A/N: Moving, keep on moving, where I feel I'm home again. - Supergrass

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the show or the characters, but, oh, how I wish I did.

March 27th, 8:05 AM

It had been hours since they'd been interrupted by work. Nearly ten long hours ago, she was somewhere she'd only ever dreamed of being, and part of her refused to leave that place. She could still feel him, chest pressed down to hers, the rest of his body hard and ready to make the one singular move that would change everything all over again. Behind her closed eyes, she saw his, brightly beaming, filled with tears and a decade of longing need. "Shit," she hissed, rubbing her palms into the hollows of her cheeks, an attempt to snap herself out of her hazy brooding. "Where the hell are Fin and Munch?" she asked after a caught breath. She looked down with a huff, picking lint off of her red shirt, the remains of her quick nap on one of the lumpy beds upstairs.

"Bargaining with the Two-Nine for their files on Detective Peterson," Elliot answered, stepping up behind her with two cups of coffee in his hands. He looped an arm around her shoulders and dangled the cup meant for her, sipping from his own at the same time.

Rolling her eyes at his playfulness, she smirked and took the cup with a nod. As she sipped, she felt his hand drop and curl around her arm. "You made this," she said after a satisfied hum.

"I did," he confirmed almost proudly, wagging his eyebrows. "Warner call back, yet?" He eyed her for a moment, suddenly reliving the most terrifyingly perfect moment of his life. Stifling a groan, he recalled how she felt beneath him, her slickness against his skin, how he was almost inside of her for the first time. With a frustrated grunt, he took another sip of his coffee, loathing his job now more than ever. He looked back at his partner, then smiled. "Well?"

"Not yet," she answered with a sigh. "She said it could take hours, the tests she has to run are…" she paused, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She took in his glimmering eyes, the way his lips curled to only one side, his brows slightly curled and tilted downward. Hidden in his state, she found layers of love, pride, gratitude, and something resembling lust but less vulgar.

He shook his head and let his right hand stroke down from her shoulder to her wrist. Fingers wiggled and itched with need, but he didn't grab her hand, he simply gave her forearm a small squeeze and then let her go. "Just…" he exhaled, shaking his head again, "Don't really want to be here, right now."

"God, me either," she whispered, letting her own expression soften into one that closely matched his. With a loud and heavy breath, she tore her eyes away from him and checked her watch. "Kids should be at school by now," she mumbled.

Swallowing a mouthful of coffee, Elliot nodded and smoothed his free hand down the length of his blue and white striped tie. "Maureen texted, she dropped them off, then got herself to campus safe and sound." He chuckled and said, "Listen to us. How long have we been married?"

"Almost ten years," she joked back to him, and then let the weight of reality land on her shoulders. She dropped her coffee to her desk and her smile faded as she picked up an open file. "Warner said there was water in her lungs, but we know she couldn't have drowned," she sighed, looking down at the four-by-six photo of their nineteen-year-old victim. "She was one hell of a swimmer, the captain of her school's team. She must've been unconscious when the bastard tossed her into the river."

"Or drugged," he offered, making the move to his side of their twin desks. He placed his almost-empty coffee cup down beside his pencil holder, then gently pulled the folder out of Olivia's hand. He scanned the pages, the details and data making him slightly queasy. "I left a message with the dean and the residence manager, when one of them calls back, we can head over to Hunter. Get into her dorm, talk to her roommate…" his cell phone rang, stopping his words, and when he pulled it out of his pocket, he rolled his eyes. "Damn," he scoffed to himself. Answering the call, he purposely looked away from Olivia as he said, "Hi, Kathy."

