It's a well documented fact that dogs and beautiful women can sense fear. Dogs, using their superior olfactory senses, can detect the changes in hormone levels, the increases in epinephrine that indicate the readiness of the fight or flight response. It has yet to be discovered why beautiful women share this ability, as they do not possess super-human sensory powers, but the fact remains that they do. Although men have yet to find a way to fool a dog's nose, they have fortunately developed an effective means for deceiving beautiful women. The secret is acting like a jerk. Then the beautiful woman in question will be diverted by her need to assert herself. She will be so busy disliking the jerk that she will pass over the scared little boy in the corner.

Being acquainted with this information, I am currently being a jerk. She thinks I'm an arrogant pig, so I play it up. After I confront her captain, I make eye contact with everyone but her. Even so, she's the only thing in the room that's occupying my attention. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, discreetly I hope. She must not notice it, because she'd never blush the way she is if she knew I were watching. I briefly entertain the notion that it's for me. I used to be able to make her turn red by looking at her just the right way in a crowded room; I had so many tricks that turned her on. Now I'm blushing slightly. These musings distract me to the point that I have no idea why we're gathering around the TV or what anyone is saying until her captain says my name.

"...Eckerson, with Benson."

Even though I haven't been paying attention, I know these words can only mean one thing. I can hardly believe the effort it's taking not to smile about her captain partnering us. I look at her, really look at her for the first time since entering her precinct. She's absolutely beautiful. I can't believe we'll be together until this case is over. Maybe Paige will hide in a hole and not do anything so he'll be hard to catch. I'm struck by what a selfish bastard I've become in the past minute, but I'm not overly surprised that I'm putting my feelings for her ahead of my job. I'm pretty sure the reverse was what broke us up. What really confuses me now is how I ever could have put anything in my life before her. I guess that was when I really was a jerk instead of just acting like one.

She can feel me staring and she finally looks up. Ours eyes meet for a second before we both turn away. I'm encouraged that she's acting just as shy as I am. I can see in her eyes that she wants me to think that she doesn't want to work with me, but she seems like she's hiding something deeper. Or maybe she really does despise me. I wish I could still read her well enough to tell exactly what it is. I'm sure she would hate me if I could, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to get back inside her head.

I notice Healey walking out the door and I follow her without knowing why. I wish I'd been paying more attention to what was going on. I think Healey and Stabler were arguing. Whatever. She'll tell me more than I care to know once we get out of earshot. It must have been something that upset her because she's already holding her arms stiff enough to impersonate a mannequin. I glance back over my shoulder for a better view. Still looking down at her desk. I guess the seeing the top of her head is better than not seeing her at all.

Healey starts in as soon as we're in the elevator. "Can you believe the nerve of that Cragen? Splitting us up because he wants to keep his own lousy detectives safe and then claiming he has the authority to do it and giving us assignments like we're the local morons and...," she pauses as the elevator doors open and stays silent until we walk through the front doors. "We're the ones who catch these guys, we should be in charge of the investigation because, well, I know you're not supposed to say stuff like this even when everybody's thinking it, but if it weren't for the SVU this guy wouldn't have gotten out in the first place and I heard that that Benson you're gonna be stuck with again is the one who pushed for the new charges so she's really the one..."

My face burns. "That's too far, Healey. Paige is the bad guy here. We don't need to start jurisdictional wars over this."

"Hey, it's not about jurisdiction, it's about competence, especially since it was her fault last time too, when she got kidnapped."

"That wasn't her fault. What are you talking about?," I question, wishing once again that I had paid more attention upstairs and feeling a little vulnerable. Maybe I wasn't as discreet as I thought watching Olivia upstairs, because Healey has somehow found the chink in my armor without even trying.

"Benson, she got herself taken hostage on your last case with SVU and you didn't want to say anything up there against them because you blame yourself." She pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. "I guess that explains all your support in there. I could have used some help, Andy. You just stood there the whole time. You never said a word."

I wonder if she really does know why I'm so distracted. I try to change the subject, "Liz, these are the shortest sentences I've ever heard you use."

She sighs like a harried baby-sitter, "Andy, I know that you're upset that we have to be here, especially after what happened on the Baxter case, but you don't have to side with SVU to try and make it up to them, especially since you have nothing to apologize for, because you're a good officer and I know you'll do your job and show these local bastards what it takes to be a US Marshal."

I smile and she thinks she's made me feel better with her insight. She'd slug me if she knew what I was really smiling about. I'm suddenly very glad that I never told Healey about my history with Olivia. She has enough fun mocking me about my ill-luck with fellow law-enforcement officers. I've tried to explain to her that I can't deal with civilian girlfriend who doesn't understand the demands and danger associated with being a Marshal, but I guess my failed relationships in the US Attorneys office and flings with FBI agents have proven, at least to my partner, that I'm incapable of a real romantic relationship with anyone. I would hardly want her on my case over an NYPD Detective, especially someone as important to me as Olivia. I like Healey most of the time, even if she can't form a sentence with fewer than eight clauses, but she has a serious bug up her ass about the significance of the US Marshals and our perceived authority. It's actually led me to wonder if she's suggesting that I should stay in the family and date a fellow Marshal; then I laugh because I know it's her awkward way of hitting on me. She spends so much time on the job that she doesn't get out much, and I think she looks at me as her 'office husband.' My smile gets wider as I imagine what a train wreck an actual marriage with Healey would be and she returns my smile, still apparently thinking she's made a difference in my attitude toward working with SVU.

