Okay, she's kissed me now. And now I really want to kiss her. And thank her and tell her how stupid she was and how stupid I was and…well, yeah. You get the idea. I'm about to say something when we both hear the sound of someone coming down the hallway. She pulls back immediately, but I'm reluctant to let go of her waist, feeling like we're only just now making progress. I don't want to step backward.

She smiles at me with pressed together lips whose sheen isn't quite as slick. Her hand goes back to rest on my cheek. "I'm taking off early today." Her voice takes on a motherly tone as she uses her thumb to wipe her stray gloss from my lips. "Try not to kill Blaine."

I smirk with her thumb still against my lips and then purse them ever-so-slightly, giving the tip of her thumb the tiniest of kisses. She smiles again. "I've gotta go. You know where to find me if you need me."

She gets to the door just as it opens and sidles past the random rookie from the fourth floor.

And now, here I am. It's been an hour since she's gone and I have to give myself credit for lasting this long. I thought for sure that I'd have literally run after her. Instead, in those sixty minutes, I've managed to gather all the paperwork I need to get done and even organize and start working on it. Which is exactly what I'm doing now. Working on paperwork. I'm working on paperwork by staring at my computer screen with a pad of handwritten notes and a few printouts in a folder propped up behind my keyboard, held up by the stapler on Liv's desk. She hates when I do that. Correction: she hated when I would do that.

The standardized form stares at me unblinkingly from my monitor. It's rather annoying given that a computer is one thing I've learned to not challenge to a staring contest. Well, not since that time Lizzie sent me a link to some site where I was to have a cyber staredown with some goofy looking character only to have it suddenly screech some ungodly sound at top volume into the headphones she'd made me wear and transform simultaneously into a horrendously gruesome zombie. I'd been so pissed at my own admittedly near-girlish reaction that I'd done the only thing I could think of to redeem myself. I'd sent it to Liv.

I idly tap my fingers against the keys – not hard enough to actually type anything, mind you. I don't know what to type. Which seems ridiculous, really, because it's pretty straightforward what I'm being prompted for.

DATE: _

What the fuck day is it? It's been a week since Liv transferred, that much I know. Doesn't exactly fit into the traditional mm/dd/yyyy format. Can't they just settle for Wednesday? I know it's Wednesday. I mean, Christ, Olivia just kissed me and they want numbers? Trust me, the fact that my brain could cough up Wednesday at this point is a godsend.

Olivia kissed me, Olivia kissed me, Olivia kissed me and – I look at the clock – fuck, I have to be here for another two hours. I'm here and she's at home. At least, that's where I'm assuming she'd meant I could find her if I needed her.

Good God, do I need her. I need her in a way I'm not allowed to. Though technically, I smirk, I guess now I am. That smirk vanishes as quickly as it had appeared. Holy shit. That couldn't possibly be what she meant by being able to choose each other, could it? She couldn't actually be thinking what I am about being able to "have her", right? Because when I think "have her", I think have her "have her." Like really have…her. Since when did I start thinking like that anyway? Since when did she? Does she?

Mother of a penniless whore.

I'm up and out of my seat before I succumb to a physical "condition" that would have rendered such an act rather embarrassing. Promising Cragen I'd cool my ass off and finish my paperwork tomorrow, I return to my desk just long enough to grab my coat, shut down my computer and glare at Blaine one more time before I'm out the door with a grin on my face, hoping that punching that man out was about to turn into one of the best impulsive decisions I've ever made.

I use the time during the drive to her place to keep wondering just how in the hell the two of us had finally come to this point. By the time I find myself knocking on her door I'm debating between two options: pour my heart out to her and then screw her senseless or just grab her first, have my wicked way with her and hope she'll still want to listen to my heart afterward. When she opens the door and stands there, her demeanor is somewhat guarded, the door ajar only just enough for her to be able to stand in the space between the frame and the door itself. The first thing that pops into my head at this point is neither of the two options I'd been debating. Not even close. Any poetic waxing I'd planned to do got stuck somewhere in the transfer process of thoughts to words. The thoughts of any dramatic actions I'd planned to take apparently caused my whole body to just freeze instead.

No, what pops into my head is "04/26/2006." The fucking date. In proper fucking format. Everything else semi-coherent and productive has run for the hills in the recesses of my brain and I don't have the first goddamned clue what to say or do anymore. And she obviously has every intention of letting me have the opening statement. I'm silent for a few moments longer, trying to sort through everything in my head that relates to Liv, not the date. When I open my mouth, what comes out are three words. "I need you."

Olivia regards me with slightly narrowed eyes, as if trying to figure out what I could have possibly meant by such a simple phrase. Whether because she wants me to explain myself, because she regrets her earlier actions but doesn't know how to apologize, or for whatever other reason, she says nothing when she steps aside, opening the door to let me in.

I take a few long strides into her living room and when I turn around, she's already closed the door and has managed to sneak up on me, standing now only a few feet away. I barely manage to stop myself from jumping back in shock. It shouldn't have surprised me – it's not the first time she's done this. Far from it. I've become so accustomed to the sound of her footsteps and the tune they make with mine that it's happened all too often that I take off walking and she begins to follow and I'll forget almost entirely that there's another person behind me, spin around to tell her something or to get something I'd left behind and have the shit scared out of me because she'd be right there.

