Here it is people. Only two more after this. I'll say it again. Reviews always help my muse! Whether you love it or hate it, I'd love to know why.

"Whatever you have to say," she tells him. "I'm too tired to listen," she adds, opening her apartment door.

"It won't take long," he offers. "I promise."

She takes one look at him and the determination in his eyes. Olivia always did have trouble saying no to the man. Anger usually gives her the strength, but she isn't all that mad at him anymore.

She enters her apartment and Elliot is right behind her. He lets her get two feet into the room before tossing his coat aside and turning her to him. He cages her between himself and the door of her coat closet, placing his hands at her shoulder level.

"What the hell Elliot," she says, but loses steam when he leans in closer to her. His scent, his presence has always had the power to do her in. She used to be better at ignoring it but that was before they'd slept together.

She imagines she can feel the heat of his body through their clothing. Her heart has suddenly picked up pace at his proximity and she struggles to appear unaffected.

"It's been two weeks and I miss you," he rasps, inches from her face. "And I know you're short on forgiveness," he continues. "But please tell me what I can do?"

"There's nothing you-

Elliot interrupts her by capturing her lips in a lingering kiss. She can taste the alcohol he's been drinking and he can no doubt taste hers as well. But neither is so affected that they don't know what's going on.

Her usual iron will is rapidly deteriorating.

"There has to be something," he says, whispering in her ear before trailing warm, moist open mouthed kisses down her neck, her arms hanging limply at her sides. "I can't lose you again."

"There's nothing," she tries, but a moan escapes when he bites her skin and soothes it with his tongue.

"Shit," she says, unable to come up with anything else. Memories of their first and last time in bed together flood her mind.

Olivia drops her keys and purse, placing tentative hands on his waist trying to resist touching him more intimately. Elliot peels the coat down her arms, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of her belongings. He un-tucks her blouse, placing his warm hands on her waiting skin.

"I'm a thoughtless asshole," he says, as his hands roam the contours of her lower back while capturing her lips again.

If anyone ever wanted to torture her for information and could turn Elliot to a life of crime, they could send him in and she'd spill every damned secret she knows.

"Tell me there's something I can do," he begs against her cheek, hands now seeking out the front of her blouse.

"There's," she begins again, before she feels his thumb swiping over a nipple through the material of her bra causing her to gasp. Her resolve is officially gone.

One of Elliot's thighs have found it's way in between hers and as he manipulates her breasts she finds herself grinding against it. She can't believe how turned on she is from the caveman tactics he's employed while trying to apologize…again.

"Baby please," he says, biting and sucking on her earlobe. "Tell me you still want me," he whispers. He pulls her left thigh up over his right hip, pressing her further against the door. Olivia can literally feel his yearning for her as well and he bucks against her for emphasis.

The desperation in his body and words is palpable. He's never called her "baby". And while she doesn't usually enjoy such terms of endearment, Olivia finds she likes it just as much as he did when she said it.

So, between the alcohol and the sheer fact that she's turned on beyond all reason, she says the one word to him that she may regret later.

"Yes," she breathes against his neck.

Elliot wastes no time pulling her other thigh up until she's no longer standing. Olivia wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her into the bedroom, navigating the apartment expertly in the near darkness.

Her last coherent thought is that she'd made it fifteen damned days without him. She only had six more to go. Twenty-one days to break a habit her ass. It's going to take a lot longer than that.

Acting on their desire for each other has been like letting a wild animal out of it's cage after they'd spent twelve years poking at it with a stick. It's angry and it isn't going to be easily confined again, if at all.

She kicks her boots and socks off along the way, ravaging the skin of Elliot's neck with her tongue and teeth as they make it to her bedroom. He unclips her shield and weapon, laying them on her nightstand.

As soon as he deposits her on the bed, Olivia takes off her blouse, unclasps her bra and throws them both to the floor. Elliot does the same with his shirt, shoes and jeans making quick work of it all. His eyes have darkened to a storm laden blue as he descends upon her again removing her belt and unzipping her pants.

Olivia is on the edge of the bed when he works her blue cotton panties down her legs. She's too turned on to be embarrassed about the fact that they don't match her bra because she threw both them on so hastily this morning. And Elliot for damned sure doesn't seem to mind.

As he kneels on the floor he pulls her towards him. He's kissing his way from the inside of her ankles to her inner thighs. Elliot parts her legs putting one over each of his shoulders. When he takes one swipe at her center with his tongue, she feels like she's going to spontaneously combust.

Olivia feels the sweat on her fingertips as she fists her Egyptian cotton bed sheets, simultaneously cussing and calling out the names of various deities as he works her over. She can't remember what the hell he did wrong but she'll say she forgives him just as soon as she regains the ability to speak clearly.

The orgasm that spreads through her minutes later is so strong that it hits her in waves that pulse from her core to her fingertips. When she finally comes back to herself, she notices a single tear has slipped out the corner of her left eye. She doesn't remember that ever happening. Damn.

