A/N: Learning from the tears and the mistakes, We're not perfect but we've come such a long way (Soldier - James TW)

DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story is allllllllllllllll mine. © TStabler

"You look like hell," Elliot straightens up a bit, tossing a file onto his desk. "What happened?" His eyes follow her as she moves to the back table, her hands immediately reach for an industrial coffee pot carafe. He stands, then, walking fast, because he knows she would only willingly drink the department's sludge in the absence of hard liquor. "Okay, baby, what the hell happened?"

She laughs bitterly as she downs half of her freshly poured coffee with closed eyes. She grimaces as she swallows, shakes her head, and says, "Attorney-client privilege is a bitch."

From behind them, Fin tosses his jacket over the back of his chair, drops into the seat, and spits out a curse. "The son of a bitch told his brother that he told the whole damn story to his lawyer…"

"Who can't say anything, even though he's in a coma," Olivia interrupts, throwing back the rest of the coffee. She moves to pour another cup.

"Hey, hey," Elliot grabs her hands and whispers, "One cup a day, we agreed...just in case," he raises one eyebrow and gives her a small smile, one he knows drives her crazy. He takes the cup out of her relaxed hands and says, "What did Warner give you?"

"A headache," she breathes, folding her arms. "We still don't have anything but his DNA, which under the circumstances isn't gonna do much good." She bites her lip and shifts her weight onto her left side. "Of course, he gets into a car accident as soon as we get the green light to nail his ass."

"Wasn't an accident," Munch's dry voice interjects as he hangs up his desk phone. "Just got off the line with Traffic and Transpo, they reviewed tapes and it seems McNultey was hit by a car going the wrong way down a one-way street, a car that not only accelerated but swerved to deliberately hit him. Got the driver in holding down at the Two-Nine, guess who it is."

Fin, Olivia, and Elliot simply stare at him, clearly unwilling to play guessing games.

Munch angles his head slightly and says, "Tara Hunter's father."

Elliot and Olivia share a look, her left eyebrow shoots up and the right corners of her lips crook. "Guess we're taking a ride to the Twenty-Ninth," she says, slapping him in the chest.

He winks and nods, turns to grab his coat, and as he pulls it on, he says, "We're having dinner with Ed on Sunday. He, uh…"

"We are like hell," she retorts, not even letting him finish his sentence.

He rolls his eyes as he waves to Munch and Fin, and once they're out in the hallway he says, "He wants to prove that he isn't a complete dick, give him the chance to be nice to you, would ya?"

"I married you," she says when her palm hits the elevator button, "And you still haven't proven you're not a complete dick, so what does that say about how I feel…"

"Liv," he warns, hiding his amusement. He leads her into the elevator and says, "He's done us a couple favors already. What he does on the job and who he is off the clock are two totally…"

"Exactly!" She shoves her hands into her pockets and shoots a hard gaze toward the metal doors as they close. "He's done nothing but string us up like a couple of piñatas, berating you and threatening us, ready to yank away our badges and gloating every time our asses end up in a sling...instantly he thinks it's always our fault…"

"Because it usually is," he shrugs, and he hooks two fingers through her loose belt loop. He pulls her a bit closer, his eyes travel over her body once, and he smirks at the way her sweater is the same deep yellow as his tie, perfectly complimenting his shirt. "He never did anything that…" he sees the look on her face, the way her dark eyes seem almost black and the way her nostrils flare like an angry bull's. "Okay, uh, maybe he overreacted once or twice," he relents, and he moves closer to her, feeling a bit hurt when she backs up.

"We're at work," she reminds him, brushing her hair behind her ear. "And I'm too annoyed to kiss you, right now."

"Are not," he teases, and when the doors open he gives her a playful shove. He chuckles as she rolls her eyes again, and he knows that his immature mischievousness is one of the things she loves about him. At least, he hopes it is. He pulls on his tie as they walk toward the glass doors, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again. "So, I, uh, talked to Cragen while you were out."

"Figured you would," she says without looking at him. She pushes through the doors and the slightly warmer city air hits her face. She closes her eyes and takes the breeze for what it is, a relaxing moment before all hell breaks loose. She inhales again and moves a bit faster, feeling him keeping his stride right beside her. It makes her smile, and she realizes that's how it's always been, and always will be. They will always be at each other's side. "What…" she finally turns to look at him. "What did he say?"

He notices the way she bites her lip. He knows it means she doesn't really want the answer but she'll be aggravated and anxious if she doesn't get it. "Long story short," he licks his lips and digs around in his pockets for the car keys. When he finds them, he holds them in his hand for a moment, feeling the sharp, shiny house key and tracing the unworn edges with his index finger. He smiles, then, and looks at her. His face falls when he thinks of what he has to say to her. "He thought we were hiding something about Calderone…" he half-shrugs and moves with her closer to the Ford. "Thought, ya know, instead of just asking us he would keep us under his surveillance in case we decided to confess to murder in our sleep."

