I'd tell you I own SVU, but then I'd be perjuring myself…

"I'm scared," Delilah admitted, her face in a state of fear.

"Me too, Del, me too," Erin sympathized, wrapping an arm around her comfortingly.

"It's going to be okay guys," Elliot reassured. "I know you're scared right now, but you have to remember I won't let anything happen to you," he promised, putting a hand on both of their shoulders. "You can trust me; everything's going to be just fine. Just stay calm, we'll get through this together."

There was a moment of silence before Delilah spoke up again.

"Elliot," she whispered.

"Yes?" he questioned, his hand still on her shoulder.

"I don't want to die."

There was more silence as the three remained, giving each other support and reassurance.

"Unbelievable," Olivia said, a hand on her hip, her head tilted to the side in shock. "I try to do something nice for you all and how do you repay me? Like this," she put her hand out to the offenders in disgust.

"We're sorry Olivia, this is just very nerve-wracking for us all," Erin stated, looking up at the woman.

"And just what is so nerve-wracking about eating chicken?" she crossed her arms and shrugged her shoulders.

"Um, the fact that you cooked it," Erin said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Olivia gave a small huff. "What horrible thing do you think is going to happen to you if you eat it?" she rolled her eyes.

"Food poisoning."

"Severe abdominal pain."

"Death."

"Oh for God's sake, would you quit the dramatics? Guys, I really tried hard on this," she said honestly. "I don't even remember the last time I make a real, home-cooked, non-microwaved meal."

"Exactly," Delilah said, earning her a glare from Olivia.

"It's true. Never in my twelve years of knowing you have I ever seen you make food that didn't involve the words 'instant' or 'heat and eat' on its packaging," Elliot admitted.

"Elliot, not helping. Not helping at all," Olivia looked over at her partner.

"All right, all right, we've taunted long enough. I for one think that we should at least try it," Erin said.

"Thank you, favorite person. See, sometimes you can be a really sweet kid…"

"Of course, right now I'm so hungry I would probably eat my own shoe…"

"And it's gone…" Olivia sighed.

"Kidding, kidding," Erin defended. "But seriously, I'm really hungry, so if we're going to do this, let's go. Permission to dig in?"

"Permission granted," Olivia said, a smile on her face at the final acceptance of her cooking and the spark back in the girl's eye.

It had been a week since the death - six days since the breakdown with Erin. It was getting better with time. Each passing day brought less random zone-out sessions. Color and life was slowly returning to her face. Routine was suddenly making its appearance and order was starting to be restored. The nightmares were becoming less frequent, and when they did happen Erin wasn't nearly as traumatized. She usually woke up on her own accord now, being able to take a deep breath, dig up some self-reassurance, and then head right back off into dreamland. Sure, there had been a few more occasions where Olivia came running to the rescue, armed and ready with a glass of water, a listening ear, and some soothing mechanisms. But the important thing was that it was improving, and there were definite signs of a full and quick recovery for the girl.

"So, not that I'm not thrilled at the prospect of having something other than fast food or ramen noodles for dinner, what's with the traditional home-cooked meal all of the sudden?" Elliot inquired, talking a seat.

"Yeah, why the sudden homemaking, June Cleaver?" Erin asked.

"Or Donna Reed," Delilah chimed in. "My nanny used to make me watch that with her all the time. She had every season in box-sets. She even kind of dressed like Donna Reed now that I think about it…she was a freak."

"Oh, and there's always the Waltons. Come to think of it, her name was Olivia on that show too. We could change your last name and you'd be the spitting image," Elliot contributed.

"No, no, no, Olivia Walton is much too individualized and modern to be in the same categories as Donna and June," Erin corrected. "She's more Carol Brady-esque."

"I disagree, I think-"

"Okay, are you guys going to shut up about ideal house-moms long enough for me to talk, or are you all going to continue to discuss classic television?" Olivia interrupted.

"Sorry."

"Go ahead."

"Anyway, the point of this dinner is that we, us four," she circled her finger around in the air as an act of inclusion, "I consider us sort of a family now, you know? Growing up I didn't have this – I couldn't have this – and surrounded by all of you I feel more complete, and I wanted to do something special, something nice so that hopefully all of us could feel that way. Kind of like a fresh start."

"It's the beginning of a dynasty," Erin said smiling.

"I could get used to that," Delilah proclaimed.