She's walked smack into me at least twice as a result. Her reflexes are pretty damned good though, and I think she started reading the physical signals that I was about to turn around because nowadays I'll find that she's either stopped a safe distance from me or that she'll simply lean her upper body back and away to dodge any arms that may inadvertently flail in her direction.

I've gotten better. At least I think so. I've been trying harder to distinguish her footfalls from mine, to actually categorize them in my brain as those of two different people. Not this time…this time, she's standing at a safe distance and I take the opportunity to scan her from head to toe, from the caramelized strands of hair framing her face to the wine-lacquered toenails peeking out from beneath the hems of the legs of her jeans. Ah-ha…that's how she managed to sneak up on me. Bare feet on hardwood floors don't afford me the same luxury of her boots and heels.

What really catches my attention, though, isn't the effortless style of her hair, the relaxed yet snug drape of the denim or even the color of her nails, which I'd never given much thought to before and am now curiously fascinated by, but the gray hooded sweatshirt she has zipped up to just below her collarbone. My gray hooded sweatshirt. The one with a Marine green "US" in block letters on the right from panel and "MC" on the left, complete with a bulldog on the back. It doesn't go back as far as my years in the service, mind you – I bought it more recently than that. Still, it's seen its years of good use. She must have noticed the bit of a smile forming on my lips because suddenly she's looking slightly embarrassed. It's kinda cute, really, which is a term that I fear if ever used to describe Olivia to her face was likely to get me my ass whooped. Her cheeks have a wash of a flush to them and she's pulled her hands up into the sleeves that are just that much too long for her. She looks up at me with a ducked head, lightly bumping her now covered hands against the sides of her thighs.

"Guess you're wondering where I got this, huh?" she asks.

I really wasn't going to make her explain herself. The truth is, I don't really care. But, as long as she's offering…I shrug.

"I got cold a few days ago. Those damned comp guys keep it freezing up there because of all the equipment. Overheating and all."

I raise an eyebrow. Apparently she's forgotten that she's one of those damned comp guys now.

She pauses, a bit slack-jawed. "Oh. Right." Another pause. "Anyway, I got cold and my sweater wasn't enough and you were out on a call and I knew you had this in your locker and it looked comfortable…" she's rambling now, "and it is, by the way. Comfortable, I mean. Shit. I'm sorry. I'll wash it and get it back to you."

I wave her off. "Nah. Don't bother. The day I noticed it was missing was the same day I stopped wondering where it was."

She opens her mouth to protest, but I notice that she's tucked herself up a bit tighter into the shirt.

"Really, keep it," I cut her off. "Besides," I reach out and pinch a piece of the excess fabric on her upper arm, tugging on it, "looks better on you anyway." Jesus Christ, I didn't even touch her…I touched a sleeve, and my whole body just became acutely aware that earlier this afternoon, this woman kissed me. Lord, if it's even possible to will oneself to not get a hard-on, please let me do it now. "I want you back, Liv."

Well, fuck, that wiped the smile off her face.

"I can't do that, Elliot. I can't. If being your partner means that I can't put your life above everything else, I just can't."

I smear a hand over my forehead and eyes. "Goddammit, I never should have said that to you. I shouldn't have because if we were ever in another situation like that, it'd have made me a hypocritical jackass."

She crosses her arms protectively over her chest.

"I'd still have chosen you. I'd have chosen you and I was terrified that they'd split us up, but I'd have done it anyway." I take a breath. "It really sucks doing this job without you." I mentally kick myself for the comment. After all, she's the one who made the sacrifice of transferring.

"Well, it sucks not doing the job at all."

I kick myself harder. "Jesus, Liv, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that either."

She shrugs a shoulder and looks at me with a melancholy smirk on her face. Her lips say "amused." Her eyes say "sad." She says, "Am I the only one seeing a trend here?"

I smile ruefully, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my black pants.

"Just," she searches for her words, reminiscent of our locker room conversation, "just don't tell me I did it for nothing."

I reach up and trail my forefinger down her cheek. "What do you want to have done it for?" I need her to be specific. I need to know I'm not imagining all this, that she really wants the same thing I do.

"I don't know." She huffs out a breath. "Something. Anything." Her arms gesture out to the sides in exasperation. She shakes her head slowly a couple times and blows a few strands of hair from her face before sighing and looking up at me. "Everything."

Good answer.

"You."

Better answer.

"Us."

Bingo. That's what I'd been hoping to hear all along. I return my right hand to her face, propping her chin on the side of my forefinger and using my thumb to hold it in place. I close the distance between us with two short steps and can smell this deliciously seductive combination of her perfume and my cologne drifting up from the sweatshirt she's wrapped herself in. Before I know it, my lips are on hers. I mean, at least now, I can be relatively certain we're on the same page here. But if I'm wrong…if I'm wrong…if she hauls back and punches me right now…fuck, I don't want to be wrong. So far, I haven't done more than what she'd done in the locker room, just letting my lips rest on hers. So far…