A/N - going back through and uploading some of the old stuff and decided to start with this one. It was a tag team effort between MaddyM and myself. This story saw the "birth" of Murphy.

Kiss Me, I'm Irish

Part 1: by MaddyM

"No, Elliot," she grumbled, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder. She should have done laundry earlier this morning, because now she didn't think she had a single pair of sweatpants clean, and with the way she had been hitting the track hard lately, there was no way she'd want to slip into a pair of pants already worn earlier this week. She was so frustrated she grabbed the entire pile of cotton shorts down from the shelf in her closet, letting them drop at her feet.

She stared at them all angrily, willing even one of them to just be pants. It was goddamned March, she needed pants to go running.

"Liv, come on. Lighten up. It's Saturday, the sun is shining, we're not catching this weekend...Hey! Murphy! Yeah, hold on," there was a muffled pause.

Olivia rolled her eyes. She could barely hear Elliot over the din of noise behind him. It was an atrocious mix of basketball, music and basically, yelling. She sighed, wondering if the new, sensitive Elliot would take offense if she simply hung up. She could always claim later that she lost the signal.

"Elliot -"

"Yeah, Liv, one sec -" then the muffled pause again. "Oh hell no, put me down for Niagara. They're the sleeper this year," he said to whoever was next to him.

"Hey El?" she tried. No luck. "El, hey," she wondered if she should make static noises with her mouth for effect. She decided against it. "El, hey, can't hear you El. Gonna hang up, losing the -"

"Yeah right, Liv." He was suddenly back, clear as day. "You need a new trick. Get your ass down here. You've got fifteen minutes." And then he hung up.

He hung up.

Well.

Huh.

Well, shit.

Olivia kicked at the shorts on the floor, determined to find a pair of pants in the mess. Just one pair. One clean pair and she would go running. Fate would decide. The black ones were shorts, the gray ones shorts, the maroon ones, maybe...ah, no. Fuck. She had cut those sweatpants off last year to make them shorts.

Dammit all to hell. Elliot not only was about to control her Saturday, he controlled fate in general too.

Figures.

Olivia sighed. This was not her thing. St. Patrick's Day in the city was always a mess. The drinking, even when the day fell during the work week, started in the early morning hours. This year it fell on a Saturday, and that just didn't bode well for anyone. Not surprisingly, the worst offenders were the cop bars, because half of the NYPD seemed to be Irish Catholic sometimes.

On St. Patrick's Day, the half that wasn't just pretended they were too.

At least Elliot had gone to McGillicuddy's. Not a particularly law enforcement skewed crowd there. It was a big place too, a few small dance floors, okay music, lots of television screens.

Olivia willed away the headache that was still forming at the thought.

Sitting at a bar drinking dollar pints of green beer didn't sound appealing at all.

She preferred scotch. Neat. In a place where she could sit and drink as close to alone as possible.

It had been the same for the partner that had inhabited the desk across from hers for the last two years. Of course, that was before she had gone away and come back to Buddhist Elliot. This Elliot didn't get angry, didn't yell, didn't rant and rave. This one stood by silently when she beat up the perps with just an infuriating smirk on his face. This one had found some unsettling zen thing that completely unnerved her. This one...this one was sitting in a bar somewhere at noon on a Saturday, betting on basketball and likely drinking that green crap.

He was practically...normal.

Which was fine. Really. It was good. Elliot should be normal. He should socialize, and get out during the daylight hours and make new friends. He should buy two squares in the basketball pool and laugh and tease and joke around. It was okay if he was easy-going. She'd get used to it.

As long as he stopped dragging her along into this normalcy crap with him.

She didn't do normal. Normal freaked her the hell out. She didn't want to drink in the afternoon with him. She'd rather wake him in the middle of the night and sit in the cold with coffee and tea. She'd rather huddle in a sedan with him and be quiet through the silence. Those things she knew how to do.

Green beer she didn't understand. Maybe it was an Irish thing that only Irish people innately understood.

Then again, she could be partly Irish. She didn't know enough about her father yet to really know. Her half-brother's name was Marsden, which was English according to Google, but that still didn't account for a total family history.

