prompt: wake.
rating: g.
"Go wake your partner," Cragen says, pointing vaguely toward the crib, his gaze focused not on Elliot, but on the report in his hands. "O'Halloran needs you."
Elliot acts on autopilot. He finds Olivia snoring softly in the crib, blanket twisted into a ball at her side, the jacket she'd had on discarded. Her shirt has ridden up in her sleep, the smooth expanse of her abdomen exposed. Elliot tries not to look but fails. It's been happening a lot, lately: trailing gazes, indulgent glances. He tries not to think about it.
He swallows around the heat creeping up his neck; they've got bigger issues at hand.
"Liv," he says, crouching close. His voice is soft, barely a whisper. She doesn't stir. "Liv."
He reaches a hand and nudges her shoulder. She's warm to touch, heat seeping through her shirt and into his fingers, his palm. She shifts slightly, a low groan escaping her mouth, the sound underpinned by a ripple of pleasure; she's content only the way a person on the brink of unconsciousness can be, and Elliot is struck with how inviting it is, the desire to join her almost overwhelming.
He tries not to think about that, either.
"Hey," he says, and watches as she slowly opens her eyes. She blinks and then smiles, and Elliot feels his heart in his throat as he stands still: mesmerised by her beauty. It's only after a too-long pause that he remembers to add, "O'Halloran found something."
It shatters whatever calm they'd found. Olivia sits up, and Elliot is forced to pull his hand away, back to his side. He watches as Olivia plays catch up with herself, the grogginess forcibly pushed aside as she switches back into work mode. He tries to follow suit.
After all, they're professionals. They have a job to do.