She squints and her head angles in a way that usually means she's about to hit something. Or someone. "Are you serious?" She stops him before he can open the driver's side door, both of her hands cup over one of his much larger, rougher ones. "That's what he said?"

He closes his eyes and nods, but then he dives into her concerned gaze and says, "That...and the fact he doesn't trust me with you." He makes a face at her, one he hopes hides his tremendous disappointment and hurt but he knows she reads him like her favorite book. "Told me he thinks there's no way I can love you as much as I do, and he thinks you're not the marrying type."

"I'm not," she admits, and her hands work his fingers apart. She traces the lines in his palm with the pad of her ring finger. "I wasn't," she corrects, and she lets herself give him the barest hint of a smile. "Until you." She presses her lips together for a moment. "If he was listening to us, he knows that. He's heard us say a lot of things…" she shakes her head and leans forward slightly, her fingers still drawing invisible portraits on his skin, and she kisses his chin.

The act makes his heart stop. There's something in the soft tenderness of her kiss that shifts the axis of his entire universe and he blinks once as he swallows hard. He darts his eyes around the parking lot, and seeing no one of any importance, he ushers her into the backseat of the car. He slips in beside her and makes sure the door closes before he works off his coat and suit jacket. He grins at her as he crawls forward over her, pushing her down into the seat.

The leather is somewhere between brown and red; it smells like coffee and a hot mix of his cologne and her perfume, and as he takes a deep breath he realizes how perfectly the combination of scents blends. He dips his head and once his forehead touches hers, he whispers, "I love you."

She can't speak, though she moans and nods, and her hips rise when his fingers find her wet heat beneath her clothes. Briefly, she ponders when and how he discovered his talent of working his hand into her pants without so much as unbuttoning them, but it's a short-lived question that dies on another cry of his name.

He pushes another finger into her and kisses her softly. As though they're taking over the controls, his lips pry hers apart and his tongue thrusts forward. So much more passionate than he'd intended, but neither of them complains. He feels her trying to tug at his belt, but he shakes his head. "Not enough time," he breathes, and then he chuckles. "Not enough extra pants," he jokes, his way of telling her that he's beyond worked up. He has been for a while, and if he gets to the point where he blows a gasket, the mess would merit an entirely new suit.

She slides her hands upward and clutches the sides of his face, her body rocking with his, her breath quickening and her heart racing. Her voice wavers in pitch and volume, high and soft, loud and low, as he brings her closer to the edge. "Elliot," she says, a warning.

"I know," he whispers against her lips, "That's the idea," he chuckles. He kisses her again and grunts once, twisting his wrist and squeezing his thumb into place against her clit. He rubs her fast, catching her whimpers in his mouth. He shivers as he feels her body tighten, he can feel her convulsions around his fingers, and for a blissful moment he knows he's in heaven. "Baby," he whispers, "Let go."

She obeys, because she lost the ability to deny him anything a long time ago, and her back arches. She screams and grips his head tightly, shaking against him as her orgasm rips and rolls through her. It takes longer than usual for the tension and pleasure to begin to subside; breathlessly she rolls her hips in waves as he slowly thrusts and twists, prolonging it and letting her ride it out as long as it takes. "God," she huffs, "Jesus."

He smirks and kisses her, and he pulls his hand free. He keeps his eyes on her as he brings his hand to his mouth and sucks every overworked finger slowly, completely. With rolling eyes and a low-toned satisfied moan, he rises to his knees and ducks his head, climbing over the console to settle himself behind the wheel. Looking at her in the rear view mirror, he grins salaciously. She can't move quite yet, she has one hand splayed over her stomach as the other is flopped limply at her side hanging off the seat. "I love you," he tells her again, and instantly his eyes change. They darken, his pupils dilate, he knits together his brows. "If anyone ever fucking doubts that again…"

"I love you, too," she breathes, finally sitting up. She rises to her knees first, then works her way up front, and once she sits in the passenger seat and latches her seatbelt, she says, "We don't need to prove that to anyone." She grins. "Except maybe Barton." She pauses. "And Novak." Her head lolls to the side. "And Kathy." She huffs once. "Christ, you could have the most amazing…"

"I have the most amazing sex-life," he cuts her off as he starts the car, knowing where her rant was heading. "With my amazing wife. The most incredible woman...most perfect partner in the world." He reaches toward her and brushes a hand over her cheek. He blows her a kiss and then resigns himself to the task of driving carefully and heading back into the fray of the job.

She senses the shift in him, it prompts the same transition in her, and it makes her aware of how easily and quickly they can compartmentalize, how effortlessly they put their personal life aside for the ability to do their jobs. "Cragen's fucking insane," she laughs, now knowing the man has nothing to worry about when it comes to them.

Elliot hears her and he laughs, but a twinge of a familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him that at least one of Cragen's fears is about to be realized, and he smiles.

He can't fucking wait.

A/N: Next, a moment with the kids. A new case leads to a hard conversation...with Kathy. And what is Cragen hiding?