"I'll drink to it," Elliot raised his glass. "Cheers," he invited the rest to a toast.

"To four dysfunctional people all living under the same roof and seeming to continuously enjoy themselves," she stated. "All right, not always enjoying themselves," she clarified when she saw a skeptical look on Olivia's face, "but hey, we haven't killed each other yet, right?"

"Success story of the century," Elliot said sarcastically.

"Far from perfect, but secretly we wouldn't rather be anywhere else. So cheers to that."

"Cheers," said the four voices around the table.

"Well, let's go, what are we waiting for?" Olivia asked after they had all sipped their beverage of choice.

"Right," Erin said, slowly picking up a fork and glancing around the table. She suppressed a sigh and an eye roll as she noticed she was the only one to grab an eating utensil. She delayed the inevitable by examining the other seated bodies. She saw Delilah mouth 'sucker,' Olivia's anxious, nervous smile of anticipation, and worst of all Elliot's trademarked shit-eating grin. This is what she got for being nice. Serves her right for not wanting to hurt poor Olivia's feelings. And after she had just confessed they were like family. Shame on them! Shame on them for having no manners, and most of all shame on them for throwing her under the bus!

She cleared her throat and scanned the plate for what looked the most edible; deciding the white lump to the far left looked like it could do the least amount of damage. She took a slightly less-than-normal-sized forkful and was halfway to her mouth before she froze and looked up to see the entire table still looking at her intently with the same prior expressions. Seriously? Absolutely no class.

Man up, Erin, how bad could it be? She commanded herself.

Before she had time to chicken out, she opened her mouth and shoved the food past her lips.

Oh. My. God. What the hell even was this? She screamed internally.

"Wow," she managed, trying as best as she could to force it down her throat.

"So, how is it?" Olivia bit her lip.

"Yeah, Erin, how is it?" Elliot cocked his head and put his chin on his fist, casually resting his arm on the table.

She shot him a quick death-glare before looking at Olivia.

"It's…interesting," she said, her mouth still filled with a piece of the white pile, struggling to swallow. "What, uh, what's in these mashed potatoes?" she put her hand over mouth in case she threw up.

Olivia sighed, defeated. "That's supposed to be rice."

"Right, right, that's what I meant," she quickly tried to cover.

"No it's not," Olivia shook her head. "Here," she handed her a napkin, "spit."

"No, no, it's okay," she held out her finger and mumbled through the mouth of goop. She would get this down. She was determined. She put a hand to her chest.

"Erin, please, just spit it out," Olivia waved the napkin at her.

"It's not even that bad, honestly. I just got a really big bite," Erin tried to persuade. However, this attempt at persuasion fell short when she started to cough.

"Honey, you're going to choke," she continued fanning the napkin out for the taking, met only by Erin's pointer finger. "Out, now!" she demanded when the coughing got worse, chucking the napkin at her and jumping up from her chair, prepared to give the Heimlich maneuver if need-be.

Erin grabbed the napkin and emitted the mush, happy for being able to breathe out her mouth again. She took a few deep breaths, regaining her regular pattern of inhaling. She snatched the glass of water Olivia held out to her and gulped it down. It was a start, but the water didn't do nearly enough to get the taste off of her tongue.

As if reading her mind, Elliot put a hand on his own glass, prepared to offer it to her.

"Elliot!" Olivia slapped his hand away.

"What?"

"That's beer. Erin's fifteen in case you forgot."

"Oh shit, you're right. Sorry," he said with realization.

"I have orange juice," Delilah stated from across the table, holding out her cup.

"Thanks hon," Olivia said and transferred the drink, holding it out to Erin.

"Thanks," Erin said, swishing the tangy liquid around in her mouth. She wasn't particularly fond of orange juice, but anything was better than the taste she had right now.

Once she downed the juice she looked up.

"You all right?" Olivia inquired.

"Yup. A-okay."

"Good. I swear, I followed all the directions, the entire recipe word-for-word from the book, I don't know how it possibly could have turned out wrong. Was it really that bad?" she looked over at Erin, putting her on the spot.

"Oh, uh…n-no," she said after a beat.

"Damn it, it was," she said with a face palm, seeing right through her tactful act. "I suck," she slumped down in her chair.

"You don't suck. You're just not a natural-born chef. It's okay, neither am I. I'm assuming Elliot isn't either," Erin said, sitting down next to her.