The idea of marriage has immediately swung my train of thought back around to Olivia, so I decide to cut off the conversation before Healey can make any more unwanted remarks about her. I don't want to give her a chance to give me any more advice about dealing with my past problems with SVU either. I pretend that I'm eager to get started on the case, which, of course, I am, if not in the wholly professional manner that my partner expects. "I'm gonna run back up and see what's taking Benson and Stabler so long." Healey waves me off as she leans into the back seat of my government-issued Chevy Suburban to retrieve her files for the case. I'm smiling all the way back up to the squad room.

My cheerful mood breaks when I get back upstairs and I see them talking. She's so comfortable with him. I flash back to three months ago. She told me she needed stability. Stabler. It hits me like a sucker punch – she needs someone more stable, stabler than me. Elliot Stabler to be exact. I'm such an idiot. I interrupt them and tell Stabler that Healey is ready to go. He actually warns her to be careful right in front of me before he leaves, looking like he'd rather shoot me than leave me with her.

Olivia and I are finally left alone together. I've been dreaming about this moment for three months, and I waste it engaging her in the clumsiest small talk ever. She makes it so obvious that she doesn't want to work with me. All I've wanted is to be close to her, but I don't want her to suffer for it. Even so, I astonish myself with my response. "Look, if, uh, you don't think this is going to work out I can talk to your Captain and see if he'll, uh, I know he can't put you with your partner like you want, but he could put me with Stabler and you with Healey." I'm actually volunteering to split us apart. I'm an even bigger idiot than I thought.

She must see that it's making me hate myself because she feeds me a line about being worked up about the case and not being angry at me. Or she knows that the offer is too little too late because Stabler has just left. Going back to business seems like the best solution, so I suggest that we head for Marcia Baron's apartment in the Village. She doesn't speak to me once on the way down to my car.

I want desperately to start a conversation. I'm tempted to ask her why she isn't saying anything about the Baxter case. Or the flowers. Or the dinner invitation. The temptation is thoroughly quashed when I remember she has someone else and isn't interested in me. I decide to believe she never received the roses. She was never the type of person to omit a 'thank you' where appropriate. The silence becomes unbearable as we walk out of the precinct and I decide to say what I should have said before when she tried to blame herself for Paige's escape.

"I should say something about how it's not your fault that Paige escaped, but I know you, and I know you won't accept a statement like that. I also know that you aren't going to feel any better about this whole thing until we find him and put him back where he belongs. I just want to tell you that I know it isn't your fault, even if you don't."

She stops on the sidewalk, turning to look at me. I can't tell if she's angry or...no, she's definitely angry. "How could you possibly know how I feel right now?"

I decide to back down. "Sorry. I guess I can't. I just...forget it." Being aggressive right now won't let her know that I care about how she feels, only that I'm trying to control her emotions. That doesn't make it hurt less to give up on getting her back so early in the day.

I go back to being a jerk, since that seemed to work for the first five minutes this morning. I brush past her, unsuccessfully hiding my annoyance with myself as I head toward my black Suburban. I don't think she's following me, so I'm taken aback when I feel someone suddenly grab my arm as I step off the curb. Even though I can't see who it is, I know it's her because the contact sends an irrepressible shiver through my entire body. She must not notice the effect she's having on me; she holds on to my arm as she gently turns me around to face her.

"Andy, I'm sorry. I'm stressed over the case. You're trying to make me feel better and I'm snapping at you. You deserve better."

This time I really believe that she's upset over the case and not at me. She would never apologize if I were the one responsible for her mood. She's staring into my eyes to see if I'll accept her apology. I'd walk through fire to get her to look at me like this, so a simple pardon is nothing. "Olivia, you don't need to apologize. As for what I deserve, well, I think you have a right to be as angry at me as you want to be." I gaze at her with my best puppy-dog eyes.

She smiles. Her hand is still on my arm and I feel as if I'll melt if she doesn't let go soon. Melting sounds like it could be fun. I'm so focused on the warm spot on my forearm where she's touching me that I almost miss her catty response, "I thought I was the one deserving of pity here, Mr. Sensitive."

I take her teasing as a positive sign. I smile back and take a step closer to her. I can tell my extreme proximity is making her nervous, but she doesn't step back. Her hand is still on my arm. I've never wanted to kiss her more than I do right now. I'm about to lean in and do just that when a car horn sounds directly in back of me.

Stabler. He's staring daggers at us. Well, at me anyway. Healey is sitting in the passenger seat, waving. She would think that Stabler was just saying goodbye. We wave back as they drive away.

The moment is gone and she's blushing, embarrassed that she let me get so close. A second ago she wasn't pulling away; she might actually have been willing to kiss me, or, at the very least, willing to let me kiss her. It was almost as if she'd momentarily forgotten that we don't do things like that anymore, that we haven't for years. Hell, we hadn't even spoken after we broke up until a few months ago. Now she's distant again, Stabler's presence influencing her to push back from me. I hate him. He gets to spend every single day with her but he's begrudging me even ten minutes. She turns back to me and even through the intensity of my hatred for him, I'm again struck by how beautiful she is. I'd stare at her all day, but she doesn't give me the opportunity.

"We should get going."

I open the door for her to get into the truck, "After you." Her dark eyes sparkle as she gets in, giving me a small smile to let me know that she's over her moment of discomfort after our near-kiss. I'm willing to sacrifice that kiss if I can keep her smiling like this for the rest of the day. Anyway, she probably would have followed up the kiss with a slap across the face or, more likely, a right hook.