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. Dick Wolfe – you rock!

Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. As promised, this is an E/O chapter. Still very case centric, though.

Reviews: Please. All of you that have left feedback are giving me the incentive to continue this piece (slow as it may be).

A/N: Someone asked how many more chapters I have to go. I'm a little over half done. I hopefully will be able to update faster, as I'd hate for this to take longer than it already has. But there are a few crazy plot twists left. And that promise I made in chapter six? I kept it, if only one chapter shy…

Chapter Ten


By the time he had reached the doorway of the squad room, his lung was burning. He had taken the steps slowly, had focused the entire time on his breathing, but still the pain stabbing persistently in his side had him gasping. Elliot leaned against the doorframe, pausing, trying to will the pain away and at the same time to get his breathing under control. Cragen had allowed him back, on desk duty only, but if he saw him like this, Elliot knew he wouldn't hesitate to send him home.

It had only been two days since the discovery of the latest victim, but it felt like weeks. He had been detailed on the investigation by almost hourly calls from all of the SVU detectives, save one. Of course, he knew Olivia was the lead now, and she was incredibly busy, but that wasn't the only reason for their lack of communication. Between her and the awful twist in what had been a closed case, he pushed himself relentlessly towards recovery. Still, the doctors had been hesitant to discharge him.

Elliot wasn't fooled that the only reason he was let out late last night was his link to this case. It was all over the news now, discussed on the subway and around the water cooler; it had been a while since a serial killer, especially one so gruesome, had hit the city. So his health came in second. The job always came first.

The pain had lulled back into a dull ache. Knowing by now this was the best it would get, he pushed off the doorframe and made his way into the squad room.

As it was only five thirty in the morning, the area was mostly dark. Desk lamps provided the only light, illuminating the call stations of the four uniformed officers, casting eerie shadows on the tile floor underneath them. Two plain-clothes detectives sat at the coffee table, playing cards by the light of the squad's only floor lamp. Elliot nodded at one of the men he recognized, and the detective gave him a half wave, still immersed in their game.

Elliot walked over to his desk, thankful that at this moment it was currently unoccupied. He turned on his desk light, revealing the uncluttered surface. No messages, but considering his hospital stay, he wasn't surprised. There was a legal pad with call notes written in a foreign hand. Elliot scanned the first few pages, but he already knew he wouldn't find anything. If any significant leads had been received, Cragen would have told him.

He took off his coat and folded it across the back of his chair. As the squad room was already warm on this cold October morning, he also took off his suit jacket. In an unconscious move of possession, Elliot set it on the back of Olivia's empty chair. Curious now, he leaned forward, turning on her desk lamp.

If her desk was any indication of her life the past two days, he knew she was probably exhausted. Call notes were stacked next to her phone. Several file folders were spread across the desk. A rather large hard cover book lay open, several passages highlighted; closer inspection revealed it was something on the science and psychology of profiling. A half empty coffee cup sat next to that, and of course, there was a legal pad, covered in text.

An odd warmth spread through him at the sight of the notes in her strong, sure handwriting. He picked up the legal pad, scanning through her interpretations on the case. Olivia wouldn't write anything personal, and he already knew most of the details of the case, including the profile, but he was hoping to garnish a little of her thought process. How was she going to work this one? With the leads they had, with the profile, how was she attempting to bring this bastard down? Something half way down the second page caught his attention.

Perp's relation w/ Clarkson far exceeds intimacy. I haven't taken away his lover, but his partner. His best friend.

Her words pulled at him. A decade, two bullets, almost losing his life, and he knew now. A best friend, a partner, was worth more than any lover. It was her…

Olivia's next words chilled him.

His hatred for me is intense. I don't know – the visual of it. He could have been there that day. He could have seen me shoot Clarkson. I know he's been following me ever since. It's like his own crusade. To possess…me? To destroy me, as Doc put it.

Maybe the only way to bring him down is to bring him in. If he wants me so badly, then let him try. I never liked the whole "bait" card, but maybe that's the one that'll win us the game.

