Disclaimer: Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Thank you, Dick Wolfe and company, for your wonderful programming.

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Some graphic violence, sexual situations.

Reviews: Please. Thank you for all of the reviews. My deepest apologies for the delay in getting this up – I thought I would get it posted prior to vacay, but alas, I was mistaken. This chapter was a bit more difficult (and longer) than I had anticipated.

Chapter Five

The pain wasn't nearly as bothersome as the cold. While the wounds in his side and head had been numbed to a dull ache by the morphine, the bitter air seemed to burrow right into the marrow of his bones, taking root and flourishing through every cell in his body. Dressed as he was only in the thin, hospital regulation gown, Elliot had asked the nurses repeatedly to turn the temperature up. Nothing had changed though, and he was resigned to stay burrowed under the sheets and watch monotonous day-time programming to try and ease his discomfort.

It had been four days, and already he was jumping out of his skin. It didn't seem fair that his mind was racing but his body was so weakened. He wanted to be back at work, wanted to be up and on the streets again. And he needed to see her.

Elliot had received plenty of visitors over the past several days; all of his children, Fin, Munch, Cragen, several other cop friends and family. But not Olivia.

His thoughts always returned to her. Her absence was more painful than anything else he had endured the past several days. It felt like withdrawal; the clean, soft smell of the soap she used, the warmth she seemed to radiate, the honeyed whiskey sound of her voice. He had become acclimated to her constant presence by his side; she was his partner, his best friend, the one to whom he entrusted with his life. Since their partnership almost a decade ago, he had never gone so long without at least hearing her voice on the phone. It left a feeling of uncomfortable emptiness, a burning ache in his heart that he did not want to dwell on for the sake of his sanity.

Elliot had tried to call her multiple times with no success. He was left to skim bits and pieces of information from his visitors. And while he had learned of her physical state, no one was able to provide any sort clue to her well-being. Elliot hadn't been the only one she was avoiding. To that he imagined her in her apartment, alone with her guns and thoughts.

He sighed, trying to clear his head. Glancing back up at the television, he snorted in disgust. God damn Passions or Obsessions or whatever this show was called. Not the same one Kathy used to watch, but same genre. The plots were ludicrous. The only daytime show he could stomach was NYPD Blue reruns in an uncharacteristically early afternoon time slot. Munch's idiosyncratic fascination with the Sipowitz cop had guaranteed Elliot's passing familiarity with the show.

He turned the television off, tossing the remote onto his bedside table and settling back into the 45 degree angled slant of his bed. He closed his eyes, consciously relaxing his body at the same time preparing his mind for the on slot of dreams. It would be a mixture of images; the horrors of the streets, the blood gushing from his left lung, and his partner, her beautiful brown eyes drawing him in, dragging him under while her sweet, melodic laughter led him down the carnival path.

"Elliot."

His eyes flicked open. He was slower to turn his head. Enough experience on the job had his façade cool even while his chest had constricted at the sound of her voice.

Olivia stood in the doorway to his private room. She looked every bit a cop, but with an understated femininity that made it clear she was all woman. A man's fantasy and a perp's nightmare.

He took in her appearance unhurriedly, with a reverence usually reserved for reunited lovers. Black slacks and short-heeled black loafers. Her standard white tank top with a lavender button-down dress shirt over that, the three top buttons undone. Today she wore her horizontal shoulder holster with the Glock, the leather straps a sharp contrast to her soft cotton shirt. Bulge under the fabric at her left bicep where Elliot knew her bullet wound was bandaged. Smoky eye shadow and mascara giving her eyes a more haunting quality; clear gloss slicked over her soft lips sparkling like glass.

Olivia stared back at him silently. She knew that this was going to be hard, but the reality made a mockery of her mental preparations. Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets in a conscious move to prevent any fidgeting as she looked back at Elliot. His blue eyes were intense; she felt like a pinned butterfly under his perceptive gaze. No one else could make her feel this way, that he could read her, know her intimately, just by looking at her.

"You cut your hair."

Her right hand absently went to her hair, her long fingers slipping through the soft, freshly shorn strands. If she had allowed herself to think about it too long, she would analyze the motive of the haircut and how it mirrored that of a victim showering herself clean after a rape. Remove it all. Shower, cut and shave. The memory twined with the physical.

She stared back at him. There were several moments of silence, and then her shiny lips drew up in small smile.

"Yeah. I love the look you're sporting too, Stabler."

He looked at her blankly for a second, and then erupted into laughter. Since it was his lung and ribs that gave him the most pain and required the rehab, he often forgot about his temple wound. The doctors had to shave the right side of his head, a shitty job because for some reason, going to twelve years of medical school didn't guarantee one could hold a Bic razor straight. Six stitches and then a bulky white gauze bandage on top of that.