Olivia cringed slightly, having almost forgotten that she was still technically the other woman, that Elliot would be legally married for another four weeks, and that at any moment the life she was just settling into with him could crumble under her feet. Trying to ignore the conversation he was having with his almost-ex-wife, she grabbed the folder off of his desk and flipped the pages of the file. As she read, she slipped her fingers under the gold chain around her neck, grabbed the round pendant that held more meaning and emotion than anything else ever could, and dragged it up and down the links. Biting her lip, she sighed and tossed the file down. Her focus was pulled toward the doors of the squadroom; it stirred up memories of coming and going at all hours, always with him, sharing coffee and cart-made hot dogs, a decade of slowly but definitely falling in love with her partner. One by one, moments where they gripped each other's arms, touched each other's hands, or brushed against the other rolled through her mind like a flip book. It happened more often than she had wanted to admit, and the remembrances flashed like Polaroids. They faded, then, into technicolor images of him in the hospital, falling to the pavement, being held at gunpoint in a warehouse as she stared helplessly into his eyes, crumpling to the ground covered in blood and shattered glass. Her breath quickened, her eyes closed again, and she tried to calm herself down as she squeezed the medallion tighter in her hand.

"Hey," his voice was raspy, throaty, and right in her ear. He chuckled when she jumped at it, and he silently apologized for startling her. "Easy, it's just me!" He laughed. "You were pretty lost in thought, there." He grabbed for his coffee, leaning over both desks to do it, and when he righted himself, he noticed her pallid complexion, her slight trembling. He recognized the signs, then moved closer to squeeze her shoulder once. He rubbed down her arm and asked, "You good?"

She swallowed a mouthful of her own java as she nodded at him, slowly breathing through her nose. "What did Kathy want?" The sudden fire in her eyes wasn't easy to hide, and she only hoped that by staring at the small lockers to her right, she concealed it.

Smirking, he noticed the twinge of jealousy in her facade, then bent closer to her. "She was just reminding me to call her lawyer, and asking me to forward her mail." He dropped his voice and said, "She's not coming back, and even if she did…" he shrugged. "It wouldn't be to me and the kids. But, uh, she said something that…" he scratched a spot behind his ear and leaned back against Olivia's desk. "Makes me absolutely sure we are making the right decision here, you and me." He looked around, scraped his teeth over his lips, then whispered, "And the baby."

Choking on her coffee, her eyes bulged and she tried to breathe evenly again, her recaptured calmness dismissed just as fast. Her eyes narrowed as she looked glaringly at him. "What baby?" she spat. "There's no baby...yet."

Hiding his amusement, he licked his lips and threw his empty cup in the trash can next to their joined desks. "There will be," he says to her, promising with his eyes. "She's leaving everything that's in our storage unit with me. She doesn't want any of it." He pulled on the sleeves of his light blue button down. "It's the furniture that we used in the kids' nurseries, and all their baby clothes." With a twinkle in his eyes and warmer smile he whispered, "Which means, we're set. We wouldn't need much more than what we already have."

She let his words marinate as she looked him up and down. The way he stared so boldly at her, hopeful and determined, and his broad shoulders and chest puffed out in a protective dominance that made her want to promise him the world in return and forgive him anything. Her eyes drew back up to meet his and she opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Munch and Fin strolled into the room.

"Got an address," Fin spat, "And you ain't gonna believe who the prick is married to." He stormed over to the cork board and stabbed a pin through the top of the paper he'd been holding. He flicked it with two of his fingers and turned around, crossed his arms, and waited for someone to realize it. "No one?" he hissed, flummoxed.

Olivia moved, annoyed, her heels clicking against the tiles as she walked toward the board. Her eyes quickly scanned the page and then screwed together in complete bewilderment. "No," she looked over at Fin. "No way. When? How?"

"Apparently, they met at a conference," Fin said, "I called her and she told me that she's calling Langan, because this isn't…"

"Who the hell are you two talking about?" Elliot interrupted. He looked at Olivia, felt his heart thump, and then turned back to Fin.

Olivia exhaled and rubbed a hand across her forehead. "Frank Peterson, grade A scumbag, has been married to Erica Alden for the last three years." She mentally counted to three and then saw his eyes widen. "Yeah, we're fucked." She folded her arms and snapped her teeth into her bottom lip. "She can't stand dealing with us when we're on the same team. Now, we're investigating a case where her husband is the prime suspect?"

