A/N: If erosion wasn't a necessary part of evolutionary growth, it would not occur naturally. - Dr. H. M. Helliker.

DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler

"You and Nick looked friendly, back there." He knows his voice sounds like ground titanium, the jealousy not even trying to hide itself. He uncoils his watch and tosses it onto a silver tray on his dresser and scoffs. He shoves down his jeans and tears away his tee-shirt, throwing them like a deflated basketball into a pile near the closet. "Something you're not telling me about the two of you?"

She wishes he would turn around so he could see the incredibly befuddled and aggravated expression on her face. "No," she spits gruffly. "Nothing happened with him. Ever. Not the way you're thinking." Her breath escapes on a loud grunt, then, and she gives second thoughts to asking him the question that's been burning in the back of her throat all night. "Mental note," she heaves as she peels her dress off over her head. "You're more of an aggressive, jealous bastard than usual when you're drunk."

He chuckles but it isn't happy, and he pushes his legs into a pair of sweats. "Yeah," he scoffs, shaking his head. He inhales, catching her scent as it wafts toward him, and he sighs. She's intoxicating. Scratching a hand down his reddening chest, he mumbles, "Sorry, I just…" he licks his lips and lays his badge and holster-wrapped gun on the tray in case they get called in, because he's certain they will. Cragen knows how to hold a grudge. "He's your age, ya know?"

"He's a few years older than me," she counters, slipping into a pair of purple sweatpants that are a size too big and far too long for her. "But he's not my type." She tugs on a white tank, then eyes him as she crosses her arms. "You've been puttering around, trying to tell me something since we got back here. I swear to God, Stabler, if I just packed up everything I own and carted it across town just for you tell me you don't want me here…"

"Fuck," he snaps, turning sharply toward her, "The complete fucking opposite, actually!" He stomps closer to her, his bare chest heaving with every taken breath, and he exhales loudly when he meets her in front of the bed. One hand flies to her left hip, the other tugs on the laces of his dark blue sweatpants. He twirls the strings around his fingers for a moment, gnawing on his lip, but then he moves. Taking both of her hands, he licks his lips and looks into her eyes. "You told me how terrified you are of losing me, and I promised you that it's not gonna happen. I need…" he lost his words on another breath. "I need you to make the same promise. Not just...at work." He drops to the edge of the bed, sliding the soles of his feet across the carpet, and he pulls her down into his lap. She's the miracle you prayed for, now tell her that. He grabs her legs and settles her into a straddle, one leg on either side of his broad body and her knees on the mattress. "Tonight," he huffs, "How many frat guys tried to pick you up? Those drunk bastards, some of them had a hard time being rejected. If we weren't busy fucking in the back, you could have been the one that…"

"El," she whispers, stopping him and cupping his chin, "I turned them all down, and you know if any of them tried to hurt me, I would break their arms." With her thumbs swiping under his eyes, she bends her head and kisses him once. "Then you'd kill them. So what's really bothering…"

"Maybe it's because I'm pushing forty," he says suddenly, "A little over a year away, it's heading for me pretty fast." He blinks twice and then looks into her brown eyes. Chocolate and coffee. Addicting. "I need to know that you are gonna be here...that when the novelty of being with me wears off, when the thrill of fucking your handler is…"

"Is that what you think this is?" she questions; it comes on a disbelieving huff. She moves to get off of him but his grip tightens and she watches him shake his head fast, almost panicking. Settling herself on him again, she notices the shift in his gaze, the way his eyes have darkened. That's still your favorite fucking color. "What are you saying, then? Because it sounded like you…"

"I'm tired of justifying this," he interrupts, slipping his hands up her back. "Why can't the fact I'm fucking in love with you be enough? People are always gonna tell me I'm robbing the cradle, having a midlife crisis!" Dragging a hand across his chin, he tries to breathe through a clenched jaw. "They're gonna tell me you're living out a fantasy, sleeping with your hero, or you're using me to fill in for the father you never had, someone's always going to tell me you need to be with some punk kid your own age and that I need to find a single mother to blend families with!" Shaking his head, he lets out a hard huff. "Shit, the only thing I can think of to do that'll finally tell them all to fucking fuck off once and for all is…" he takes a deep breath and he realizes what he's about to say sounds insane, and he needs to tell her the truth before he can ask her anything as asinine. You owe it to her. Make her understand. "Tonight, when you said...I could've been the one going to Kuwait, getting deployed…" he closes his eyes and pulls her closer to him.

