Readers, reviewers, thanks for taking the time to scan these words and letting me know what you think. It means more to me than you know. Molding these two characters is unbelievably fun, and I intend to keep doing so. Oh, and thanks Lori. :)

It was funny how one could tell that winter was coming just by the amount of people in Central Park. The bite of winter hid in the whip of the late November wind.

Olivia sunk her head down into the collar of her parka. She found it amusing that the movement triggered her hands to automatically come together and pause in front of her face. Lips pursed, she went to blow into them until she realized her gloved hands couldn't be warmed in such a manner. That time of the year, she always shivered at the thought of the cold still to come. In New York, November cold was nothing compared to December cold and that, in turn was incomparable to January.

Yet there she was, strolling leisurely along the path, semi-fresh air cleansing her lungs. Two weeks previous she had fallen asleep on his couch and had awoken beneath a heavy blanket and as the scent of coffee and pancakes invaded her nostrils and she was surprised to find that she wanted to continue waking up to that. She wanted to keep the image of him flipping flapjacks, singing along to Bruce Springstein in his delightfully off-key baritone. How she had wanted to lean over and taste the syrup on his lips as he ate.

It was such an innocent image but one that made her temples throb with the sweetness of it; she'd never found so much pleasure in such a tiny scrap of a memory. She wanted more of them, longer memories with more to them; a rich and full thickness that would very nearly choke her with their heft. Olivia gulped in air, then wrapped her arms around her middle and kicked up some gravel as she walked on.

It was nice to remember, nice to be able to keep it on a loop in her head. When he'd walked her to the door, they'd both leaned towards each other as she stepped over the threshold. Elliot caught himself before she did. They both flushed immediately crimson and hurried through their goodbyes.

Now, all she could think about was pancakes and syrup. It was in the air, a slight tickle of the scent of maple. It wrapped her up, kept her pondering about sucrose and his lips... his lips. Such a tasty little fantasy; just his lips and endless sugar.

Olivia paused on the gravel path to look up at the clouds, the puffs of cumulus crawling by sluggishly. Pancakes with Cool Whip and strawberries and Elliot...

She had to get back to the precinct, it was getting a little too late for anymore lunch; she'd eaten her fill during that break with thoughts so fantastically sweet that her teeth ached.

Six thirty-seven saw her wrapped in Munch's tight embrace, the two of them laughing hysterically. Both Fin and Elliot looked on in confused amusement as Olivia thumped her head off his shoulder. She disengaged, pressing her palm to his chest as she moved back, wiping happy tears from the corner of her eyes. "Ahhhh, that was good," she sighed happily, her body relaxing. "Let's go get a drink, guys."

They all drank Sam Adams, tall glasses filled with heavy beer as Cragen looked on in disgust, sipping his soda. "That shit'll kill you," he mentioned, raising his glass to the rest of them who paused in their conversation to stare at him. "What? It will."

"You're probably right," John said, pushing his glass away. "You know, if the government-"

Olivia held up her hand, swallowing a large mouthful of beer. "Don't! Do not start."

The light inside was low; a dull yellow warmth that seemed to hug all of them, lull their incessant thoughts to the back of their minds. Perhaps the ale was flowing too fast and reaching them too quickly, because collectively their spirits could have lifted half of New York out of its grump. Not one of them sat without a smile plastered on their face, and not one of them talked of anything that wasn't carefree.

She felt as of she were part of a family, sitting there amongst her coworkers, drinking her dinner and pretending not to stare at him. Elliot was pretending not to keep trying to catch her gaze over the edge of his mug. When he finally managed to achieve a connection he winked salaciously, causing her to smile and then hide in her mug.

She was laughing, loud and sure and it made his eyes soften, his stomach flutter in a way he hadn't felt in a good many years. He watched her, watched as her lips peeled back and her teeth were revealed and she emitted a throaty chuckle that took his senses by storm. He couldn't get enough.

The hours slid by, creeping unheard; unseen under the table. Unbeknownst to them, the hour slipped into the double digits and yet the beer kept coming. Elliot had cut himself off after three, Olivia after four. Her blinks had become a bit more sluggish but she certainly wasn't drunk. She was tipsy, her cheeks feeling the brunt of the alcohol; the liquid had warmed her exponentially and Elliot's gazes caused her to nearly combust. Inside she was turning to ashes, her organs shivering before bursting into flames.

Half past eleven and they were tossing crumpled bills down onto the table. Fin and Cragen hailed down a cab together and Munch took off on foot, wanting to walk off some of his inebriation before returning home. Elliot and Olivia were the last to leave, over-tipping their waitress before slipping on their coats.

They stepped out of the bar and sauntered out to the sidewalk, and simply standing side by side. If the moon was discernable in the sky they would have stared at it, but it wasn't, so they just stood taking in the night.

Elliot glanced over at her and felt his stomach roil and blinked a few times. "Hey Liv?" he asked quietly. She turned towards him quickly, hair bouncing about her face enticingly. If ever there were a better moment, if he had ever been more enchanted...

"Yeah?"

And then his lips were on hers, one hand smoothing over the hair at the back of her head. His lips were soft and insistent, sliding just a bit. She sighed and pressed into him slightly, her top lip sliding oh-so-slowly over his before she captured it lightly between her teeth. Olivia let out a happy little moan and pulled back.

She couldn't even remember closing her eyes, but when she opened them it was as if she was standing in the center of a rich cliché: he was before her, eyes sliding open with the upturn of his lips. Her world shifted, just a bit, and even if it was only in her head it felt very, very real. She smiled just as he did and tilted her head as if to ask, "What was that for?"

Her lips, pink and enticing and puffy and he wanted very badly to just kiss her again, and again, and then some more.

Elliot sighed slowly, cheeks puffing and deflating and slid his hand over her hair slowly, adoringly once more. "God," he began quietly, just barely audible. "I love hearing you laugh."

Her eyes lit with a delightful sparkle as she licked her lips. Unsure, Olivia took a tiny shuffle forward, elated when his arms-so strong, so, so strong-wrapped around her frame. "What do you want to do now?" his gravelly, intense voice dropped right above her left ear.

Olivia thought for a moment before replying into the shoulder of his coat, "Make me pancakes." Soft and wistful, her voice wound its way around his heart, squeezing gently.

She felt him smile against her, "With chocolate chips and whipped cream?"

"Read my mind," she sighed, feeling a fraction of her hunger sated.