Olivia's officially lost her goddamn mind and the worst part of it might be that she didn't even have that much to drink last night so she can't blame her incredibly poor lapse in judgment on the alcohol.

But fuck, Elliot.

She'd climbed into his lap and he made her come with his gloriously thick fingers inside of her and his hot mouth on her neck, her breasts —

Okay, this isn't helping.

It was only when she was on the other side of her intense, toe-curling orgasm that she realized how much of a desperate and pathetic idiot she'd been throwing herself at him in the name of forgetting him once and for all.

With what little dignity she had left (did she have any left?), she tucked her breasts back into her dress, climbed off him, and strode out the door, ignoring the soft, broken way that her name fell from his lips.

And not only did she not accomplish what she set out to — other than the, um, obvious — but she'd somehow made it worse because now she really can't get that fucking asshole out of her head.

She flushes at her desk just thinking about it and damn it all to hell because she's not being subtle at all. "You okay, Liv?" Munch asks sincerely, peering at her curiously over his glasses.

"I'm fine." She forces a small smile. "Just a little warm in here, that's all."

"I heard you came last night," Amaro says.

Her head snaps up. "What?"

"To the party," he says slowly. "I heard you came to the party, but I must've missed you."

"Oh." She swallows. "Yeah, I was there. It was…nice," she replies flatly.

"Your old partner was there too, right?" he hedges carefully.

"Yeah, you know," she starts, clearing her throat. "If it's all right with you, I'd rather not talk about it."

"Okay." He nods. "But if you do need to talk about it…" he trails off, shrugging with a sheepish smile.

He's trying, despite how much of a bitch she's been to him, and she appreciates that.

"Thanks, Nick," she says, soft, sincere. He perks up a little at that and she makes a promise to herself that she's going to try to be a better partner to him.

The day drags without an active case, so when she finishes up her paperwork, she turns to the open cases instead, ones that have gone dry with dead-end leads. She's just getting up from her desk to head into an interview room for more table space to work with when her phone vibrates against her thigh.

Frowning, she removes it from her pocket.

A text from Elliot.

You left your coat at my place last night.

Yeah, she'd figured that out as soon as she stepped out into the frigid air last night after she left his apartment, but there was no way in hell she was going back for it.

Nice to see you still know how to work a phone, she replies with the roll of her eyes, shoving her cell back into her pocket.

"Liv?" Cragen calls for her and she looks up to find him waving her into his office. She sighs, doesn't feel good about this. She and Alex seemed to be the only ones who were surprised to see Elliot last night and it left her with several questions about how much of her squad was in on his little joke.

"Close the door behind you," Cragen commands when she steps inside his office. "And have a seat."

She does as he asks, remaining silent while she waits for him to start.

"So despite that little distraction last night, I just wanted to commend you for how you handled yourself in front of the brass. It went a long way with the Chief of D's and I think we can consider things smoothed over." He throws her a look. "For now."

"Understood." She forces a tight smile. "Is that all?"

He hesitates. "About Elliot - "

Olivia inhales sharply. "You knew he was coming last night, didn't you?"

"He called to make sure the invitation the brass sent him wasn't a mistake."

She snorts. "I bet he did."

"He assured me that if he decided to come, he was going to talk to you about it first."

"Well, he didn't," she snaps.

"Yeah, got that. Thank you, detective," he cuts in, reminding her again who the commanding officer in the room is.

She flushes, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry, Captain. He just - " she breaks off, pushing her lips together. "It really caught me off guard."

Cragen's face softens. "I know." He leans back in his chair, getting comfortable. "Did you at least give him hell?"

A watery laugh escapes her. "You bet your ass I did."

"Good. You wanna talk about it?"

"No." She shakes her head. "But thank you."

"My door's open if you change your mind."

She nods. "Thanks, Cap."

Are you going to be home later? I'll drop your coat off.

Olivia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. It's been a couple of hours since Cragen dismissed her from his office and she hadn't heard from Elliot during that entire time, hoping that her sarcasm had scared him off.

But she should've known better. The bastard knew her better than she knew herself most days.

Won't be home. Have a date.

Her phone pings immediately. You do not.