"She's gonna be unbearable," Elliot moaned. When the desk phone rang, he lunged, needing the distraction. "Special Victims, this is Detective…" he breathed. "Hey, Doc. Yeah, we are." He looked over at Olivia with seriousness scrawled on his face. "What? How can that...but his prints were all over...I understand that, Melinda, but now we're gonna...who?" One brow rose and he smirked vilely. "Thanks. We'll figure it out." He hung up and cleared his throat. His eyebrows formed an angry V as he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "We got a problem."

"Please," Munch complained, bowing his head and peering over the rims of his glasses, "Tell me it's not gonna give me a migraine."

Elliot huffed and looked at the older detective. "Hey, get yourself some aspirin, John," he gruffed, then rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand. "Peterson's prints were on the inside of the plastic bag, but it's not his DNA. Warner was able to recover enough from under the vic's nails to get a match. He's in the system," he looked at Olivia and softened. "Another cop."

"No," Olivia breathed unhappily. "Christ, so we still have to deal with…"

"Me," Ed Tucker strolled over to them, stroking a hand down the front of his grey suit jacket, no trace of a smile on his face. He looked around, eyeing each of the four detectives, and when he landed on Elliot, he widened his grin. "You can't call in another favor? Handle this the way someone magically handled Har-"

"Knock it the fuck off," Elliot cut him off and made a face, not willing to hear the name of the bastard who took away a piece of Olivia she'd never get back. "You know I had nothing to do with that, and you know I'm not in the fucking mob!"

"I don't know that," Tucker retorted, then he turned to Olivia. "Warner called me, I assume, right after she called you. I was on my way down here anyway to deal with Peterson, but now…" he rubbed the fingers of his left hand against his forehead, the cold metal of his wedding ring making him seethe slightly. "Shit, now we're probably dealing with one cop helping another one get rid of the body of the girl he raped and killed, which makes our day just fucking peachy, doesn't it?"

Olivia scoffed, then dropped her crossed arms. "Warner got an ID on the other guy, so while Elliot and I go bag the bastard, why don't you have your little temper tantrum in the box with Fin and Munch?" She turned her glare away from him but let out a light gasp when he grabbed her arm. Instinct kicked in and she rolled around fast, grabbing his wrist and yanking hard. "Don't touch me," she spat, rearing back.

Tucker froze, aghast, seeing a look in her eyes he'd never seen in anyone's before, his hand throbbing due to lack of circulation. "Benson, Jesus," he pulled on his arm, but she was holding it too tightly. Panicked, he whipped his head toward Elliot pleadingly, and watched as the man rushed forward.

"Hey," Elliot whispered to Olivia, cupping his hand over hers. "Let go of the nice asshole," he said softly, cooly. He felt her hand relax under his touch, and he whispered, "Breathe." He blinked once and when he opened his eyes, Olivia was staring at him, traces of anxious anger in her eyes, but concealed by more tame and tranquil emotions. He smiled at her and said, "Relax, okay? I'll deal with him, but we gotta go." He swatted her lightly on her back and prodded her toward their desks. As he watched her grab their coats, he moved over to Tucker, and as calmly as he could, he said, "Never grab her like that again." He exhaled. "You're lucky she didn't punch you." He growled lowly. "Even luckier I'm not going to, either."

"She still dealing with what happened to her in that hellhole?" Tucker had more concern in his voice than expected, and as he rubbed his rapidly bruising wrist, he shook his head. "That fucker grabbed her like that, didn't he?" He exhaled and winced. "Shit, I didn't know, I just…" he sighed and looked toward Olivia, who still had a scowl on her face. For a moment, he saw her in a new light, for the first time he was genuinely afraid for her and of her. "Sorry, Benson."

