She was in pain that night, although Olivia wouldn't admit to it. Every time Elliot looked at her, anger bubbled up in his stomach. His pain medicine seemed to be working but it didn't dull this constant ache. Whoever did this to her was going to pay. Dearly.

He sighed, trying to cover his dark rage. Olivia was sitting uncomfortably beside him and propelling the glider back and forth with her toes. It hit the motel's stucco wall when it swung back, sending little white chips on the sidewalk. The rocking motion was soothing; the rusty creak the glider made was not.

The motel was outdated and decrepit in an almost merry way. The white stucco walls and the bright red shutters gave the little individual cottages a homey look. There were window boxes with geraniums spilling out. The furniture was Fifties motel-modern, wearing the scuffs and bangs of fifty years spent chafing shins. The bed bowed in the middle and squeaked incessantly when you walked the floor. A honeymoon palace it wasn't. But it was out of the weather, had a shower and the proprietor gave them cupcakes at check-in.

Now Elliot and Olivia just sat, waiting for the storm to hit. It was off in the distance, a vague gray membrane suspended over the mountains. The wind was stirring the treetops. Someone was listening to Johnny Rivers. The music floated out an open window.

"El, you okay?"

"Nah. I'm getting there, though."

His fists clenched...and released. He stared over at Olivia, noting how dull her eyes had become. That was her medication, a strong muscle relaxer that rendered her almost catatonic but still aching. "Guess we won't go dancing tonight, huh?" he asked, trying to bring himself back down to earth.

"Dancing," she said. He waited for more, but none was coming. The wind began to blow cold. A shutter banged somewhere.

"Let's go in. C'mon. I'll help you up," he said, standing up slowly with help of a crutch. He put his hands on Olivia's elbows and pulled her up, hoping she wouldn't wince or cry out. Olivia lurched forward and he caught her delicately, pulling her into his arms. "I've got you," Elliot breathed, feeling her totter slightly. She rested her chin on his chest. They stood there just like that for a moment of suspended animation. His heart was beating so hard her head practically bounced.

Empty nights, I call your name...

Sometimes I wonder, girl, if I'll ever be the same.

"Sorry," she said lamely. "I've got two good feet but I'm a little floppy." Olivia broke contact and opened the door, not taking her eyes off him.

The storm hit suddenly, almost as soon as they shut the door. Thunder rocked the still air. The rain fell in sheets, almost immediately causing the gravel parking lot to flood.

"God," Elliot murmered. It wasn't so much about the storm, it was a prayer to deliver him from the temptation of jumping Olivia's bones. She was on the bed, trying to scoot into a more comfortable position. The light from the bedside table caught her hair, making it almost blonde. Olivia was wearing a purple t-shirt and grey sweatpants from Wal-Mart. Elliot's outfit was almost identical, except for his blue shirt.

He stood at the window for a long time, watching the lightning. Olivia was shuffling papers behind him in a business-like fashion. She read the comics every Sunday, he knew that, but she always tried to deny it. Sometimes he'd finish her crossword puzzles, lay them on her desk and put a sticky on them that said "ha ha". Olivia Benson was very Type A in a sense...but she'd led a very Type B life. Maybe if it were anyone else, Elliot would have been more affectionate. Given his partner's past, he just wasn't sure how she'd interpret it. At her worst, she was frightening in her intensity. She'd forget to eat, sleep, everything. One night he had to practically scream at her to go home, sleep and eat something. More often than that, he'd just order something and share it with her. Sometimes his temper would win out.

Kathy couldn't understand this, but Olivia did. And when Kathy left, he couldn't look at Olivia without blaming her a bit. For what, he wasn't so sure. It wasn't like he didn't love Kathy, but love changes sometimes. There had been no passion left. All the color had drained out of their relationship until they were just two black and white blobs that dwelled in each other's space. He found himself lying in bed next to his wife and wondering if they'd make it another week, another month. Olivia was his "work wife", as Kathy put it. So while one relationship thrived, another faltered. This made Kathy wonder aloud on several occasions about his feelings for Olivia, which sent him into a vase-smashing, door-slamming fury.

A crash of thunder threw him back into the present.

"Says here in the police log they were at Undun four times in the past week, responding to assault calls and a warrant for unlawful weapons possession in Florida," Olivia said, tapping a pencil against the paper.

"See, they're upstanding citizens. When we get back to New York, they're going to wish their corn-pone asses were back down here dealing with Barney Fife and Andy Taylor," Elliot hissed, turning around. She saw the anger in his eyes and changed the subject..

"It's nine. Let's just get some sleep and we'll deal with it all in the morning," she said, pushing the paper on the floor.

Elliot began to panic a little internally. He inched across the room, slipped in beside her and clicked off the light. Save for the lightning, the room was completely dark.

"Long storm," he said.

"Uh huh."

"Need anything?"

"Nope."

His instinct was to shrink down to nothingness. Instead, he hung on the side of the bed and knew she was doing to same.

"Wish Munch and Fin could see us now," she chuckled.

"Oh, they'd love this. They're like two old women sometimes. Casey'd get a charge out of, too."

Elliot shut his eyes tight. He wanted to kiss her, maybe make her forget all the men that had treated her so poorly in the past. Somehow, he thought he could make her forget everything except the inches of space between them. He felt the bed move, and knew she was moving inward, closer to him.

"El...I don't know how to ask you this...and I've never figured out the right time..."

"What?" he said, trying to cover the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Did Kathy say anything about me when you two split up?"

Elliot felt her hand on his arm. How could he tell her that she'd been the number-two reason for the relationship's end?

"She thought we worked together too much...too late...," he stammered, not wanting to lie but not exactly wanting to tell the truth, either.

"Oh," she said quietly, and her hand dropped away.

"Liv, Kathy and I just ended. There was nothing there anymore. To blame you would be like blaming Cragen for letting us work late."

But is that really the truth?

They were quiet for a long time. He heard Olivia's breathing even out and felt her body relax against the mattress. His eyelids dropped and soon he surrendered to the Sandman.

XXXXXXXXX

Elliot woke up two hours later and groggily noted something was leaning on him. He expected to be at home and the weight to be Kathy's until his brain caught up with his sense of touch. No, this wasn't his wife. It was Olivia, her face in the crook of his shoulder and her arm slung over his stomach. His arm had settled on hers.

Her breath was warm against the bare skin of his neck. Elliot wondered how she could possibly be comfortable in that position, given her ribs. It was still raining. The safety lights in the parking lot threw watery shadows across them.

Olivia's shirt was low on her shoulder. He could see the skin at the base of her neck in the sporadic glow of the lightening. It was caramel-colored and he could easily reach it by dropping his head just a tad. The temptation was too great. He tried to deny it, tried the mentally beat himself out of it, but it wouldn't work. So he dipped his head and rested his lips against her skin. She didn't move. He ran his tongue cautiously along her skin for a few centimeters until he heard a groan. All the pressure in his brain that had been building up was beginning to let go.

Olivia's head moved and he looked up, bumping his nose on hers. Her eyes were open and scared, probably matching his.

"I lied earlier," he mumbled.

"I know," was all she said. He wrapped another arm around her and wondered what to do next.

But before he could say or do anything, the sharp sound of a gunshot ripped through the air.

Crashing glass.

Screeching tires.

Silence.