"Pretty, ain't it? My barber always does a bang up job." He grinned at her, beckoning her forward with a quick gesture of his right hand.

"Well, come on in, Liv. Pull up a chair, stay for awhile."

She moved out of the door frame and made her way into the room. Olivia walked over to a large, comfy looking chair in one corner, and pushed it across the flat, beige carpet of the small room to get closer to Elliot's bedside. She paused for a moment after positioning the chair on the right side of his bed. She stood behind the chair, both hands resting loosely on the back cushion, her focus on Elliot. His smile hadn't quite faded yet, laughter still warming his ice blue eyes.

"Liv?"

"I, uh, I've been meaning to give these back to you," she spoke quietly. Her hand was in her right pants pocket as she moved around the chair, sitting down on the very edge of the cushion, her left thigh flush against the metal frame of his bed. She held out her hand, his black rosary beads pooled in her palm.

Any trace of laughter was now gone from his face. His focus was intent on the black glass beads and their metal crucifix, the emaciated Jesus showing signs of time and wear. Elliot's lips drew out thin and Olivia knew he was remembering.

She had been with him. She had the rosary in her hand, resting her forehead against them. Her other hand was curled around his. He came out of the fog, out of the damp earth of his near death dream and she was there. An angel, pulling him back, bringing him to life. "I was in a fairytale. You were a bullet with butterfly wings."

His focus shifted from the beads back to her face. She blinked, staring wordlessly back at him.

"These were my grandmother's. Not much to look at, but so much history. There was a time or two when I was a kid that I was sure she was going to beat me with them, infuse more respect for the church and so on," he chuckled softly. He looked back down at the rosary, his voice lowered. "She gave it to me years ago. I think it was around the time Maureen was born."

His hand left the bed; his fingertips smoothed over the back of her open hand. His strong fingers curled over hers, closing her palm around the rosary.

"I want you to keep it, Liv."

"Elliot, I couldn't…"

"Please." His eyes were intent when they met hers again. "I gave it to you because I wanted you to have it." His thumb absently caressed over the fingers of her closed palm, gently pressing them into the cool beads. Goosebumps trailed up her arm in an unchecked response to his touch.

"El, I…"

"No, Liv. It's yours. You saved my ass, partner. The only lucky charm I'll ever need is you," he still spoke quietly, his signature grin pulling at the sides of his mouth again.

She closed her eyes, knowing there was no use arguing at this point. His hand left hers, and she opened her eyes again, slowly pocketing the beads.

She leaned back in the chair, a little unnerved by the ever present lull in conversation. She licked her lips, forcing a smile.

"So, I'm working a case with Munch. You wouldn't believe his whole theory on the plane that hit the Pentagon on 9/11. Munch has evidence that there was a missile…"

"Jesus, Munch is a piece of work. I'm surprised he hasn't checked your neck for the CIA chip yet," Elliot said with a cross between a laugh and a snort. "But rehab shouldn't take too long, according to the docs and I'll be back. And he hasn't mentioned aliens yet, right…?"

"But I've been keeping busy. That case, and then I still have the Clarkson file."

Elliot's left eyebrow arched. "Why? Novak told me IA was through."

"Yes, but I'm thinking there's more to this. Huang might have been perfect on his original work-up of these killings. What if there is someone else out there, El? What if we missed…?"

"Has something else happened? Another girl?" He leaned forward; bandaged and weakened, but still every part the detective.

"No, but I have a feeling...," Olivia's voice trailed off. Elliot was quiet for a moment; he trusted his partner. Her hunches had turned out extremely beneficial with prior investigations.

"Bring me the file. We can go over it. If we missed something, we can find it together, Liv."

She nodded her agreement. He would be able to assist where no one else could. She hadn't been able to spend much time with the Clarkson file after her discussion with Cragen this morning, but it was constantly in the back of her mind. She knew there was something more, something that was missed, and it weighed on her. She was able to focus and do her same intense investigating with Munch on his new case, but she couldn't put her heart fully into anything else until the Clarkson case was resolved.

She sighed, glancing around the room and then back to him. "So when do you think they'll release you?"

"Not exactly sure yet. There's still rehab, but most of it is outpatient. I think I'll be able to go home within the following week."

Her hand was at the hem of his white sheet, her fingernails brushing lightly against the seam. "Will you get a nurse for awhile, maybe some sort of in-home care?"

His laughter was short; he shook his head with a grin. "Seriously, Liv. I think they'll slap some sort of cast around my ribs and send me off with instructions to come back occasionally for rehab. Nurse. Ha. On our medical plan?"

She smiled. "All right, El. I guess I was just hopeful for your sake."