She nodded at him once, trying to take a few more deep breaths, hoping the face of Lowell Harris would fade away before she left the room. Her head turned as Elliot stepped up to her. Wordlessly, she handed him his suit jacket and his trench coat.

"You okay?" he asked as he put his blazer on, and after she nodded, he whispered, "The truth?" Crestfallen, he saw her lick her lips and close her eyes, drag her hand through her short hair, and slowly shake her head, changing her answer. Exhaling slowly, he cupped her elbow and led her out of the squadroom, down the too-quiet hallway, and then pulled her around a corner into a dark spot near a window. "You didn't snap just because Tucker grabbed you," he said knowingly, "You were half-gone before that, I noticed it when Kathy called me, so what's…"

"I don't know," she interrupted, gnawing on the corner of her lip. "I started thinking about how many chances we had to be honest with each other, how this has been the most incredibly confusing and intimate relationship in the world for ten years, convincing myself to start naming our unborn children," she inhaled and dropped her head, almost embarrassed. She pulled on the hem of her red shirt, then folded her hands into the pockets of her brown leather jacket. "Then all of a sudden, every time you held my hand turned into every time you got hurt, I remembered every fucking time I almost lost you all at once, and it…"

He silenced her the only way he knew how. The kiss was soft, slow, delicate. Lips grazed before tongues tangled, and moans stifled in favor of soft breathy wisps and silent promises. His left hand curled around her neck, his thumb brushed her cheek. As he pulled away, he dropped sweet pecks to her nose, her chin, and he pressed his head against hers. With closed eyes, he said, "I'm right here, okay?" He felt her head move up and down against his, and he smiled slightly. "You're with me, that's all that fucking matters." He pushed on the back of her head, bringing her toward him, and kissed her again. "You think you need to talk to…"

"No, no," she brushed off his would-be mention of one of the department shrinks. "I already told you, if I think I have to, then I will." Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath. She gave his body a once over, smirking at the way his suit clung to his form, and she tilted her head. "I like that shirt," she said with a lilt.

"I'm aware," he returned, winking at her. His worries faded as they began moving again, taking wider strides and staying in sync, and when they reached the elevator, he furrowed his brow. Slapping the call button, he said, "You didn't even ask me who we're on the way to pinch."

"I figured you'd tell me," she shrugged, stepping through the metal doors as they slid open. "Well, I mean, before I almost broke Tucker's hand." Scraping her teeth over her lip, she laughed softly. "He really did look terrified, didn't he?"

Chuckling, Elliot said, "Can you blame him? He got to see Badass Benson in all her glory. That shit scares me, half the time, so it damn near gave him a coronary," he elbowed her and bent his head, kissed her temple, and whispered, "I will never give you a reason…"

"Oh, I know," she stopped him from saying anything else. Her eyes widened slightly as she turned toward him and she stiffened as she said, "That's the one thing I have absolute faith and trust in," and then she smiled. "You."

He kissed her forehead and then straightened his tie. As they stepped out of the elevator, he cleared his throat, scratched the back of his head, and said, "Liv, it's Danny." He waited a moment for her to stop, turn, but when she kept walking and asked him who he was talking about, he took another breath. "Tatum."

She turned sharply, then, her eyes wide. "This day," she scoffed and chuckled bitterly, "Keeps getting better and better." She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes. "I'm gonna enjoy this," she hissed.

"I know you are," he said in the same irritated tone. "Not as much as I will." He pressed a hand to her lower back as they walked out of the building, toward the parking lot. As he moved, he grinned smugly, thinking of the perfect way to make her forget every horrid moment of this hellish morning. Unlocking the car, he let his hand fall away from Olivia's body. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and said, "Get in, I gotta make a quick phone call." Watching her smile at him and open the passenger door, he chuckled to himself. He dialed a number and then sighed, hoping he could handle hearing his mother gloat about being right.

A/N: Olivia talks to someone, but to whom? And do they finally get some time alone? Maybe...Next