Olivia scoots back far enough so that her feet no longer dangle over the side of the bed. He grabs a condom from her nightstand drawer, remembering where she keeps them from their first encounter.

Elliot trails his mouth from her navel, relishing in her breasts, continuing to her clavicle before tasting her earlobe again.

"I'm going to kiss every square inch of your skin if it takes all night," he whispers and it nearly sounds like a threat. She trembles just slightly from the thought. As he kneels between her legs, she sits up long enough to push the black briefs he wears down his thighs. Elliot removes them completely, smiling predatorily as he lays her down again.

He enters her smoothly and draws out slowly before plunging in again. The way they're positioned on the bed leaves the edge of her mattress available for him to use as leverage. It's a languid, tormenting pace Elliot's keeping and as much as she loves it she knows neither of them will last.

"Faster El," she tells him, meeting his thrusts with her own.

Minutes later when he quickens the pace she feels like a row boat on a storm ravaged sea. All she can do is hold on. The heat Elliot is creating between them as he pistons his hips is leaving her nearly feverish. She can barely find purchase on his slick, sweat coated back as he moves with her. And the way he's holding her eyes at the same time is making a connection with him she'll not soon want to break.

They are violating the laws of physics by occupying the same space at the same time. He is claiming her, taking up residence inside her like the world is ending or he'll never see her again. It is feral, primal and animalistic and while she's had great sex before, this thing with Elliot is like an ascension. One she doesn't want to come down from.

There have been times in her sexual history where Olivia has faked an orgasm or didn't bother because the man she was with had found his so quickly. She's never had one simultaneously with any of her lovers. Ever.

Until now.

When they come back to themselves neither of them knows what to say. Elliot is resting his forehead against her shoulder, still on top of her trying to slow his breathing. Olivia is rubbing a soothing hand up and down his spine, speechless.

"Have you ever," he begins breathlessly, rolling away to lie on his back beside her.

"No," she responds, without needing to hear the rest. "Have you?"

"Never," he tells her, without hesitation.

The light of a big, beautiful silvery full moon finds them facing one another again. She palms his cheek, rubbing her thumb against several days' growth. Elliot sweeps the sweat drenched hair from her face.

"So beautiful," he manages, before placing his lips shortly against hers.

They eye one another with heavy lids knowing they're both spent and headed for unconsciousness. She feels him kiss her forehead before she drifts off.

The next morning she is awakened not by the daylight that's crept through her curtains, but by one of her favorite aromas in the world.

Brewing coffee.

Yet she doesn't remember setting the timer. Shit.

Elliot's in there.

Olivia takes a moment to take in her surroundings. She's naked, her clothes and his shirt and shoes are still on the floor. She knows there were four condoms left. A quick inventory of her nightstand drawer reveals…one.

What the hell?

She closes her eyes to think and then it all comes back to her. He woke Olivia up again maybe an hour after they had fallen asleep by making good on kissing every square inch of her body (God help her). And she's the one that initiated the third expenditure climbing on top of Elliot in the wee hours of the morning.

Olivia sits up running her fingers through her hair before cradling her face. She's never drinking again. Not unless he's safely in another state.

She knows she wasn't too drunk to consent, but the booze definitely lowered her inhibitions and lessened the desire to just kick him out. If she's honest with herself though, whether drunk or sober she didn't want to.

Shit, shit, shit. Work.

Cragen said he wanted them there bright and early. She has about forty-five minutes to make that happen.

She jumps out of bed, takes a shower ignoring the bruises on her hips where he held on to her and the ache in various other places. She puts on the barest of makeup and thanks God she got some clothes from the cleaners yesterday.

Olivia nearly collides with a shirtless, shoeless Elliot as she scoops up her coat, purse and keys from the floor.

"I'm sorry," she says. "But I'm running really late," she tells him.

"We'll talk later," he says, letting her off the hook. "Go," he adds handing her a travel mug of the coffee she smelled.

"Thanks," she manages, giving him an apologetic look before placing her hand on the doorknob. Before she's able to get it open, his mouth is on hers again as he places a gentle palm against her cheek while kissing her tenderly.

It bombards Olivia with memories of last night's escapades and she finds herself deepening the kiss beyond his intention, dropping her purse and keys again. As she wraps her arms around Elliot, she's beginning to think she's becoming an addict. Her need to keep touching him is nearly insatiable.

"I have to go," she says, after finally breaking the kiss.

He bends to pick her keys up placing them in her hand before putting her purse on her shoulder.

"Go," Elliot repeats, smiling. And this time he lets her.

It's going to be a long day.

She rushes into the bullpen trying to slip amongst the pow-wow unnoticed. They're all sitting or standing around the conference table in front of the white board.

"When we checked out the suspect list and talked to the Brooklyn detectives," begins Amaro. "One guy threw up red flags for them and stuck out as fitting Rollins' profile."

Fin takes a picture and tapes it to the white board with the crime scene photos. He turns and begins explaining who the man is.