He dropped the legal pad back on her desk, his hands curling instinctively into fists. The hell if he would let her use herself as bait. It was bad enough that Cragen had kept her on the case, even with the protective detail. If it had been up to Elliot, he would have squirreled her away in protective custody, hidden her in another state if necessary, to keep her safe. But she was visible, out on the front line, giving this bastard another chance to hurt her. Or kill again to get back at her…

Elliot looked up from Olivia's desk to the back of the squad room. The area by Cragen's office was dark, only the weak cast light giving any indication of photos on the main board. He walked around Olivia's desk and made his way to the back of the room.

He stopped by the left wall first, hitting just one switch on lighting board. Only the last bank of fluorescents turned on, but it was enough to flood the back of the room in harsh light. A few of the uniforms glanced up at him, blinking a little at the sudden brightness. He ignored them, his full attention on the board.

Most of the pictures were from the prior homicides, the victims and crime scenes those that had been haunting Elliot for the past month. It was one picture in particular that pulled him in now, an image he knew would haunt him more than the others and long past this case.

The image of the latest victim was all over the news, which he had seen while in the hospital. It was Shelly Schuler's yearbook photo, provided to the media by her grieving parents. Other than being a brown-eyed brunette, the child and his partner weren't really similar in appearance. That was one of the things he had wondered about when Cragen had told him the details of the case. But the crime scene picture of the victim…

Elliot could feel the rush of blood in his ears, his throat constricting painfully on the sudden lump of emotion. It was his worst nightmare, looking back at him. The face of his dead partner.

"Jesus," he muttered on a harsh breath, forcing air into his suddenly throbbing lung. Her hair, her eyes, that mouth – it was a near perfect replication of Olivia. All of his ideas, all of his thoughts of the case that he had developed the past two days were blown away. This changed everything.

Their perp was more psychotic, more talented, than Elliot thought possible. This wasn't just a game to him. He wanted to possess her. To destroy her, Olivia had written. Of course, she was right. She knew what he was only starting to realize – this man would not stop until he had her.

For an insane moment, Elliot thought about kidnapping his own partner. Steal her away in the middle of the night and drive across the country until they hit California. The thought would have made him laugh if he hadn't seriously debated it for a second. Of course, it could never happen. He couldn't leave his children, and Olivia would probably knock his lights out if he ever came close to her with that intent. And there was the job. Neither of them could leave the job.

"Stabler? What are you doing here?"

Elliot turned away from the board, giving Munch a half smile.

"Mornin' to you too," he greeted the other detective, his voice coming out raspy. Elliot cleared his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt as Munch walked up next to him by the board.

"Not that I'm not relieved to see you." Munch took a bite out of the cinnamon roll he was holding, only partially finishing his mouthful before continuing the conversation. "I'm just surprised the HMO nazis of this capitalist health care regime let you out so early."

"I guess they were tired of all of my conspiracy theories," Elliot answered with a smirk. Munch's eyebrows quirked up and Elliot laughed. "There was nothing more they could charge me for, Munch. Not even an aspirin." He paused, watching as the older man finished off his pastry. "I guess Cragen didn't have time to tell everyone I'd be back."

"Not I. But then, I'm the only detective not working this case," Munch replied, glancing up to the board. "I have a rotation of three while you guys work this out." He looked back at Elliot. "Suppose you're on a desk?"

"Yeah. Though it looks worse than it is," he lied effortlessly, touching the small bandage on his temple.

"I doubt that's the one that's giving you trouble," Munch quipped. "So, did you meet Olivia's detail?"

"What?"

"Schnoebelen and Worth from Vice." Munch gestured at the two detectives playing cards. "Worth said something about a case you both worked…"

"Yeah," Elliot muttered, distracted. Being as Olivia's detail was in the squad room, it could only mean one thing. "Liv's been sleeping in the crib?"

For a second, Munch's actually looked depressed. "She says it's because she's so busy. Which fits appearances, since she lives and breathes this case more than anyone else." Munch frowned. "But I think it's a safety issue. I mean, can anyone blame her? The vic, Huang's profile…"

"We need to talk." Elliot didn't explain himself further and Munch didn't ask. He just nodded, adjusting his glasses.