"Hey, that's not true."

"Oh shut up, Stabler. You know you can't cook," Erin said.

"I resent that. I pour a mean bowl of cereal. And I can make peanut butter and jelly too."

"Not a good one," Delilah stated.

"Excuse me?" Elliot asked, faux-offended, a shocked look plastered into his features.

"Your peanut butter to jelly ratio is all jacked up. Way to much jelly per square inch of peanut butter. Not even close to Olivia's."

"I'm hurt," Elliot said, pretending to wipe a tear.

"Sorry, but it's the truth," Delilah shrugged.

Olivia laughed. "And I can order a kick-ass take-out."

"Want me to get the phone book?" Erin offered.

"Psh, that's insulting. I'm no amateur; I've memorized all the important places. Elliot, be a doll and fetch me the phone, would you?"

"Of course, your highness," he said rolling his eyes and grabbing the phone.

"Pizza or Chinese?"

SVU SVU SVU

"How does that rice taste, Erin?" Elliot asked, scooping a heaping spoonful of orange chicken to dump on his plate.

"Edible," she replied, taking another bite of fried rice, courtesy of 'China Moon' instead of Olivia's kitchen, thank the Lord.

"All right, how long are these jokes going to go on for? It was an honest mistake, people. Though it may shock some of you, I'm not entirely perfect in every single freaking way," Olivia declared, bitterly ripping open a packet of soy sauce.

"Probably forever," Delilah said.

"Really you should be flattered. We don't have a lot we can rag on you for, so we settle for your kitchen expertise…or lack thereof…but, hey, if that's the worst you got, you're doing pretty well," Erin complimented.

"Thanks. How reassuring," Olivia replied sourly.

"Anyways, any news?" Elliot shifted the subject.

"Oh! I have some," Delilah exclaimed, swallowing the food already in her mouth and clearing her throat. "Well, okay, so you guys know that I tried out for the school play, right? Cheesy, I know. Like so cheesy some people might even consider it borderline lame, but I thought it might be something fun to do. You know, make friends, get to know some people, maybe even find someone who-"

"Delilah, the news before I'm eighty please," Olivia interrupted.

"Oh, right, sorry. Anyway, so I see the fliers to try out for this play and it's 'A Tale of Two Cities.' And at the time I wasn't even really sure what that was but the fliers had this quote at the top. It was something like 'it was an awesome time and a crappy time at the same time' or something like that. So then I remembered when Erin was telling me her summer reading book this year actually sounded pretty cool and it started out exactly like that. I don't even remember who you said it was by, like Charlotte Dickens or Emily Dickenson or Dick Wolf or something? Whatever. So anyway, I-"

"Sweetheart, as interesting as this is, could we please just have the spark notes?"

"God, you're right, I'm rambling! I'm just so excited. I got the lead role!" She finally exclaimed, beaming.

"Honey, that's great!" Olivia said enthusiastically. "I'm so proud of you."

"Nice, Del," Erin said, giving her an approving look.

"Good job, kiddo," Elliot smiled, thinking back to the last of his children's plays he'd attended. Lizzie was always the little actress of the family. She was the shyest amongst his kids, but she had a knack and a love for that stage. He remembered that particular smile he'd seen only once. The spark in her eye he'd only witnessed the time he'd went to her middle school's production of 'The Diary of Anne Frank.'

He told himself he would not regret anything. Kathy had filed for divorce, and he understood it. He'd gone through the period of blaming himself. Though he'd never admit it, in the privacy of his apartment he'd shed tears over her. What they could have been. No, he corrected, what they used to be.

He knew their relationship wasn't always steady. In fact, most of the time it was a tumultuous one. Almost constantly rocky.

Kathy wasn't evil. Kathy was a kind woman. A lovely woman. One whom he had spent many long, joyful years with. She tried so hard to understand. Bless her heart she had tried. She was the one who tried so hard to keep up, to put up, with Elliot Stabler.

She tolerated him in a way no one had ever done before. Besides Olivia, that is.

She had taught him so much about himself. She had been good for him. Had been. They were happy in high school, but he realizes now that's probably where it should have stayed. They dated all through their teens. They had been blissfully happy and unaware of life to come. They were happy-go-lucky, typical high school kids, convinced they were madly in love. They feel in love quickly and they feel in love hard. But it was so very difficult at that age to distinguish a subtle, yet all-important difference. Had he truly loved her? Or in love with the concept of love? Was he ever really and truly in love with her? Was she ever really and truly in love with him?