Her head falls forward, rests against his. "What about it?"

"When Kathy left...I almost re-enlisted." It sounds like a Sunday morning confession. "Thought about it a lot, how it would get me away from everything that has gone wrong in my life, take me out of this God-forsaken city." He brushes his nose against hers and whispers, "I was lost, for a long time. That's why everyone told you I was closed-off and cold. I tried to sever ties." He shrugs and swipes his lips across her clavicle, breathing her in. "Something held me back, a voice that kept telling me to wait, that things were gonna get better." He laughs softly. "I got tired of waiting, I guess, because I was gonna tell Cragen…" he pauses and kisses her once. "The day you walked into the unit."

She grins and kisses the end of his nose. "We saved each other, that day, didn't we?" Her eyes begin to burn and she kisses him again, a bit more intensely than she'd planned, and when she pulls herself back, she knows she has to ask him, because she can't make another move until she does. You need to know the answer. "You don't…" her eyes slide shut and the nerves gather in her stomach. "You don't regret this." It comes out like an assumptive affirmation, and she opens one eye, gives him a half-cringing glance. "Do you?"

His breath hitches and he clears his throat. Fuck. With a shift, he lifts her up and flattens her down on the bed. Keeping his eyes on hers, he moves over her, slinking slowly like a predatory panther. "Why would I regret the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me?" he whispers.

Watching every muscle move beneath his skin, she shivers and moans. Accept it, damn it! She feels his hands pull at the fabric of her clothes and her eyes flutter when his weight shifts and his left knee shoves itself between her legs. "I'm serious," she says softly, and there's a meaning in her words she hopes he understands, because she can't bring herself to say anything else. If she speaks, the tears will come, the stifled fears will rise.

"So am I," he interjects, peering down at her with a smirk, "You really don't get it, do you?" He lifts her tank slightly, lets his palms lay flat against her stomach. You lucky bastard. He feels the way her abs clench, and he moans. Her body is pure muscle, wrapped in soft femininity. When he trails his fingers upward, further under the cotton, he grins smugly. Do it, you son of a bitch. This is one of his favorite moments; the instant that her nipples harden beneath his touch, the sound of the first sensual moan she releases. He bites down on his lower lip and watches her eyes roll back, knowing that his ministrations are making her wet, needy, helpless.

"Get what?" she whimpers, her hips thrust unconsciously giving in to his silent demands. She hears him chuckle again and she moans. He's a cocky bastard, but you love it. Her hands move fast, nails curl into the skin of his arms, and when he lowers his head, she brushes her nose against his.

Bending forward, he nips at her lips, and when he captures them, he moans again. Kissing her is like praying; he feels saved and worthy of being alive. She is your paradise, and she tastes like heaven. Thick fingers pinch and roll her nipples and he catches her whines on his tongue. When he pulls back, he looks down at her and says, "I'm your partner, in every fucking way." He runs the tip of his tongue along her parted lips, then shifts his elbows and arms, working the tank top over her head. When he tosses it away, he says, "I may be your handler," and he drops lower, holds her gaze steadily, and after a hard swallow, he tells her, "But you own me. I'm yours." His eyes drop to her chest, he growls once, and he grits out, "You're fucking mine."

Another loud cry of his name is ripped from her throat when his mouth surrounds her right nipple, his teeth pinch as he sucks and she says, "God, yes, I am," as her body bucks upward. She moves with him, working to peel the layers of fabric and doubt away from each other, and just as she kicks her feet, letting her pants fly off, she slaps her hands against the sides of his face and pulls him toward her, needing to look at him. "All yours," she whispers, and she kisses him soundly.

With a soft groan, he shoves his sweats off of his feet, hears them drop to the floor, and then moves again. His hands slip up the sides of her legs, her hips, along her back, and as he settles himself against her, his cock works between her folds and he moans her name. Wrapping around her, he realizes she's trembling in his arms. You still scare the shift out of her. Does she know how terrified you are? Kissing her again, he slowly thrusts his hips, pushing himself into her as deeply as he can.