Olivia swore as she pulled her dark jeans off the shelf, grabbing a black pullover shirt as well. Next to it, her green sweater mocked her. It wasn't necessarily clover green, but rather a soft, celery shade. The tags were still on it because while she had loved it in Bloomingdale's, every time she went to put it on it seemed too girly. Then again, she was trying to let herself go these days, trying to let herself stop hiding the fact that she was female and wear the things that truly appealed to her.

Olivia fingered the ultra-thin cashmere, drawing her lower lip into her mouth as she debated. It was so thin it was see-through, so it had come with a fitted stretchy satin tank top underneath it. The small buttons were made of white pearl and the neckline dipped in a wide circle so that the inner part of her shoulders would be bare. At the wrists, the material fluttered in just a whisper of a feminine flare that had fallen delicately over her hands when she had tried it on.

Olivia stared at it, wondering why she was considering wearing it. After all the times she had put it back, unwilling to deal with the long, unsettling looks Elliot had started giving her over her new clothing choices, and now she curiously felt like putting it on. Her true intention had been to keep it to wear on a date, but the chances that a date would actually materialize any time soon were slim to none at this point.

And this was most certainly not a date.

At all.

It was just beer. With Elliot. In a place so filled with commotion, he'd hardly notice her presence.

Olivia tugged the sweater off the hanger and grabbed a pair of heels to go with her low slung-jeans. She just needed a few minutes to blow her hair out a bit.

She didn't want to know why one thought kept running through her head.

Like hell he wouldn't notice her.

"Holy fuck."

Elliot dragged his eyes away from the second television from the right, his attention earned immediately by Murphy's low whistle. "What?"

"I've been a lucky Irish bastard my whole life, but I've never been as lucky or as much of a bastard as you are, m'friend."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Elliot tipped the last of his beer up to his lips, ready for his fourth.

But Murphy was looking past him towards the door. When he realized Elliot was looking at him, he winked then tipped his head towards the entrance to redirect him. "Sin just walked in."

Sin. Well, that could only mean one person. Olivia. It was Murph's nickname for her, one that she miraculously had actually smiled at when Murph had first used it. Of course no one else had ever tried it on her, so Elliot didn't know if she actually liked the name or if it was just Murphy's charm and disgustingly good looks that allowed him to get away with it.

Elliot turned his head to follow his friends gaze and the now empty bottle nearly slipped out of his hands. He froze, his entire body stiffening. His entire body. As in all of it.

Holy fuck was right. She was twenty feet away and making her way through the crowd towards him. She must have spotted him before he even turned around, because she wasn't scanning the crowd any longer. She was instead pointedly smiling at every damned admirer that she encountered along the way.

Which was a lot of damned drunk men. Probably a few women too.

Shit.

"She'd make me speechless too. Jesus, Stabler. You're telling me you've never hit that? I mean, honestly, at least admit you get off to..."

"Shut up, Murphy. Christ," Elliot muttered, unable to take his eyes off of an oblivious Olivia.

Sin. Just sin.

Murphy laughed behind him. "Well, I'm gonna go hit the head, because the last thing I need is for my dick to be hard and to have to piss at the same time."

Elliot finally swiveled around. Murphy and he had been friends for years. They had served in the Gulf together and were fellow cops, but even Murph deserved a fist to the face every now and then. Now was starting to look like it might be in his cards. "Watch it, or I swear to God -" Elliot warned, eyes narrowed dangerously.

But Murphy was a big guy, full of confidence and far too easy going because his charmed life had started all the way back in the idyllic Disney childhood he'd had. He just grinned. "Neaderthal suits you, Stabler. I'm gonna be right back, but if you decide to club her over the head and drag her off to your cave, lemme know. Cause I'd like to see her reaction to that." Murph winked. "Hellcat that one, bet she'd scratch -"

"Go," Elliot bit off, his fingers curling far too tightly around his empty bottle.

Murphy walked away, and yet Elliot had no time to recover because her fingers were at his back. He blew out a breath before he turned to face her.

"Hey Elliot," she said casually.

The bar was noisy as hell, but he heard every damned tone and inflection of the way she said his name. Elliot turned to look at her, determined to look at her eyes. Not her throat, not that expanse of skin at the base of her neck, not the curve of her shoulder. Not the…

Un-frickingbelieveble.

Her damned sweater didn't quite hit the waist of her jeans. There was a sliver of skin…"Hey Liv," he choked out.