"I'll be working on one of my many, many cases. But let me know if need anything," Munch offered. He left Elliot with that thought, walking over to his desk to sit down next to one of the uniforms.

Elliot looked from Munch up to the crib. He was comforted, and at the same time saddened, that she had spent the past two nights in the station. It would be foolish for the perp to try and get her here. But then she shouldn't have to be sleeping on a state-issued bed, spending her only time away from this hellish case still within the confines of the job.

He walked over to the stairs, slowing his pace as he mentally prepared himself. Somewhat for the feat of another set of stairs, but mostly for seeing his partner again. The last time…

God, the memories were sweet. Her shaving his face, the nervous tremble of her strong hands, the smell of her soap and skin. The slow burn of desire was more intense than he had ever felt. At that moment he wouldn't have minded dying in her arms, it was such bliss. And the taste…

He could still taste her, the warm, soft skin of her throat. The way she had cried out at the touch; her voice was deep and soft, sex and love, all wrapped up in that moment. If her phone hadn't rung, he had no idea what he would have done, what he would have confessed to her.

But there was the job.

Elliot started up the stairs, keeping his breathing even as his lung protested the movement. He paused half way, not looking back to see if any of the officers were staring at him. He didn't want to show weakness, but he needed the moment to rest. After a couple seconds, he continued the short climb, coming to the open doorway of the crib.

The only light came from behind him, streaming in weakly in a thin shaft. Olivia was asleep in the bed across from the doorway, on her back, a thin sheet drawn up to her shoulders.

He stood in the open doorway, just staring at her. God, she was beautiful. His angel. She was so fierce, so independent, but delicate. He had never met another woman who had faced so many obstacles, so much tragedy, and still had a heart so generous.

He loved her.

That terrified him more than anything else ever had. He didn't know when it had happened exactly. When she had become more than just a partner. And it frightened him. Because the emotion could cause him more pain than anything else. Because he didn't know what he would do if he lost her.

He argued with himself while standing in the doorway. If he were smart, he would turn around now and go back down into the squad room. Wait for her to wake and come down when she was ready; they could pretend like nothing had changed and talk about the case.

But he couldn't force himself to turn around. Instead he found himself walking into the dark crib, heading over to her bed.

Halfway across the room, the floor creaked underfoot. Olivia had moved so fast he would have been impressed except for the gun pointed at him.

Her eyes were bright in the half-light, her arm trembling, but her aim true. With grim satisfaction, he noticed it was the Glock. Of all her guns, that was his favorite.

"El? What are you doing here?" Her voice came out breathy.

"Just admiring the service end of your piece. You?"

She lowered the gun, still visibly shaking. She had been deep asleep, not even dreaming as far as she could remember, and the sound splintered into her. It had been instant, the visual, and the nightmare of a man with no face, holding her down. And she couldn't do anything to stop him.

But Elliot was in front of her. In the crib. In dress slacks, a shirt and tie. His head was still bandaged, but…

"Do you always sleep with a gun under your pillow, Liv?"

She blinked, as if it was the oddest question he could ask at the moment. "No."

Olivia moved to a sitting position, the sheet falling around her waist. She leaned over, placing the gun on the bedside table.

He took in her newly exposed state. She was wearing a white tank top, the material thin enough he could see the outline of her brasserie. Olivia turned back at him and his gaze shifted to her face.

"What are you doing here?" She repeated the question.

"Working."

"Elliot…"

"The hospital released me. I'm here to help with the case."

"Do you think that's wise?" She asked, concern lacing her words.

He laughed, low and humorless. "You're really asking me that? Jesus Christ, Liv. There's a mad man out there that just made up our latest vic to look like you." He shook his head. "You shouldn't be on this case. You know that, I know that, and Cragen sure as hell knows that."

Olivia pushed the sheet behind her, standing up in front of him in her tank top and sweats. She was still trembling, but this time it was from anger.

"I have every right to be on this case, Stabler. To run and hide would just give into this bastard's wishes. I'm not going to let him push me. I'm not scared…"

"Damn it, Olivia," Elliot cut her off, his voice low. "Don't you understand? You should be fucking terrified."