Holding him tightly, she returns his eager kiss, letting him devour her the way he needs to, the way she wants him to. "El," she moans when he stops moving, feeling his pelvis press against hers. Skin snaps as her nails dig into his back, he's so deep and still, his body throbbing on top of hers, and she senses every slight twitch and pulse he gives. Scratching her nails down his spine, she moans his name again, then whispers, "I love you."

For the first time, her words chill him to the bone. There's something in the way she says them that causes his blood to run cold and his head to pop up. He peers down at her, narrow eyes and flat smile, and tilts his head as his dick swells inside of her with impatient need. Clutching her body, he rolls onto his back with one hand firmly cementing her against him and the other brushing her hair back and away from her eyes. "That sounds like…" She doesn't want to love you. "Liv?"

Rocking her hips once, she caves, and the fears swell, the doubt creeps up, the desire burns, her tears are born, and she sniffles as she says, "You wanted me to promise," her body rolls again, "So I am." Her back curves and she kisses him slowly, finding a rhythm as she rides him. "As long as you want this...me…I'm not going anywhere." she blinks and hot droplets roll down her cheeks, they fall onto his chest, "God, Elliot, we're so fucking…"

He doesn't want to hear her tell him how fucked they are, how badly they've screwed up. He knows what they're risking, he knows that his daughter isn't completely on board with them, he's aware his boss thinks he's an asshole. "I love you," he tells her again, slamming his body upward as she slides down to him. Knuckles curl and wipe away her tears as his legs wind around hers to keep her close.

As she searches his perfectly blue eyes, it hits her at once. When she was born, he was eighteen, married, a father, a marine. His life was settled when hers had only just begun. While he was working his way through the academy, she was trying to survive her childhood. The year he got divorced, she graduated college and joined the ranks of the NYPD as one of the youngest rookies ever admitted. When he cycled through partners, she balanced her independence against her dependent mother. Fate stepped in, and they found each other at a time when they thought they'd never need anyone, that no one needed them. He'd been right, when he'd said they'd been meant for each other, that she'd been given to him, she realizes it now. This is real. Let it be real. Love him. Dropping her head again, she meets his lips and accepts a deeper, wilder kiss, one that's filled with heat and light and a thousand promises that she trusts now.

With a soft grunt, he works into her like a potter kneading clay, slow and deep and powerful with the intention of creating something unique and priceless. "I love you," he says, prodding her, hoping she's going to say it back, again, with more conviction and less resignation. "Fuck, Olivia, I love you." She doesn't know what it takes for you to say that, for you to give that part of yourself to someone else. Closing his eyes, he bucks and slams into her, the speed pickup almost too sudden.

The waffling needs to end, she decides, and her nails pierce the skin of his chest as she drops onto him again. Thank God it's over now. No more running, no more ignoring his insistent words, because she's never been more certain of anything in her life than she is of this man. He is truth, he is faith, he is everything you thought you'd never have. "I love you," she cries as her head falls back, her body succumbing to his demands.

"Yes, baby," he grunts, feeling her clench and tighten around him. Hot wetness trickles down his cock, pools in the crease of his thighs as he moves, and he thrusts as hard as he can through her pulsing. "Fuck, yes," he growls, and his fingers curl around her hips, press into her skin, and with one more slam he holds her down as he he cums, spitting out muffled curses and shouts of her name as he fills her. Claim her. Hit your mark. Bullseye. "Fuck, God damn, Olivia," he pants as he sputters and jerks, holding her as she shakes.

As she collapses onto him, her lungs burning and her spent body melting into his, she buries her head into his neck and says, "This isn't a mistake."

It makes sense now. All of it. Through his heavy breathing, twitching muscles cry as they make one last move and he winds himself around her tightly. "No, it's fucking not," he scoffs. "Who the hell told you it was?"

"Cragen," she whispers breathlessly. "At the bar. Said he was sorry about what he said to you," heavy pants spark between each word. "He said…" weakly, she rolls her head back and looks into his eyes. "He said he knows you'd never do something so stupid, that we'd never make that kind of...mistake." Her cheeks are hot, her overworked body quivers as she tries to move, and she moans when she feels his cock throb inside of her again. Say it. "I'll never be sorry," she falls to him again.

He laughs as he kisses her and he whispers, "Well, considering I plan on keeping you forever, neither will I." He nuzzles her, uses his thick thighs to pull her even closer, and sighs when her head drops to his rapidly rising and falling chest. "You don't think I'm serious, do you?"

