A/N: Another series of drabble-type things, 100-words each. It goes back and forth between Elliot/Olivia and Munch/Alex. Yes, Alex. She's still alive, or not in the Witness Protection Program, in these. If those couples aren't your cup of tea, turn away. Other than that, enjoy.
i. Inferno
She's never felt better than she has tonight. She feels sexy, feminine. She didn't have to be "the detective" tonight. She got to be "the woman." She rolls over onto her side, enjoying the feel of smooth, clean sheets sliding against her bare skin. And how wonderful it was to have him see her as a woman. He was there, looking deliciously masculine, sans wife. She noticed, but didn't say anything. The night led to the inferno. Yes, she had lit like a flame beneath him. She remembers every detail. She knows they can't do this, but it feels…right.
ii. Gifts
It's Christmas morning, and they both have off. It's a little odd, he thinks. Do people not commit crimes on Christmas? But he shakes it off. He's here, in a place that feels like home, enjoying the best Christmas he's had in a long time. She's beautiful in the morning sun, one of his shirts barely covering her. She grins and begins to tear open presents. It makes him feel old. She should be here with someone her own age. She seems to read his mind, and turns to face him, giving him a gentle kiss. "I love you," she whispers.
iii. Guilt
She visits one day, but from the look on her face, it's not a pleasant visit. She hasn't come by recently since they separated. You feel odd about the situation. She asks to see him privately. You fetch him a cup of coffee. He sighs and shrugs his shoulders in a careless gesture. He's got the world on his shoulders, you think. He leads her to an interrogation room. You follow, and watch through the two-way mirror. You can't even believe you're eavesdropping. She pushes a manila envelope towards him. "I hope it was worth it." She sighs, then leaves.
iv. Shrapnel
There are fragments of glass and plastic around the area. He can't believe it. Sunglasses go on. He can't show emotion. Not here. He's got personal ties to her. Everyone knows. And he feels their eyes on him. He doesn't want their pity. He loved her more than anybody in the world, including himself. He needs her. She can't be gone. She just can't. He feels the fragmented shards crunch under him as he walks. He's going to slaughter the fuckers that killed her. But somehow, he knows that won't be enough. He wishes she were alive, but she isn't.
v. Desire
They're alone. And now would be the perfect time to tell her how he feels or kiss her or express himself, assert himself, whatever it is, he thinks. She's so beautiful, he thinks. The alcohol haze from a few hours ago seems to be settling on his mind now. Everything he thinks and feels goes out the window when he pushes her up against the wall and kisses her. She's kissing him back, and he starts to pull at her clothing. They'll get caught. This isn't right. He's married. When she breathes his name though, he knows he needs her.
