remains silent at his side; but he can feel her moving, obviously rearranging her clothes to something more decent.

By the time he gets to Munch and Cragen dancing naked in the precinct, he decides it's now safe to open his eyes. Olivia's fixing him with what he, in the past, would determine to be a sympathetic gaze. But there's a sparkle in her eye which tells him she's not sorry. Not one little bit. And he has to say, neither is he.

If this was just a preview, he can't wait until he gets her alone.

Finally.

She tilts her head to the side, and the sunlight picks up on the blonde hue of her hair. "God, you're beautiful, Liv," he says it so softly; so reverently, he thinks he may not have said it at all.

But the way Olivia's lips curve into a smile; the way she averts her gaze as if she doesn't believe him, tells him that she has. "I'm still not having sex with you here, Elliot."

He shakes his head, tucking the tails of his shirt back into his pants. "No wonder your Feeb found you so irritating."

Olivia's foot pushes out to kick his shin, and he pulls at his leg as if he's in an incredible amount of pain. "You're an idiot."

"You're violent." He rubs his leg, accepting his coffee Olivia holds out in front of him.

She shrugs in indifference at his words, leaning her head back to finish her tea. "I don't want to wait all day to talk to Cragen, El."

"We can go now." He finishes his own beverage, wincing again at the aftertaste. "Tell the squad while we're there."

Olivia nods, running a hand through her hair, shifting her bangs. "And then?"

He feels like he should check in a mirror to see if his face has broken in two from all the smiling he's doing. "We go somewhere more comfortable?" He lifts himself up from the cold rock, his knees cracking as he straightens his legs.

Olivia's eyebrow rises in scepticism. "You sure you can make it, old man?"

He holds out his hand, lifting her to her feet. He uses her forward motion to pull her tightly against him; his hard-on still not completely gone. "You have nothing to worry about." Her eyes are wide as his hand slides over her behind. "That's a promise."

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TBC? Please Read and Review! Thank you!