"About what?" she pants, tracing the outlines of his muscles with one finger. Her eyes flutter closed and she focuses on his loud, thumping heartbeat. It makes her smile, his proof of life, and she sighs as she settles against him.

His eyes are wide open, focused on the stucco ceiling. He licks his lips and the thought that has been nagging him and begging for release builds on his tongue. The words form and taste like expensive scotch and he smiles as he finally speaks. "You and me," he exhales. "I wanna take care of you, love you, protect you," his lips press to the crown of her head. "For the rest of my life." Say the words! He inhales. "Liv, I want to…" he chokes. Coward! "Thirty-eight," he scoffs, "Isn't that fucking old."

She chuckles softly and whispers, "No, it's not," and then she snickers. "My mother is older than you." Hearing him grumble a playfully teasing insult, she laughs again and moves her hand over to his arm and starts tracing his tattoo with her ring finger. She hears him moan and cranes her neck to look at him. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm still young enough to have a life with you," he breathes, closing his eyes. "People forget that." As her finger trails along the inked Jesus on his bicep, he smiles. "I can give you the life you deserve. We can get married, have kids, I swear to you I'm not…"

"Elliot," she interrupts, her open eyes staring down at him. Her lips curl into a smile and though she's promised herself she wouldn't cry anymore, she feels her nose tingle and burn. "You don't think that's…"

"Oh, I know it's fucking crazy," he laughs, and he pulls her back down to him. "Doesn't make it any less true." He kisses her slowly, lazily, their tangled limbs dragging against each other. He doesn't tell her that Jeffries has called him three times, or that Kathleen Eastman has requested a permanent spot on the SVU roster. He hasn't told her that his mother is coming up from Jersey for the weekend or that he's taking the sergeant's exam. None of it matters now, it can all wait, because this moment is too pure and sacred to tarnish with the weight of anything else. He slows his kiss, but doesn't stop it, not until there's silence, until sleep has swept them away.

The phones ring at the same time, one ringtone shrill and mechanical, the other an obnoxiously loud rendition of the theme from Dragnet. He groans as he rolls his head to the side, then reaches for the devices. Groggily, he pulls the charging cables out of them and hands the thinner, larger phone to her. "Here," he slaps her arm with it and laughs when she tells him where he can shove it. "Stabler," he mumbles, answering the phone as he runs his other hand down his face. Yawning, he listens, and he moves slightly, only to realize he's still inside of his lover. "Yeah, on the way. I'll get her, not a problem, believe me."

She hangs up her own call and yawns before she winces. "I don't wanna," she complains. She feels him kiss her forehead and then slowly, she shifts away from him. "I hate that part," she seethes. You hate not feeling him inside you, feeling his heartbeat against your chest, because you love him. You fucking love him. She kisses his chin and rolls onto her back.

"Me, too," he whispers. He throws the blankets off and moves to get out of the bed, then looks out the window. It's still dark, morning is not yet broken, and he sees lightning flash across the sky. "Raining," he says, then turns to her as he stands and thunder rolls through the room. "So you won't need to worry about drying your hair." With a laugh, he picks her up and tosses her over his shoulder. He slaps her ass hard and carries her into the bathroom, knowing this really is the first day of the rest of the life he plans to build with her.

As he drops her to her feet, she cups his face. "I love you," she whispers. Watching him set the water temperature and turn the shower on, she says, "I heard you, El."

Looking at her, he raises one eyebrow and stares quizzically at her as he pushes the curtain aside. He takes her hand and steps into the shower with her. "Heard me?" and then he understands. "You know... I talk in my sleep. What, uh...what did I say?"

"You weren't awake?" she asks, reaching for a sponge and the body wash they now share. "You don't know what you said?" the question leaves her lips as she turns over the bottle, its neutral clean scent fills the air as she squeezes it out. Running the soapy sponge over his shoulders she says, "I answered you. You didn't hear me?"

His eyes widen, and then he grins. "Thought I was fucking dreaming," he spits on a sigh. Crashing into her, he slants his mouth over hers. The sponge slips out of her hands and lays forgotten on the tiles, and they ignore the world for a moment.

Only a moment.

Because soon, it will be impossible to forget at all.

A/N: The last chapter. Next.