The room fell silent again. Elliot looked away from her and to the IV machine on the other side of his bed. He reached out his left hand, unhooking the clear tub from the hook attached to the wall behind the machine.

"Walk with me?"

A sudden nervousness darted through her torso. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I've did a few trips up and down the hall yesterday with Cragen, Liv. Gotta start some where." He turned his attention away from the IV and back to her. "I'll be starting rehab either tomorrow or the day after, with the treadmill. And the IV is the only thing I'm attached to right now…for some nutrients and the painkillers. I already took the finger clip off for the heart monitor when I woke up this morning."

"Is it safe?"

He looked at her quietly. The concern was evident in her face, the way her eyebrows had lowered slightly and her lips parted a fraction. He forced himself to turn away from her again and back to the machine, repeating the movements he had memorized from the nurses.

"Of course. It has wheels. I just change it to the battery mode…there…and I'll take you to the snack machine down the hall. Dangerous part of the trip will be keeping this gown closed over my ass so I don't flash the civilians," he chuckled, turning back to her. "Come on, Olivia. Snickers and some bad coffee, my treat."

She laughed then, the small, sweet sound never frequent enough for him. "And where are you keeping the change for this little meal, Stabler?"

He smirked at her, watching as she stood up from the chair and smoothed out the front of her pants in an automatic gesture. "Well, that's a good point, Detective. I haven't seen my wallet or my gun since they cut my clothes off and stuck me in this dress." He saw her smile fade as the memory of being rushed into the ER came back to her. "But I could always hit up one of the nurses. Or maybe with our combined strength we could tip the machine just in the right way to…"

"God, El, stop it," she laughed, shaking her head. "I've got change. You'll just owe me. I'll add it to the list."

"I'm glad you've made up a tab, Liv."

She walked over to the other side of the bed, watching as he unhooked the last wire attaching the IV machine to the wall. He was sitting up completing now in the bed, the sheet rumpled around his waist. Under his thin gown, there was a large bulge on his left side, starting under his armpit and continuing down to his waist. Olivia knew without asking that it was the bandage and support belt for his wounded lung and ribs.

Following his lead, she helped him with the guardrail on the left side, lowering it and folding it flush to the undercarriage of the bed. Unsure of how much to assist him, scared to underestimate how weak his body was, she helped him pull off the sheets, pushing the fabric over to the right side against the other guardrail.

She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The gown ended just above his knees, giving her a view of his muscular, tan, hair-covered legs. His feet were covered with the hospital regulation bed socks, rolled down to his ankles. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen his bare legs, and the image had her insides sparring between a sudden feeling of giddiness and desire.

"What?" He sounded defensive.

She looked away from his legs and back to his face. "A tan, Stabler? It's October."

He smirked, shaking his head. "It's natural, Liv. Don't harass me…I'm an injured man."

She laughed, leaning closer. "Okay, okay. Now tell me how to do this. You lead. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

His eyes caught hers on the last line.

"It's okay, Liv. We'll take it slow," he spoke softly. She swallowed, not trusting herself to reply. She reached out her hand instead.

He pushed with his right hand until he was on the edge of the left side of the bed. She helped him gently twist his body to face hers, shifting his muscular legs so they hung off the bed, careful of keeping his gown in place. He was sitting up fully now, nearly face to face with her because of the height of the bed, his legs dangling over but not quite touching the carpet.

"Come closer." His voice was lower this time. She kept a constant check on her breathing, focusing to keep it even as she moved against the bed frame between Elliot's knees.

She scolded herself that this was her partner, he was weak, and there was nothing sexual about any of this. He wanted to walk with her; he needed to get better and this would help. She wished beyond hope that the action in itself wasn't so difficult and her own body wasn't betraying her emotions. She needed to focus, damn it.

His left hand took her right hand for stability, favoring his injured side. His right hand gripped her shoulder in a gesture that came across as more comforting than burdensome to Olivia. He pressed against the side of the bed, slowly sliding off the mattress so his feet touched the ground and he was leaning back on the frame.

She smiled suddenly; this was Elliot, standing in front of her. Shot two times, and he was still okay. The flood of relief she felt she couldn't explain even if she tried.

"What?" Elliot asked, curious about her smile.

"You, El. You were shot twice, in the chest and head no less, and now you're walking…"

"Not yet. Here," he grunted, pulling a little on her as he pushed off the frame. Standing fully now, he was relieved that nearly all of the unsteadiness from yesterday was gone. He leaned on her shoulder heavily, his other hand gripping hers tightly.

"Are you okay?"

"Aren't I always?" He countered. She smiled.

"Right, El."

His left hand released hers, his right hand tightening on her shoulder. She felt his left hand against her rib cage, underneath the shoulder holster. He pulled her gently against him with strength she didn't realize he had back yet. With one hand against his waist and the other at the thin material at his hip, it suddenly occurred to her that this was the closest she had ever physically been to her partner.