Olivia's eyebrow arched at his empty glass. "So that's why you called me. Hoping I'm gonna buy?"

Elliot managed a smile. "You caught me." He stood up, offering her his bar stool as there were none left in the place. "Go ahead and take it."

Olivia shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"In those shoes?" He shot a look at her feet. She wore light green sandals that matched that sweater thing she was wearing. Those heels seemed far too high to be safe to walk in, and yet Olivia had sauntered. Sauntered. In those shoes. The ones with the sexy leather straps that darted across perfectly painted pink toenails.

Pink.

"Yeah, pink, you have an issue with that?"

Shit. He had said that out loud?

And now she was glaring at him, daring him to say something more.

"You have your gun on you?" he muttered.

"No, why?"

Elliot sighed, dragging his eyes away from her and focusing on the bar. "I'm just worried about my eventual safety is all."

Olivia leaned in close. "You should be. I'm not Irish. I don't do St. Patrick's Day."

He signaled the bartender. "Neither do I. I mean normally I'm-"

"You don't do St. Patrick's Day? Elliot, you're wearing a green shirt that's seen better days with a big clover on the back of it, that says…turn around." Olivia tugged on his arm, turning him towards her so she could read his shirt.

Elliot froze, watching her face pale first then...flush?

Well fuck him running.

She didn't say anything, just turned back towards the bar and waited for the bartender. "Anyway," she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I don't do St. Patrick's Day."

His lips curved upwards of their own accord. He couldn't help it. Her golden skin was slightly tinged now, and she was trying to ignore him. She was trying to act irritated and in control, when he had seen that flash in her eyes as she had read his shirt. He shouldn't do it. He really shouldn't. He'd had a few drinks, and maybe that was clouding his judgment. Or maybe it was that damned sweater thing that was clouding his judgment. Maybe it was...

"It's bad luck, you know," he finally taunted, pulling the sound from deep within his locked throat.

The bartender slipped another beer in front of him and Olivia ordered a bottle of Sam Adams and a shot of tequila. He nearly laughed out loud at her desperate plea for the shot. He tipped his bottle up to his mouth, watching her intently. She didn't want to take his bait, and yet her curiosity was eating at her.

He waited. She wouldn't be able to ignore him forever.

Finally she rolled her eyes and looked at him. "What's bad luck?"

"Ignoring Irish tradition."

Again, she tried not to ask. But of course not knowing went against every one of her instincts.

Elliot waited again, enjoying himself immensely. He had missed this. Teasing her, goading her. In all his anger over the last few years he hadn't noticed the absence of play with her until now. And it was even more fun now that she was so high-strung these days. This new calm thing that had come over him had its upside.

She blew out a breath, her bangs shifting in the wind of it. "What am I ignoring, Elliot?" she finally asked, turning to where he had sat back on the stool she had declined.

He smiled, his lips already against the mouth of the bottle as he looked back across the bar. He could still see her out of the corner of his eyes, and that was important because he wasn't going to miss her reaction for the world. "My shirt."

Her eyes widened and she backed up for a second. She turned to him then as he finally looked at her. Her mouth opened and then closed, but no sound came out. For one, quick second her suddenly heated gaze dropped to his lips and then she caught herself and looked back up at him, trying to clear the moment.

She might have caught herself, but he had caught her first. And it was a doozy of a catch.

Olivia Benson was very blatantly, obviously, gloriously fucking attracted to him.

Well, the Irish really did have a hold on this luck thing.

She was staring at him, and he knew she was trying to think of something to say. "I don't care what your shirt says, Elliot," she breathed. "I am not going to kiss you." Olivia slammed her jaw shut then, tipping up her chin in defiance.

He'd like to un-pry that jaw right about now. His lips twisted into a grin as he focused on hers, on that shiny, taunting gloss that she had flirtatiously swiped across them, making them look even ful-

"Told you that you were thinking about it, Stabler. But dude, you've been out of the game too long. You're not supposed to ask them, you're just supposed to take the hint and then just do it."

Murphy. Always with the impeccable timing. Shit. Murph slid into his barstool on the other side of Elliot and winked at a now stupefied Olivia in greeting.

Olivia never missed a thing, and she wasn't about to start now. She downed the shot placed in front of her. "If he kissed me, Murphy, I'd shoot him."