He'd like to think so on both accounts. All of those high school nights spent with each other, deliriously happy and ready for their lives together. Where had that gone? What happened to that connection? That level of mutual understanding?

Looking back, maybe they'd never had it to begin with. After awhile maybe it became forced, and all the trying from him and from her blurred the line between wanting to be together and feeling an obligation to.

But that was the past. As much as it hurt him, he knew he would never get her back. She had changed. He had changed. So much had changed now and there was no going back. It was sad and it was painful, but he knew that it was necessary to acknowledge it. He had to move on. Their being together was no longer healthy. No longer happy. No longer productive for either of them. They needed to part ways for each other's sake.

They had to let go and get on with their lives without each other.

He didn't regret it. Not a single second of it.

He had the memories, and most importantly five beautiful, perfect children he could never stop loving if his life depended on it.

That was the thing that hurt the most. Knowing that he had hurt them. Knowing that they were stuck in the middle of it all was the deepest cut.

He had unintentionally hurt his children and he had no clue how to fix it.

Sure, he had never been home much. Never been the perfect father. He should have been home more. He should have spent more time with them. Should have taken advantage of that childhood notion that adults knew everything and could fix anything.

But his children were all past that now. In fact, only a few of them were considered children at all anymore. Maureen had a life of her own. Kathleen was away at college. Lizzie in Dickie were well into their high school years. Eli, well, little Eli was still his little boy. His. He would raise him as his son. Did they share biological genes? Perhaps not. But he was his in his heart. They shared more than blood, something far greater than the things pumping through their veins.

Love.

He knew that, rationally, there was nothing he could have done differently. He had provided for his family, and now he moved out for them. But at what cost? Would they be better off with him still at home?

Sure, everything he'd do would be like a charade at this point, an act, a painted smile, but was he being selfish? Should he make that sacrifice for their sake? Should he have made the choice to go into SVU at all?

He could have gotten a different job, one that pays as well with fewer and more flexible hours, and one that didn't cause him to be gone. One that didn't cause his family struggle. Was the job worth this?

Why did he stay with a job that only hurt him? Only made him suffer, even bleed on numerous occasions? Stick with working for a place that broke up his marriage, his family, his home, everything he had?

Sure, he loved helping people. In fact he needed it. He needed the justice. His body needed him to make that happen. But why not be a lawyer? A therapist? Hell, even cop for a different unit? He could still get justice without all this heartbreak working homicides. Was it truly because of his daughters, like he had said all of those years? Yes, he thought, this part was true. Partially true. But was his argument valid?

Sure, he worked sex crimes because the misdeeds against women discomforted him in the very worst way, knowing that these things happened to someone's daughter.

But so did homocides. So did bombings. Drug dealers targeted daughters as well, sending them plummeting, turning innocent young girls into junkies. If he could work those units, then why the hell would he stay here, working the worst of the worst, the most heinous, damaging, disgusting and disturbing crimes? Interrogating the sickest, most perverted perps, not to mention putting a target on his back and his family while doing it? Why the hell had he stuck it out so long? Someone had to do the job, but why him? He, who had everything to lose. What could ever possibly make it anything even close to worth it?

Then he glanced up and saw her.

And he knew.

"El? Elliot. Earth to Elliot Stabler," Olivia snapped him out of his thinking trance, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Yeah, sorry," he shook his head, clearing his mind.

"You here, you joining us now?" she asked, looking at him with an odd expression.

"Yup. Just zoned out."

"I could see that. Do you want a bite of my wonton?" she held out the fried crisp out to him.

This question was met by a sudden light spewing mist of an orange liquid across her face and a round of choking laughter by Delilah. "What are you doing? What's so funny?" Olivia asked, looking over at the hysterical girl between wiping her face of the juice splash.

"Nothing," Delilah said, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Seriously, what's so funny?" Erin asked, wrinkling her eyebrow and smiling at the random outburst.

"Just…that sounded…" she giggled "it sounded kind of dirty…" she hiccupped and blushed, still giggling a little.

Erin looked at her confused before a look of understanding lit up her face and she broke out into laughter as well.

"Am I missing something?" Olivia asked Elliot, the box still in her hand.

"If you are, I'm missing it as well," Elliot replied, "care to try to explain?"

