Disclaimer: Not mine-- see chapter one.

A/N: So it's 20 after 3am and I have had one hell of a few days. But, nonetheless here I am, sitting up until 3:20am to finish this chapter, edit, and upload, even though my laptop is running a little slow tonight. So, I did say that this was Olivia/Elliot. There is a little of that in here (did I mention I like angst?) Bear with me, you'll see where I'm going :)
Hope you enjoy.
'punzzle.


7:14pm
NYPD SVU
16th Precinct

Elliot held Olivia's light woolen coat as she slipped her arms in and moved towards the door. She smiled slightly—"Thanks".
"Elliot! Olivia!"
The pair turned as M.D. Warner approached, file folder in hand.
"I was hoping I'd catch you. I have the results from the semen found at your crime scene".
"That was fast" Olivia responded, "Any hits in CODIS?"
"Yes and no" Warner answered.
"I found a match, but to an unknown from a past case—Rachel Dickson; rape/murder in 2001".
Elliot met Olivia's gaze—"What?"
Olivia held her partner's eyes for a moment—"Not a match to…?" he stumbled, "Walter Greene" Olivia finished, breaking the connection between them and turning to Warner.
The M.D. shook her head and handed the file to Elliot—"No, same unknown semen found at the Dickson scene, not a match to your suspect".
Elliot opened the file and flipped past the gruesome photos of the young brunette, bloody and clad only in a black satin night gown. Olivia brushed against her partner's side as she craned over his arm to observe the past case file. Elliot knit his brow and flipped the folder shut.
"Thanks" he said at last.
The M.D. nodded—"Wish I could do more" she said with regret.
Olivia smiled weekly as Melinda turned to leave, raising a hand in farewell. She turned and frowned as Elliot's figure disappeared through the precinct doors.
"Elliot!" Olivia called, tossing the door open and stepping out into the crisp, early evening.
A strong, dark figure made its way down the street in long, impressive strides.
"Elliot!" Olivia called again, jogging down the cement steps after her partner.
Elliot slowed slightly as she approached to his right—"El?" she questioned gently, looking up into his face, jaw set, eyes fixed forward.
"It's late" he said, stopping at a red-lit corner, "go home and get some rest".
Olivia smoothed her hand down the length of his bicep before coming to a rest at his forearm; his leather-gloved hand gripped the file tightly.
"Elliot… Don't" she beseeched softly.
Her partner blinked and slowly dropped his chin to meet her gaze. Olivia held his eyes for a moment before the shadow of emotion crossed over his face and he turned away as the light turned green.
"Elliot!" Olivia called as he stepped off the sidewalk, leaving her alone on the curb.


Elliot switched off the evening news and tossed the remote control onto the coffee table amid a collection of magazines, newspapers and coasters. He sighed and ran a rough hand over his face, stopping to squeeze his throbbing temples. Picking up a bottle, Elliot took a long swallow of beer and flipped open the manila file folder in front of him. Spring, 2001—22 year old Rachel Dickson found raped and murdered in a fourth-floor suite of the First Avenue Hotel. She had checked in the night before with her fiancé, Walter Greene, who claimed that he had returned late from the first-floor lounge to find her dead.
Elliot flipped past a crime scene photo—the pale, rigid body of Rachel Dickson: throat slashed, brown hair splayed across the white pillow case, legs spread at inhuman angles.
Elliot rubbed the back of his aching neck and shut his eyes against the images that had once plagued him. A soft knock sounded at the door. Elliot inhaled a slow breath and flipped the folder shut. He picked up his beer and downed the remains of its contents before setting the empty bottle on the nearby kitchen counter. Another knock—louder this time, more insistent.
Elliot glanced through the eye piece and sighed before unbolting the door and holding it at arms' length for his partner to pass through. Olivia stepped into the darkened, silent house and paused on the threshold to the kitchen.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's impolite to walk away from a lady?" she teased unsuccessfully.
Elliot closed the door quietly behind Olivia—"I'm sorry" he said flatly, eyes on the hardwood floor.
Olivia exhaled slowly and turned to face him in the dim light—he looked so worn; so ragged. The divorce had seemed to drain whatever spark was left in him and it broke Olivia's heart to see the constant pain hiding in the clear pools of his eyes. Elliot lifted his gaze to take her in—comfortably casual in faded blue jeans, a worn black t-shirt and cropped leather jacket—but not really seeing her.
"Drink?" he asked simply, passing her on his way to the fridge.
"Sure" she answered softly.
Olivia peeled off her jacket and draped it over a nearby chair. Elliot emerged from the refrigerator with two cold beers and handed her one. She smiled lightly—"Thanks".
Elliot nodded stiffly and popped the top on his own bottle before drinking deeply; he passed Olivia and sat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa. Olivia dropped the lid from her own bottle onto the nearby counter and took a sip. Her soft brown eyes glazed over the dim, hollow surroundings of her partner's home before coming to rest on him. Even in worn grey sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt he was an impressively handsome man with rugged, chiseled features and piercing, soulful eyes.
It was then Olivia caught sight of the manila file folder, half-hidden under a New York Times Magazine. She perched herself on the edge of a chair to Elliot's right and cradled her beer between her knees.
"Don't do this" she said at last.
Elliot looked up at her, almost surprised she was still there, so close.
"Do what?" he asked gruffly, attempting to affect a detached tone, and drained another swallow of beer.
Olivia fixed her partner with an intense gaze which he met in challenge.
"Blame yourself" she clarified "—rehash the past".
Elliot scoffed lightly but his eyes flicked to the suspect file involuntarily.
"I worry about you…" Olivia sighed, her voice hushed and lyrical.
Elliot's strained eyes glazed over her figure as she gazed away from him towards the blank television. The neckline of her top was wide and uneven, as if the collar had been haphazardly hacked off. The thin, loose fabric hung off her small frame at an awkward angle, exposing one white shoulder. The dim, yellow light from the kitchen behind her filtered through the worn fabric, outlining the silhouette of her curving waist and breasts; fluorescent light caught in her hair and gave her an incandescent, almost angelic glow.
"Don't" he said at last.
Olivia met his gaze over the muted room and held it before Elliot turned away to fix his eyes on the cluttered table before him. Suddenly, she was beside him—Elliot could feel the warmth of her body, both soothing and exhilarating. She bent over him, blocking the poor light from his face, and picked up the folder. Elliot listed to the sound of Olivia's heels along the hardwood floor and the half-full beer bottle meet counter top; heard the rustle of leather over her skin and his front door open.
"Thanks for the beer" she said softly before exiting his house and pulling the heavy door closed behind her.
Elliot exhaled slowly and lifted his gaze from the table top to meet his own reflection in the empty television screen.