It's still dark in the morning when he gets a call about a rape-homicide on the Lower East Side. Bleary-eyed, he groans into his pillow when he sees that it's barely 5 a.m. and he'd only just managed to curb his insomnia four hours ago.

Shrugging into a button-up shirt, he speed dials 1 before he can think about it — a reflex that he forgets about until it's too late and she's already picked up the phone.

"Benson."

"Shit," he curses quietly, his hands falling away from the buttons of his shirt.

He sits down on the edge of his unmade bed and sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. Fuck, he's so tired.

He'd laid awake with a beer in his hand and his cell phone in the other in front of the television in his boxers and a tank, another New York winter spent sweating in his apartment, thanks to the overactive steam radiator in the corner.

The third night in a row he'd spent the same way, trying to distract himself with a game on TV to stop himself from calling her, just to see what she's up to, hear her voice, see if she wants to go take a drive with him so he can play make-believe that they're just two partners on a stakeout.

But he doesn't because he's got more pride than that and it's not like she's gone, for Chrissake. He still sees her every day.

"Elliot," she says gently, slow and sleepy, and the aching in his chest turns him inside out, the way he misses her as if she's left him again.

" 'M sorry to wake you," he mumbles. "I just - "

"I know," she says quickly. "It's okay - "

He punches down into the mattress as he grits his teeth because it's anything but okay. None of this is okay and he feels stupid and ridiculous because she's been absolutely fine, laughing and palling around with Fin, bringing him coffee every morning.

"Go back to sleep, Olivia," he rasps. I'll see you at the house."

He disconnects the call before she can say anything else.


It's bitterly cold today, rattling her lungs as soon as she steps out of the coffee shop, narrowly avoiding a sketchy patch of ice as she opens the driver's side, drinks in hand.

And of course, her windshield is filthy and the washer fluid reservoir has a fucking crack in it and god, sometimes she just really fucking hates this city in winter time.

And the fact that she can never get warm, she thinks bitterly as she slides inside. This is exactly why they used to always take Elliot's car, but Fin likes to trade off and she can't exactly say no to that, so instead —

Well, she just fucking freezes until she bothers getting the vehicle serviced — which she thinks she'll be making a priority sooner rather than later, now that things have changed.

Olivia shivers, handing Fin his coffee along with a couple of creamers and a packet of sugar she shoves into his gloved hands. She shoots him an apologetic look over the lid of her own cup as she takes a long sip, relishing the warmth that slides down her throat.

"Still can't remember how I take my coffee, huh, Liv?"

"Yeah, sorry." She winces.

She brings coffee for him because that's what you do for your partner — even if the one you want, for better or worse, has someone else watching his back now and just the mere thought of that almost makes you want to quit your job altogether so you don't have to watch him with someone else.

Even if that someone else is a scrawny gray-haired conspiracy nut fluent in cynicism.

Respectfully. (She loves John Munch)

"Maybe it would help if I shaved my head, beat up a few lockers, and let you borrow my sweatshirt."

Olivia freezes. He plays it off as a joke but it's not really and even worse, she chose today to wear the grey sweatshirt that she and Elliot have taken to swapping between them over the last few years. She would never admit it because she knows how idiotic it probably sounds, but -

It makes her feel closer to him. A reminder that even when he's pissed or she's gone or they're at each other's throats, there's still this stupid piece of fabric that ties them together that they share.

Still, she pulls the edges of her coat closer together and makes a note to remember to change into something else once they get back to the station house.

"Come on, Fin, don't be like that," she says quietly, fiddling with a vent on the dashboard.

"No, you come on, Liv." She jerks her eyes back to him, the sharpness in his voice startling her. He doesn't look amused anymore.

Olivia raises an eyebrow. "You got somethin' else to say?"

He pauses, looks like he's thinking it over before he shakes his head. "Nah, it's not worth it."

She sighs. "Fin, come on. If you're pissed at me, then just say it so we can address it and move on."

"Look, I get this is hard for you. You and Stabler have been partners for a long time. But me and Munch had a good thing goin' too." He shakes his head. "All I'm sayin' is it wouldn't kill either of you to admit that none of this woulda happened if you both hadn't screwed up."

She swallows roughly, choking down the venom that wants to spit back at him.

Because he's right. She's been miserable this last week, distracted, hasn't even bothered to acknowledge that she and Elliot were the reason another solid partnership was ripped apart.

"You're right," she admits. "Elliot and I fucked up and you and Munch have suffered the consequences, too." She bites down on her bottom lip, tilting her head. "I'm sorry."

It's quiet for a moment, then - "I'll accept your apology on one condition."