His breath was a tickle against her ear, his cheek so close that she could feel the warmth of his skin but not the actual texture. She closed her eyes, shivering faintly with reaction.

"I missed you, Liv," he said quietly. His cheek grazed against hers, the hand at her side contracting. She felt the heat of his hand under two layers of fabric and locked her knees in a physical effort to keep from leaning closer into him.

He smelled clean, like mint and freshly laundered cotton. He was more muscular, taller really, than she had remembered. But she had never been this close, embraced, cheek to cheek with her partner. Her whole body was fighting a battle; a part of her wanted to console him with friendly banter, pull back from this foreign embrace, and help him walk the hall. Another part of her needed this. Needed to feel his body against hers, warm and inviting and vulnerable. Years and years and years….

"It nearly killed me. On the concrete, helpless, knowing you were facing that bastard down with a gun. Nothing, nothing I could do but just watch. It follows me in my nightmares, Liv, that fear of losing you…"

Her hands trembling, she moved back a fraction, fear and desire pushing her limits. She rested her forehead lightly against his right shoulder, slowing her breathing to a regular pace.

"It's normal between partners, El." Her voice was low against the fabric at his shoulder. "But I'm fine. And you're getting better and we'll get back out on the streets and back to catching all these bastards…"

His hand had left her ribcage and was now at her neck, finger sliding against her jaw while his thumb smoothed under her chin. He tilted her face up gently so they were face to face again.

She was the most beautiful woman he knew. Not just physically, but her. Her heart radiated warmth. She seemed so alone sometimes, but then with the victims, she would reach out. She took in their pain, was sensitive to the brutality that the job entailed day after day. She was an angel among mortals, and she had no idea how many lives she had touched.

"I said some things," Elliot said quietly, looking down at her.

She blinked, looking away from his intense blue eyes and down to his mouth. This conversation scared her. It would have been amusing that a woman who could bring down a man twice her size, barehanded no less, would be scared of words. But this was her partner. And she didn't believe in happy endings.

"I know."

"I meant them, Liv."

She drew in her lower lip, staring back at him. Unsure of what to say, what to do. Here it was, and it was her choice. Whatever she might say next could change everything. Years and years and years….

"Daddy! Oh, Olivia!"

Olivia pulled away from Elliot so fast she almost stumbled. She had her hands on his arms again in a split second to stable him, even though he had remained steady when she had jerked back.

Maureen stood in the open doorway, looking every bit of Elliot and Kathy, a mixture of blonde liveliness and serious, ice blue eyes reflecting humor and knowledge.

Olivia was caught off guard, though recovered her composure quickly, as Maureen bolted across the room and into Olivia, squeezing the older women tightly in a hug. Elliot touched Maureen's hair in a gentle gesture, smiling softly at Olivia who still looked a little stunned.

"Maureen…?"

"Oh, Olivia! Thank you so, so, much for saving Dad. I can't tell you how much…I mean, how thankful...when Mom called me at school and told me he had been shot…," Maureen trailed off. She looked up, her blue eyes shiny with unshed tears. "I'm so glad you were there, 'Livia."

Olivia smiled, tucking a blond strand of hair back behind Maureen's ear. "I'm glad I was too, Maureen."

Maureen smiled back at Olivia, easing up a little on her embrace but still keeping her arms draped around Olivia in a loose hug. She looked from Olivia to her father and then back again.

"So what's going on? Are you taking Dad out for a stroll in the hall?"

"Um, I actually have to get back to the precinct," Olivia said, keeping her voice even. "Munch will probably be back from the lab by now, and we need to go over the results on the victim of this latest case. DNA, blood, all that good stuff…"

Elliot's eyes caught hers over Maureen's head. The look was complicated and she knew that their conversation wasn't finished.

"You'll bring in the file, Liv?"

"Of course."

Maureen switched from Olivia to Elliot, supporting her father at the same time burrowing close to him. Her face was turned up to his, and Olivia felt a pang of sadness, for the love in Maureen's eyes for her father was obvious, and Olivia would never know what that felt like.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again, Maureen. I'm sorry I can't stay," Olivia said with a smile to the shorter woman.

Maureen smiled back. "Come for dinner, sometime, 'Livia. We should all do something together. It would be fun, right, Dad?"

Elliot's eyes hadn't left Olivia's. "That would be nice. Wouldn't that be nice, Liv?"

"Yeah. Nice." Olivia walked to the door, turning back one more time. "I'll see you later, El."

He nodded in response. She turned around, walking through the door, her hands in her pockets. She felt his eyes on her as she left the room, and she tried not to cry.

Years and years and years….