Oh really?

Game on, Benson.

Elliot knew it was dangerous. He knew and he didn't care. Not today, not after a few beers, not when his team was winning and the sun was finally out and he was single. Not when his fucking drop-dead, hot-as-hell partner had just glided in with her hair deliberately tousled and goddamned pink toenails. "You'd like it," he said, staring straight ahead and taking another sip of his beer without looking at her. He kept his eyes on the game straight in front of him, knowing he had just scored a three-pointer in the game now simmering between him and Olivia.

It should have been a national holiday because Olivia was actually stunned into silence for once. She openly gaped at him although her eyes had narrowed. "Excuse me?"

Elliot grinned, never taking the bottle away from where it hovered near his lips. "You heard me."

Murph whistled under his breath and turned around, mimicking Elliot's position and facing the game as he openly displayed his amusement at the drama unfolding next to him.

Just two boys watching the game, with one girl facing them in silent shock.

"Is this what I came here for? For you to act like a complete -"

Elliot turned to face her, slowly, not knowing where his courage was coming from. He knew he had just crossed the line, knew he was being bad, and for once, he just didn't fucking care. Bad was fun and he'd never been truly bad in his entire life. "Careful, Olivia. You could deny it, but blarney never suited you."

She gripped the bar then reached for her beer. She was actually shaking. He wanted to laugh out loud, but instead he got up and pushed his stool underneath her. She sat without protest, nearly falling back onto it. She tried to look at him, but he was turned to face her and so she was now eye level with only one thing in her vision.

His chest emblazoned with the offending saying.

Kiss Me, I'm Irish.

She blinked again and took a deep breath before turning and reaching for her beer. "Your shirt is too small, Elliot. It's ridiculous, really. I mean, if you think the way to finally get a date is to wear clothing that's too tight with absurd sayings splashed across -"

She never finished because the music came to a screeching halt as the DJ in the corner once again welcomed everyone loudly, wishing everyone a happy St. Patty's Day. Elliot and Murph knew what was coming next. They had been there all day, they knew what was about to happen, and the way Elliot was feeling right now he just might sing along for the first time.

The opening notes played, and then it happened.

The bar filled with drunk patrons, some who had been drinking since eight a.m., now broke into an old Irish song.

I'm looking over a four leaf clover
That I overlooked before

Olivia sat there, drinking her beer and staring straight ahead, pretending to be engrossed in the NCAA game on the television hung from the ceiling across the bar. She completely ignored the revelry around her.

Well, that was no fun.

And he was standing which gave him leverage over her. He caught Murph's eye and his friend grinned. It was just the sort of devilish encouragement he needed.

Elliot used his proximity to lean over towards Olivia, feeling the warmth of his beer slide over his skin. She smelled good, Jesus, she smelled like -

One leaf is sunshine, the second is rain,
Third is the roses that grow in the lane.

"Liv, aren't you gonna sing along?" he teased softly, his lips practically touching her ear.

She turned to him instinctively, and then realized her mistake. Her lips were inches from his, and goddammit he wanted to kiss her. Right here in public. It couldn't just be the effects of his fourth beer. Ever since she had walked in his whole body had been on high alert. This couldn't be good, this sort of attraction. He had always wanted her, he was fucking human after all and she was not an average looking woman by any means. Olivia was innately sexy, in a way that just permeated everything about her. Her hair was glossy, her eyes were melted, liquid things and her body, her body...well, fuck.

"You sing in my ear Elliot, and I swear by -"

So he did it. Of course he did it. She had challenged him after all.

"No need explaining the one remaining, is somebody I adore. I'm looking over a four leaf clover, that - shit! That hurt!" He rubbed his stomach where the back of her hand had slapped him.

She finally smiled. And it was a big grin. "Good," she said, the bar breaking into an uproarious cheer as the song ended and the music went back on. The bartender walked by and Olivia called out to him. "I need another shot of tequila," she pleaded.

In seconds the amber liquid was in front of her.

Olivia involuntarily glanced at Elliot again, her eyes drifting towards his chest, her breathing quickening. So she thought his shirt was too tight, huh? That meant she had thought about it at all, that meant, right now she was probably thinking about -

Olivia picked up her shot and downed it, not missing a single drop.