AN: I know there have been a few stories inspired by the season finale, but I couldn't help myself - I just felt like the ending was missing something and wanted to write my take on it (as well as what I wanted to happen.) One-shot.

They had gotten justice. It had been a win to a long, gruesome, sinister case.

If only it could have been the end to the long, emotional, draining day.

Bomb. Mosque. East Harlem.

Three words that had claimed five lives and will, undoubtedly, stir uproar in hundreds - quite possibly, thousands.

And yet, there was a single word stirring emotions in one Olivia Benson.

Disenchanted.

Disenchanted. Disenchanted. Disenchanted.

No, Olivia Benson was not disenchanted with him. She had been angry and upset - though, she had lied and told him she wasn't - because how dare he? How dare he suggest she, the lieutenant of SVU, willingly perjure herself? Hell, he had practically outright instructed her to. And, deep down, he had probably known she wouldn't do it. He had known, and yet, still, he had decided to emotionally blackmail her. Justice? Of course, she had wanted justice. She had fought and worked and argued and threatened. For justice. But she would not go against who she was to achieve it.

Yes, she had been angry and upset. But now... now, she was confused because no matter how much she had resented him, she understood. The case, being as high profile as it was, had been stressful for everyone. Tensions had been running high, the air was thick with pain and chaos, and there hadn't been a single person who wasn't ready to snap or cry or both. She knew why he had said those words in the courthouse. A father and husband dead. A daughter and sister raped and dead. A mother who had her entire family ripped apart in one night. Olivia had understood. Not everything was black and white. Not everything was right or wrong. But Rafael had wanted her to do something wrong for the right reasons - and she had wanted to do it.

She had wanted to do it.

"You sure you're not up for that drink?" He said, wriggling his tie loose as Dodds closed the door behind him. His tone was cautious, and he stared deep into the brown of her eyes as if daring her to say no.

She didn't answer, not right away. Instead, she stared right back. A few seconds - maybe minutes - passed without a word said between them. Then, she swallowed. "Yes," she said, flicking her gaze to her desk, effectively breaking their silent war. He also looked away, not wanting her to catch the hurt flash across his face. With a brisk nod, he turned to leave. His hand already on the doorknob, he was doing all he could to restrain himself from flinging the door open and leaving a dent in her wall when the sound of a throat clearing stopped him in his tracks. "I think we'll need something a little stronger than a cocktail," she said, dryly.

He could hear the smile in her voice, and sure enough, there was a soft grin waiting to greet him as he turned back to face her. The sight brought a pang to his chest, though it wasn't entirely unwelcome. He tilted his head, smirking. "You won't hear any complaints from me."

"Oh, thank God," she rounded her desk, taking the few steps required to meet him toe-to-toe, "I would have to drink myself into oblivion if I did."

Opening the door, he laid a palm on the low of her back. "Aren't we going to be doing that, anyway?"

She hummed, a light, teasing chime slipping past her pursed lips. Leaning in just slightly, their cheeks almost touching, she threw him a look that he had no doubt would keep him up at night. For many nights. "I would certainly hope so."

xENDx

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