"'Do you want a bite of my wonton?' Come on, it sounds sort of suggestive," Erin said, wiping tears from her eyes.

"That immature and perverted, not to mention inappropriate. Asking if he wants a bite of wonton is a totally innocent and sincere question," Olivia admonished, rolling her eyes at the raunchy implications. "Get your minds out of the gutter, would you?" she half-heartedly chastised. "Teenagers," she finished the miniature lecture before glancing back to see Elliot's support. "El," she said, wide-eyed when she saw a smirk on his face, gently punching him in the arm. "You're supposed to be a mature influence."

"I'm sorry, but they do kind of have a point," he said, laughing.

"Uh, I give up. I just give up," she threw her hands up in surrender. "You guys clean the table. I'm going to get a shower and ponder why I let you all stay here."

"I'll answer that. It's because you love us!" Erin said, stacking some empty containers, getting ready to dispose of them.

"Then I'll go and ponder why," she said rolling her eyes, her mouth curving into a grin.

But of course, she already knew.

SVU SVU SVU

"Where are the girls?" Elliot asked, walking out of the master bathroom and into the kitchen, running a hand through his wet hair, still damp from showering.

"Del's asleep and Erin's showering. Why?" She inquired, flipping through a pile of papers, a stack of crème files spread over the table's surface.

Elliot shrugged, "no reason. Just curious."

Olivia nodded, picking up a paperclip.

Elliot grabbed the top of a chair and pulled out the seat next to her.

She looked up from her file and wrinkled an eyebrow.

"What the hell is that?" she asked, sniffing the air.

"What's what?"

"What do you have on?"

"Um," he looked down at his attire. "Sweats and a t-shirt?" he answered questioningly. "I'm sorry, is sitting in this chair a black-tie occasion? Should I go change?"

"No, no, not what you're wearing. What did you use in the shower?"

"Soap..."

"Liar. You totally used my body wash."

"Look, I just used whatever you already had in there," he defended.

"Was it in a pink bottle?" she asked, a raising an eyebrow to let him know there was no way out of this one.

"…maybe," he replied reluctantly.

Olivia started laughing when something hit her. "And there was regular soap in there too," she said, pointing to Elliot. "It was way out in the open too, right on the counter. In fact, it was so much in the open it was impossible not to see. So you chose to use the stuff in the pink bottle, didn't you?"

"I hate that you're a detective right now."

"Answer the question, Stabler."

He started to stutter a few excuses, knowing this was over when he saw her crossed-arms pose. "I'm sorry, but is there any crime in wanting to smell nice?"

Olivia broke into hysterics. "Elliot Stabler using jasmine and vanilla, lavender body wash with rejuvenating beads. I can just picture that."

"So you picture me in the shower?" he asked with a suggestive grin.

"Don't flatter yourself," she retorted, getting up for a bottle of water, a matching smirk on her face. "Look, I'm glad you're making yourself at home, but that crap's expensive. It takes serious cash to look this good."

"You pay money to look like that? Yikes."

"Shut up," she said, playfully punching his shoulder and sitting back down. After a few minutes of silence and file flipping, she laid down the papers she was holding and turned to Elliot. There was a consuming thought running through her head, and until she went out with it, she realized, she wasn't going to be able to focus.

"Listen, El, I wanted to talk to you about something," she said, plunging in.

"Okay, shoot."

"Okay," she took a deep breath. "I just wanted to ask you something. Don't feel obligated or anything, but I figured I'd ask just because I feel like it makes sense."

"Noted. I repeat, shoot."

"All right. Well," she sighed. "I've been thinking. You living here, I feel, has been a really good thing. I know it's a little cramped, kind of small, but it's working. At least I think it is. It's nice having someone around to help me out, whether it be picking the kids up or just…really anything, you know? I mean, Erin and Delilah obviously love having you here. I do too. You've been a great influence. You've been…you've just been great. For all of us. And if it's not totally crazy I wanted to ask if maybe you'd want to move in on a more permanent basis. Like I said, don't feel obligated or pressured, just…if you wanted to, you're more than welcome."

Elliot blinked. This was sudden. He should be surprised. This should be a hard decision filled with complexities. But the thing was, he had sort of forgotten living on his own. He sort of forgot how. Living alone was liberating for some people. Having their own space, independence, freedom was the best feeling in the world. But that had never been for Elliot. In fact, thinking back, this was the first time he had ever lived alone for an advanced period of time. He went from his parent's house with his parents and siblings, to the military with other soldiers, to his home with Kathy and his kids. He had never really known what it felt like, and now that he had, it dawned on him that he never wanted it again.