"Tyler Branson was a person of interest in the first homicide," Fin elaborates. "He wasn't looked into further because his mom, who he lives with, alibied him."

"And since we're the ones who discovered the pattern," begins Cragen. "He wasn't on the radar for the other two," he continues. "But what makes him so special?"

"In looking deeper into his background we found that he used to be a doctor," reveals Amaro.

Olivia perks right up. It's spot on to Amanda's profile.

"Tell me he knew the first victim," she says, chiming in.

"We're not that lucky," Fin tells her. "But he did know this woman," he adds, taping another picture to the white board. "Alicia Johnson, Nurse Alicia Johnson that is, ratted him out for stealing and selling prescription drugs to supplement his income as a resident."

"He was fired, prosecuted and he went away for three years," Nick tells them. "He lost his medical license and his cell mate says he had it rough."

"That's an understatement," chimes in Fin. "Checked with a buddy of mine at Sing-Sing," he adds. "Records show he was in and out of the infirmary with multiple injuries and had to get stitches a couple times for anal tearing."

Olivia listens intently to the story as the man and the motive are brought together. She walks over to the white board pointing at each dead woman.

"Okay so why not just kill Alicia," she starts. "Why each of these women," she asks standing in front of the group.

"Probably too obvious," says Cragen. "He'd be the first person we'd look at so maybe he's used these women as surrogates."

"He has to have someone to punish for what he endured," Olivia explains. "The first time he saw nurse listed as an occupation on a loan sheet probably triggered his rage."

"He puts them through what he went through in prison," offers Munch.

"I wouldn't be surprised to find bruising from strangulation amongst his many injuries from the prison infirmary logs," Olivia suggests to the group.

"And the trunks represent his being locked up," comments Rollins. "Thrown into a dark hole just like he was."

"But we don't have any physical evidence tying him to the victims," Munch begins. "We don't know where he killed 'em and there's no one that can place him with any of these women before they were last seen."

"Munch, dump the LUDs from M.A.G. and compare them with those from the victim's home and cell lines," Cragen orders. "Maybe he lured them to the dealership under the guise of some last minute or forgotten paperwork."

"Benson, Amaro go talk to Alicia Johnson," continues Cragen. "See if he tried to communicate with her while in prison or since," he tells them. "Fin, take Rollins to the dealership and find out how he managed to land a job selling high-end cars fresh out the cage."

Olivia and Amaro arrive at Mercy General and ask for Alicia. Another nurse points them into the direction of an open area where the medical staff take smoke breaks.

They spot her from her DMV picture, talking and laughing with another nurse.

"Alicia Johnson," begins Amaro, as both detectives show her their badges. The other nurse makes himself scarce.

"Yeah," she says. "How can I help you," says the tall brunette. The first victim is damn near her spitting image.

Their suspect's wheels must've been turning immediately the first time he'd seen her.

"We were wondering if you could tell us about Tyler Branson," asks Nick. "We understand you were the one that reported him to the hospital board."

"Um, yeah," she says. "I hated to do it too because he was actually on his way to becoming a competent doctor," the woman offers. "But he was one of those types that saw dollar signs instead of patients."

"He was only a resident right," asks Nick. "He couldn't have been seeing too many dollar signs."

They follow the nurse off to a corner table with less ears, so they can have some privacy.

"He was always saying how his mom wanted a doctor and he wanted a Porsche so he compromised and got into medicine," she tells them. "Guess he didn't realize how long it would take to be able to afford one," she continues. "He was drowning in debt."

"How do you know that his mom didn't help him out," asks Olivia.

The nurse shakes her head adamantly.

"No way," she tells them, taking a drag from her cigarette. "He worked as many shifts as he could, the man was burning the candle at both ends," she says. "You're not working that hard if someone's helping you out."

"How did you find out he was stealing drugs," Nick asks.

"We have an electronic dispensary system that is closely monitored," she begins. "Especially when it comes to narcotics," she adds. "There were too many inconsistencies on his shifts, with the number of patients he saw and the type of meds they needed or as it turns out didn't need," she advises.

"What drew your attention to him," asks Olivia.

"He stopped working so hard, started dressing better, got a newer car," she offers, taking a final puff. "It wasn't fresh off the showroom floor but I was suspicious."

"Did he threaten you in court or while he was in prison," Olivia asks her.

Alicia shakes her head again and thumps her cigarette butt away.

"Surprisingly no," she tells them. "Gave me some looks that could kill at the trial but didn't actually threaten me or send me any hate mail."

"Do you remember him being short tempered or angry with anyone while he was working here," Nick asks. "I know competition for good rotations can get rough."

The nurse stands up, looks at her watch signaling to them that her break and therefore their interview was coming to an end.

"Nah, but I always thought he was a bit more twisted than the rest of us," she starts. "Don't get me wrong most people in this profession have a morbid sense of humor," she continues. "But Tyler used to say he already had a place picked out."

"Picked out for what," Olivia asks.

"Called it a kill spot," she gives them, before leaving the atrium.

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