They both stared at each other for what seemed like minutes. Olivia broke the visual contact first, closing her eyes. She sighed, looking back at him, her gaze catching on his tie.

"You're tie's crooked."

One of his eyebrows rose at the turnabout of conversation. "My chest still burns a bit if I raise my arm above a certain point. But it hasn't affected my knitting skills."

She gave him a smile for the attempt at humor. Smile fading, her fingers reached out hesitantly for his tie. He watched her lean fingers work at the silk, at the same time focusing to keep his breathing even from her movements.

"How much do you know about the past two days, El?"

"Enough to be dangerous. I've heard Logan and Barek from Major Case are on board. Fin told me that he and Barek encountered an extremely hostile mama Clarkson. But Fin doesn't think she knows much anyways," Elliot repeated. He and Fin had spoken by cell over a dozen times the past two days. As the second detective on the case, the man's information was invaluable, though Elliot did have to listen to his diatribe on Barek. As much complaining as he did, Elliot suspected Fin had a thing for the woman.

"Fin also says there was a strike out on the plates from the initial kidnapping, though the delivery man was able to provide a hazy composite sketch."

Olivia nodded. "We still haven't been able to find the pro who saw the dump. If she wasn't completely drugged up at the time, she might be able to give us a better composite."

She finished correcting the knot, smoothing one hand flat against his tie.

"I hear you've been partnered with Logan."

"Yes."

"He doesn't call me either."

Olivia laughed softly. "Not much to tell, unfortunately. The cellmate was a bust. We reviewed the visitor records from Rikers, and we've been able to clear all of them except three. Two men and a woman. Logan and I will be working on that today, along with another search of Clarkson's apartment."

"Cragen told me about Huang's profile and Warner's report."

Olivia sighed. Neither was encouraging. Huang's profile was shocking, and the autopsy and toxicology reports had only confirmed what Olivia had guessed. The child was suffocated with something soft, like a pillow. No fingerprints, fibers, or indication of sexual assault. Doctor Warner even remarked that it was one of the cleanest scenes in recent memory.

"What do you think about the medallion?" Elliot asked quietly.

The NYFD medallion. Other than the clothing and make-up, it was the only material object found on the victim, in this instance, inside the victim.

The urgent message Olivia had received from Doctor Warner only an hour after the morning spent at the crime scene was regarding the medallion. Prior to the actual autopsy, the doctor had done another superficial examination, mostly to determine any sexual assault. That is when she had found the medallion inside the victim.

At first, Olivia hadn't understood the significance of it. Clarkson had nothing to do with the fire department, and it was unlikely, from Huang's profile, that the unknown perp would be associated with the NYFD either. She had gone through Clarkson's information, trying to find any sort of link, with either his known relatives, or his victims.

And then suddenly, it had occurred to her. The relevance of the medallion wasn't to the perp or the victim, but it was to her.

Elliot was watching her intently, reading into the expressions cross her face as she remembered.

"You know something." His hand slid gently against her jaw, tilting her face up so she was looking at him again. "Liv, tell me."

"I haven't…told anyone." It was the truth. She wasn't sure what to do with this information yet.

"Liv, tell me," his voice was soft but leading. It comforted her, even as she knew he had used it before in the interrogation room.

"Munch told you…about the bar. The man I had…issues with, he was a fire fighter. He had a chain around his neck. I didn't see the medallion, but it matches the chain."

Elliot felt his chest tighten. The bastard had been following her, had sat in that bar with her, watching her.

"The guy from the bar…"

"I spoke with him yesterday. He's alive. I didn't get into specifics, but he said he'd come in today. At that time, if he's missing his, and if he can match it up with the one we have in evidence…"

"Liv."

"I've been hoping they're not related. Oh God, if only they aren't related. Because if they are," she sucked in a breath, pushing down the burning need to cry. "He was sitting there, watching me. And the medallion he stole ended up in the dead girl the next morning as a taunt for me. I can't…"

Her eyes were shining now with unshed tears. "Don't you understand, El? I am terrified. But what can I do? I can't hide. All I know how to do is this. And the only way to stop him is to find him. I have to."