"You know what? That sounds great."

"Awesome, I mean, cool. Yeah, that'll be good," Olivia said. Was she stumbling? Stuttering over her words in front of her partner of more than ten years? What had gotten into her? Was it the fact that she had a right to be freaking out considering she just proposed Elliot to live with her? In her house? 24/7? 365 days a year? And he had accepted. She had just blurted that out. Was it being caught up in the moment causing her to word vomit a life-decision? Or was it being caught up in those blue eyes?

Was she worried because of that irrational decision? Or did the fact that right now it seemed very rational scare her more?

It was for the kids, she told herself, for the kids. "Anyway," she cleared her throat, "good. I'd been…meaning to ask that for awhile now." She hoped he wouldn't be able to see through the lie.

If he could, he didn't show it. "Yeah, good. That should be good."

"And I'm sure we can move some things around and give you your own space. Like there's that mudroom that I have and have never ever once in my life found any purpose for. All I do is store crap I don't need there. Crap that I can get rid of and clear out in, like, four hours, tops. It's small, but it'll fit a bed and a dresser. That's all guys really need anyway, right?" Oh my god, and now she was rambling. What was getting into her?

"Yeah, that's the gist. And you just tell me how much rent you need and I'll-"

"Whoa, no, that's not happening."

"What's not happening?"

"Rent. You're not paying rent for an area barely bigger than a walk-in closet."

"And a kitchen, and a bathroom, a washer and dryer, a-"

"Yeah, all of which you have to share with three hormonal females."

"Trust me, I'm used to it."

"You're still not paying rent. I won't let you. You're doing this as a favor to me, to this household. Hell, I should be paying you."

"That's definitely not going to happen," Elliot replied quickly.

"I know that," she rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying."

"I feel bad not doing anything."

"Tell you what, you can make the coffee in the mornings and we'll call it even."

Elliot sighed. "Fine. But know I'm willing at any time. Just say the words, send me a bill, whatever. And for your information, I'm not happy with this."

"Um, hello, since when has that ever mattered to me?"

"Good point," Elliot cleared his throat, desperately wanting to change the subject from this personal one. He'd never been too good with personal. "So, what are you working on anyway?" Work. Now that was something he was good at.

"Stanton and Gomez cases," she said, chucking a file at him, it hitting the table with a thud.

He rubbed his temples. "You think they're related?"

"I think they've got to be. I mean, found in the same place, virtually same M.O, in a relationship with each other and each killed within days of one another? If not it's one hell of a coincidence."

"I think you're right. We ruling out hate crime?"

"We'd better not. I feel like it could certainly be possible."

"What have we got?"

"A common thread. Or, string, really. The violin teacher, Gordon Reich." She flashed a picture of the suspect to Elliot.

"Homophobe?"

"I don't know about that. But look at his past."

"Seven child abuse charges?"

"All dropped."

"That's awfully convenient."

"Mhm. And he's mysteriously not allowed to teach girls anymore."

"Huh, I wonder why," Elliot mused sarcastically.

"Yup. I'm thinking he's our best bet right now."

"All right, I could see him in for Benjamin's murder, but why target Fernando?"

"Maybe Fernando knew and threatened to go to the police. And he's known for getting very 'involved' with his students. Even Stanton's parents said he was a shining star with strict coaching. I can't imagine he'd like his rising little musician spending more time with a kid than with his instrument."

"Okay. Good. Tomorrow we'll run it by Cragen. See if we have enough to have a friendly chat with Mr. Reich."

"All right then," Olivia replied, organizing the papers and stacking them neatly onto the table. "Well, I think I'm going to head off to bed now."

"Yeah. I'm going to go head to…couch."

Olivia chuckled. "Only for a few days. Not too much longer, I promise."

"I know. Just giving you a hard time," they smiled at each other. "Well, goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

They stayed frozen in that position. Each standing inches away from each other. Them both looking into each other's eyes. His light, cheerful, glossy blues met hers, dark brown, compassionate and mysterious. They were locked in a gaze, each mesmerized by each other's eyes, usually holding, shielding, concealing secrets now like an open book to the other. They were fixed on one another and nothing else.