Her body relaxes against the seat, relieved. "What?"

"You take me to lunch today."

Olivia laughs, nodding. "You got yourself a deal."


Between canvassing the neighborhood and notifying the family, she doesn't see Elliot or John until just after noon, when the pair arrive back at the station house.

"Hey," Elliot calls over to her in greeting.

She smiles, annoyingly happy to see him, as if they've been apart for weeks and not 18 hours. "Hey. How'd notifying the family go?"

A shadow crosses his face and he doesn't answer, busying himself with taking off his coat and scarf. Huh.

She pushes back from her desk and walks over to him, staring at him curiously.

"El? You okay?"

He shakes off her question with one of his own. "You feel like getting some lunch with me?" he asks softly.

"Oh." She shuffles her feet awkwardly, looks over her shoulder back at Fin. "Fin and I actually already had lunch, so - "

His eyes dim and her chest tightens as she watches him try to swallow his disappointment. "Right, yeah. Of course." He forces a smile. "Next time."

Fuck, she can't do this. "You know, um," she stammers, "it was a light lunch, so we could - "

"Liv, it's fine." His hand brushes her arm in reassurance, but he frowns when he looks down at what she's wearing.

"Why'd you change?"

"What?" she asks, confused. She did change, but he hasn't seen her all morning.

His brow furrows as he pulls out his chair. "When I came in yesterday, I saw you put that shirt in your locker, so - " But he cuts himself off when he finds his, their, hoodie is folded neatly, discreetly, on his seat.

He picks it up and she watches the way his face falls — so open, naked — that her heart races in horror that he's completely misunderstood.

"You giving this back to me because you don't want to wear it anymore?" he asks, clearing his throat as he tries to keep his voice even.

"No," she says quietly, leaning in a little. "But I don't want to talk about this here." Not with Munch and Fin's prying ears so close.

He clenches his jaw. "Got it."

But she can tell he very much doesn't get it and before she can say anything else, he brushes past her, the sweatshirt clenched tightly in his fist.

Jesus Christ, the theatrics of this man. She rolls her eyes as she follows him back to the locker room.

"Elliot, it doesn't mean anything."

He shrugs, averting her gaze as he fiddles with the lock on his locker. "You don't want to wear it anymore? That's fine." He wrenches the door open so hard that it bounces, the sound so loud it reverberates through her teeth.

She wraps her hand around his wrist. "Look, Fin was upset with me this morning and made a comment about it." She sighs. "He noticed, all right? So I took it off."

He turns to look at her, but his body is still thrumming with the kind of electricity she wishes she knew how to stay away from — or wanted to. "What'd he say to you?"

"It doesn't matter. We worked it out."

He laughs hollowly, jerking his arm out of her grasp. "I'm sure you did."

She flinches. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing."

"No, talk to me." She takes a step closer. "Why are you so worked up that you're reading this much into the fucking clothes that I'm wearing?"

He sucks in a long breath, tries to calm himself, which rarely works with him, and then -

"Do you even care that we're not partners anymore?" It's biting, cuts at her, but the brief look of surprise on his face tells her that he didn't mean for it to come stumbling out quite like that.

"Are you kidding me right now, Elliot?" He's quiet, so she presses on, feels her anger building. "You think that just because I'm eating lunch without you or that I don't accidentally pick up the phone to call you when we have a case that I don't give a rat's ass?"

He shoves the sweatshirt inside, slams the locker closed. "Coulda fooled me."

Fuck, she hates him sometimes.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" She lets out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. "Fin and I were fighting this morning because I've been a miserable bitch all week and never apologized for the fact that he and Munch were split up because we fucked up."

Olivia gets in his face now, close enough to see the angry vein popping in his forehead. "And he's right, because the reason I haven't pulled my head out of my ass to see that this has impacted them too is because I miss… " But her throat seizes up and fuck, she can't -

"I miss working with you," she finishes quietly, swallowing hard.

But his eyes are soft — tender, even — on hers now, so the damage has already been done.

She sighs, gives his shoulder a little half-hearted shove. "So don't tell me that I don't care, Elliot."

It's quiet then, the only sound she can discern is the one of her heart thrashing wildly in her chest as they stand, unmoving and so fucking unmoored, for what feels like hours, the air heavy and palpable between them.

What the hell are they doing?

Then she feels the touch of his hand at her ear, a shiver rippling down her spine as he tucks away an errant strand of hair. His heady gaze dips to her lips, the inside of her mouth like sandpaper, and oh he is too close to her.

"Olivia - " he whispers.

"Don't." She shakes her head, desperate. "Please just…don't."

But when she makes her escape and leaves him standing there, a little piece of her withers away.