He pulled her close to him, cradling her face against his neck as he rubbed her back gently to comfort her. Her breathing was shaky against his throat and he knew she was struggling not to cry.

"Stay with me," he whispered into her hair. "Pack some things today and stay with me."

She shifted out of the embrace, looking up at him. "I can't, El."

"I promise, my apartment's better than the crib," he countered, flashing his characteristic smirk. "You can have my bed and I'll sleep on the kids bunks in the other room."

"I…I'll be staying at my own apartment tonight, Elliot."

He studied her face, trying to read her expression again. She was trying to close him out, push him away. He knew instinctively it was because of their last encounter.

Elliot's face lowered and her eyes widened a little at the movement. He brushed his left cheek against her right, his breath warm against her ear.

"Don't you trust me?" He whispered. She trembled against him and he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her so close.

"Of…of course," she answered, her voice catching. "It's not that."

"Tell me then, Liv. Talk to me."

Damn it if he could do this to her. She felt unstable, unfocused and shivery suddenly. All of this was making her crazy, making her lose her mind, and there was nothing that she wanted more than to have this man.

His calloused fingers were stroking her bare arm in feather light touches, causing goose bumps to rise.

"I just…" She couldn't think. She should tell him to stop, but her body denied her brain any control over the situation.

"Let me keep you safe, Liv," his voice caressed the words. Her body arched against him, and he groaned helplessly against her throat. His hand on her back slid further down along her spine. He had found the hem of her top, and his fingers now traced lazy circles against the bare skin of her lower back.

"Elliot," she moaned, reeling at the simple touch. This was her partner, her partner! They had to stop…

He was kissing her jaw, his mouth working a slow path to hers.

"Please," she pleaded, her hips rocking against his, her body burning for just a chance to kiss this man.

The sound of someone ascending the staircase rather loudly tore them apart. Elliot sat down heavily on the bed; his lung ached from the activity while his lower body throbbed. Olivia had wrapped the sheet around her, shivering a little as if cold.

"Olivia?"

Elliot looked up to find Detective Logan standing in the doorway of the crib. He held two cups of coffee, a questioning look on his face as he took in the scene.

"Morning, Logan," Olivia replied, her voice still husky with emotion. She hoped that the seasoned detective would mistake the tone for her just getting up instead of desire. Olivia walked over to him, clutching the blanket close.

"I brought you coffee. Better than the sludge here," he smiled, handing her one of the tall Starbucks cups. She took the offering with thanks, holding it close with one hand, the sheet tight at her chest with the other.

Elliot watched Logan with interest; Olivia in her morning state obviously distracted the detective. The fact that the other man was already calling his partner by her first name irked him.

Feeling recovered enough to stand, Elliot pushed to his feet and walked over to the doorway. He stuck out his hand. "Hey, Logan."

"Stabler, long time," Logan shook his hand, grinning at the younger man. "Still drinking Boulevard?"

"When it's in stock," Elliot smirked.

Olivia realized the two had met before. In a bar, no doubt.

"I'm surprised to see you here. Told you had been shot in the chest, and the head, from the looks of it."

"You heard right. I was just released last night. On desk, but here. This case is primetime."

"Hell, I hear it. The mayor even has his chips in this one. Front page, CNN. Fucking global by noon."

Olivia watched them exchange cop banter in the doorway, and then turned around back into the dark crib. She picked up her Glock from the table, clicked the safety on and slipped it into her waistband. Tossing the sheet back on the bed, she reached underneath the frame and pulled out her gym bag. She swung it over her shoulder and headed towards the door.

"Liv?"

"I'm going to shower. In twenty minutes, I'll be back. If either of you want to catch this bastard, you know where to find me."

She walked between them, jogging down the stairs and out the door of the squad room.

"Damn. That woman is one hell of a cop," Logan whistled low, his gaze on the empty doorway. He turned back to Elliot. "Don't ever let her go."

Elliot looked over at Logan. After a long moment, he smiled at the older detective. Then, without a word, he turned around and headed back down the stairs.

She was one hell of a cop. And she was his partner. And more than anything else, he never wanted to let her go.