"Well, see you in the morning," she quickly ripped her gaze away to hide the blush when she realized what they were doing. This could not happen. It was wrong. She knew that.

But then why did it have to feel so damn right?

"See you then," he replied, cracking his knuckles so he could have a distraction from what had just happened. That moment. That undeniable spark was burning him.

After that he was going to need another shower.

A cold one.

SVU SVU SVU

"So Gordon, tell us about yourself," Olivia said, leading him into the interrogation room. "Besides the fact that you're an abuser."

"Oh, pumpkin, you've got me all wrong."

"Do I, Gordon? I mean I already know your hobbies. Interests: teaching music, wine tasting, long walks on the beach, and, oh yeah, beating up little kids."

"In other words, you like slapping children around," Elliot spat, shoving his shoulder, forcing him down into a chair.

"Detectives, don't be ridiculous…I don't like wine tasting," he said with a laugh, arrogantly crossing his arms, leaning back in his chair, and plopping a foot up on the table.

"This isn't a time for jokes, Reich," Olivia replied, pushing his foot off the table. That was one of her biggest pet peeves in the interrogation room. "You're a suspect in a murder case."

"You're crazy. Who are you saying I killed?"

"Benjamin Stanton. Your star pupil. Remember him?" Olivia threw the file at him, taking a seat as well, clicking a button on the tape recorder, secured to the bottom of the table.

"Of course I do," he picked up the file. "Such a pity he passed so young. He was a very talented boy. Handsome too. Those big, calloused hands from years with his violin. Those innocent young eyes," he tenderly ran his hands over the photograph, stroking the printed page. "That young, pure smile."

Seeing his affection for the picture, Elliot instinctively ripped it from his grasp.

"Easy, detective. You could have easily given me a paper cut."

"You think this is a game?" He asked, bending down a level in order to meet Gordon's face.

"Although, with me having a paper cut, it would have made giving a blood sample easier," he chuckled, ignoring Elliot. "Maybe this is the NYPD's new standard procedure for getting DNA."

"You think that this is funny?" Elliot yelled. "A boy is dead, Gordon, and you're looking good for it!"

"How? Tell me, what do you have on me?"

"You saw him the night he died. In fact as far we know you were the last person to see him alive," Olivia joined in. "So I suggest you start talking."

"Fine. Ask me anything you want. But I didn't kill that boy. I never laid a hand on him and you have nothing disproving that."

"Then how about the seven charges of child abuse?"

"That's irrelevant, none of those ever stuck."

"Seven, Gordon? C'mon. That's no coincidence and you know it," Olivia accused.

"It must be. I do nothing to my students that music teachers don't do all over the world."

"And what would that be?"

"I don't have to answer that."

"You're right. So how about we talk about that fact that you're not allowed to teach girls anymore."

"It's that I don't want to. They're a waste of my time. Males are the dominant gender; they have more potential. I refuse to squander away my time with girls."

Great, Olivia thought, another one of these. Hasn't she dealt enough sexist pigs in the last few days already?

"Really? Because it says here in your file your lawyer convinced you that teaching girls would only further hurt your career. And coincidentally this was right after Ming Li and Rita Garcia mysteriously showed up in the hospital with evidence of assault only hours after a lesson with you. Did girls get boring, Gordon. Did you need to overpower the 'dominant gender' to satisfy your sick needs?"

"If I hurt those girls then why were charges never filed?" He asked, a smug beam present on his face. "I'm innocent, detectives. I'm just a music teacher trying to do my job teaching my students. And I do it to the very best of my ability."

"Except you focus on control and power rather than the music. Isn't that right, Gordon?"

"I teach my kids discipline. Musical discipline often transfers over to real life. In order to master an instrument you must first overcome pain and struggle to someday achieve great pleasure," he smiled.

"Elliot, don't," Olivia said, placing a hand on Elliot's chest. He had that look. That look that said he was ready to kill. The look akin to a panther ready to pounce.

"So, detectives, since I'm obviously not hiding anything and you're getting nowhere, am I free to go?"

"Oh no, we'll be back shortly. Just try to sit tight. Okay pumpkin?" Olivia said patronizingly, winking at him.

"So what now?" Elliot asked, rubbing his forehead as they shut the door to the room. "I mean he's got to be our guy."