God, if he were here right now, she would strangle him. Why? Because it's that impossible that someone would ask me out?

Don't be ridiculous, he replies. I know when you're lying to me.

Fine, she types out. Olivia gets up from her chair, starts pacing the interview room. I'm lying. Satisfied?

She stares down at her phone, glued to the typing bubbles. Shit, she has more important things to do than fight with this man over text message, and yet -

I think the only one who's been satisfied is you, detective.

She nearly drops her phone, eyes flitting around to make sure no one is watching as the heat crawls up her neck. Is he flirting with her now, in the middle of an argument?

Well, yeah actually, she guesses that would track for the two of them.

You're such a smug bastard.

Ten, fifteen, thirty minutes go by and she feels…oddly disappointed? He's never backed down from her wrath before. Though surely, even he has a breaking point.

She finally gets her head together enough to review an evidence report when her phone chimes again.

Sorry, Maureen stopped by, she reads. I'm bringing your coat over later with some Chinese takeout and we're going to talk. Or I'm going to talk. You can listen. Or yell at me some more if you want.

She feels her nostrils flare as her fingers fly over the keys. But then -

I know you don't have an active case right now so don't bother. Oh, well, apparently it's just going to be a bloodbath tonight because she's also going to murder Munch and Fin. She cranes her neck to get a view of the bullpen, but doesn't see either of them lingering.

Which is such a shame because she'd love to chew someone out right now and Amaro and Rollins have gotten that enough from her lately.

Olivia considers staying at the precinct all night or hiding out at one of her local haunts, but the bitch of it is that she knows he'll find her. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but eventually he will catch up with her. She can only outrun him for so long and well, the thing of it is —

Now she thinks maybe she wants to hear what he has to say.

Ugh. Son of a bitch.

She's resigned herself to the fact that he's coming over whether she likes it or not, so she leaves the precinct after Cragen leaves and picks up a couple of bottles of wine on her way home. After she ditches her work clothes, she throws on some Joan Jett and cleans up a little bit — folds and puts away a couple of loads of laundry that have sat in a laundry basket for over a week now, vacuums the whole place, and wipes down the counters. Thankfully, she survives on takeout most nights when she's home so at least she can skip the dish-washing.

She's just pouring herself a glass of wine when the buzzer to her door goes off.

Olivia pushes the button to the speaker. "Yeah?"

"It's me."

She buzzes him in, remembering with a start that she's almost positive he still has a key to her place.

He knocks on the door and she swings it open, letting it rest against her hip. "I want my key back," she says by way of greeting.

"You gonna invite me in?" he asks, eyes glinting in amusement.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm serious, Elliot. You have a key to my apartment and I want it back."

Olivia watches as some of the light extinguishes from his gaze and she despises the way it makes her heart sink in her chest. "I don't have it on me right now," he says. "But I'll give it back to you if that's what you want."

She narrows her eyes. "You expect me to believe that you came all the way here without it, knowing that I might not let you in?"

He sighs, deflating even more. "I would never force my way in here, Olivia," he says quietly. "I know I've made some mistakes, but I'd like to think you know me better than that."

"I thought I knew you better than anyone, Elliot," she whispers, swallowing hard. "And then you just disappeared on me." She opens the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. "So you'll have to excuse me if I don't know which version of you is the real one anymore."

"I guess I deserve that," he acknowledges, clenching his jaw.

He steps in and she closes the door behind him, watching, a little stunned, as he hangs her coat up with the rest of her jackets and wanders into her kitchen, setting the bags of takeout on the counter before he starts fiddling through her silverware drawer.

It's all a little surreal.

All a little too much.

"Stop," she croaks. "Please."

He turns around to face her, confused. "What is it?"

"You can't just - " she chokes down a sob. "You can't just waltz in here and make yourself at home to everything as if you never left me."

Elliot's face drops and to his credit, he looks immediately remorseful as he knocks the drawer shut, coming toward her. "Liv, I - "

"You can't do this to me, Elliot," she whispers, holding her hands up. "I won't let you."

"I know," he replies gently. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Olivia."

And then he takes her into his arms and she lets him.