"Not necessarily, El. I mean there's no doubt he's a sick bastard, but are you sure he's our sick bastard?" She asked, looking in through the two-way glass, her stomach churning looking at his inflated ego.

"How should we play it? We don't have a lot on him besides the fact he was with Benjamin before he was murdered."

"I don't know," Olivia ran a hand through her hair. "Want to run things by Cragen, see if he found any holes we can grill him on after him looking through the file?"

"Yeah, all right," Elliot agreed, throwing a copy of the files he had taken from the interrogation room onto Olivia's desk, walking with her to the Captain's office.

SVU SVU SVU

Erin walked into the squad room, her backpack slung over her shoulder. "Ugh," she grunted, relieved all of the weight from her books was off of her shoulder. She kicked the messenger bag under Olivia's desk, figuring she'd start on her homework soon. She just needed to rest her eyes for five minutes. Five minutes and then she'd do it.

She collapsed on the chair and slumped down, slouching over the desk, resting her head on her arms and closing her eyes.

Where was Olivia anyway? She was almost always at her desk at this time of day. At least, she was all the times Erin had come here.

She didn't visit the precinct everyday. In fact, it was a somewhat rare occasion. But today Delilah wasn't going to be home with her. She had miraculously convinced Olivia to let her to hang out with some friends despite being in trouble for sneaking out to the movies.

Plus, she needed to get out of the house for awhile. Desperately needed to. She felt suffocated under that roof. Olivia was still acting a little cautious around her ever since the night of her nightmare. It had gotten better from that first day. At least she wasn't on the same level as a priceless, porcelain antique doll anymore. She had worked her way up to moderately priced décor vase.

She realized that being at the precinct still put her around Elliot and Olivia both, but it also felt like a place of action. A place that wasn't padded. A place that wasn't going to protect and shield her. She needed to get back into the swing of things. First step school and now this.

Well, not that she'd really had a choice otherwise. She knew that despite being pampered she was still skating on thin ice. No, she hadn't formally been reprimanded. Olivia had kind of pushed that under the rug considering the circumstances. She had snuck out in the middle of the night, and she definitely didn't want to push her luck…but she guessed that wasn't really the point anyway.

She yawned and frowned when she felt something poking at her elbow. Looking up she realized it was a staple. Sloppy stapling job. Elliot must've done this one. Geez, she thought, now I'm even poking fun at Elliot to myself. Poor guy.

Truth was her sarcasm and taunts towards Elliot were all in good fun. She really did like having him around. He reminded her of her father. All the best parts of him, of course. She missed him like crazy. No, they'd never really been close, but being many miles away made her understand how homesick she could get. All of her brothers, as annoying and crazy as they were, were never far from her mind. She made a mental note to call them later tonight. As much as she loved life in New York with Olivia and Delilah, she knew a part of her would always be with her biological family. A piece of her belonged there too. She knew she was doing right by being here now, but it still ached at times. The fact she couldn't always have the best of both worlds.

She made a move to shove the files over in case she accidentally happened to fall asleep on them…she didn't really want to bring her embarrassing drooling habit to notice of the entire 1-6.

She tilted her head at the title of the file. Gordon Reich. She opened it curiously.

And then it dawned on her.

This was about the Stanton case. The Gomez case. This was about Fernando.

She swallowed and took a deep breath, quickly reading through the files, stuffing as much information into her head as she could. Names, accusations, details all sticking to her brain.

She was good at this.

She rushed to organize all the various details in her head.

Ming Li. Rita Garcia. Oboe lessons. Wealthy. Ivy League. Strict. Traditional. Hands. Bruises. Sharp marks. Dropped accusations.

She looked into the window. One look and she knew it was him.

She ran the story over in her head one more time, perfecting the idea, becoming someone else, and stood up, taking a step in the room's direction. The right direction, she convinced herself. The necessary direction.

Erin knew what she had to do.

Uh-oh, suspense! Thanks for all the reviews so far, guys! The support on this story is mind-blowing and ridiculously inspiring. *Does embarrassing happy dance.* As always, thanks for all your feedback! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. =) So let's keep that up, shall we? I think we shall! So review, and have a great day! Until next time, much love. ~TheTBone

Please notice if you find any grammar errors, and I'll correct them right away. I want my writing to be top-quality, but unfortunately my proof-reading isn't always bulletproof. Pesky little typo pellets penetrate my work every once in awhile…darned things…