A/N: OH MY GOODNESS! It's been so long! But Japan was fun, lots of strange food and fashion going on but it was a blast. Florida was alright too, considering we went when Hurrican Fay hit but it was just a bunch of rain. All was well. Now, getting down to business: this chapter was not completely edited. But I'm leaving again this weekend for Labor Day & I just felt so bad for not having posted anything in so long, I just had to put something up. I hope you all can get past any errors or slip ups and enjoy it because usually I spend a really long time editing and getting the dialogue just right but I just haven't had the time with this one. SO... one witht he show.

Summary of Previous Chapters: Now I haven't updated in so long, I'm sure some of you have forgotten what's happening (or maybe that only happens to me) but, I figured I would do a little reminder. Olivia was over at Mark's apartment (her boyfriend), when his ex-wife showed up and was a mega btch. Liv was really tired and over emotional so she decided to leave since she had to be at work anyway (she and El were supposed take over the next shift of the stake-out of Angela Simmons' ex boyfriend because he's a suspect in their rape homicide case). On her way though, El called and told her that Fin & Munch had just gotten him in and that they needed to question him. She gets to the 1-6 and after almost passing out, the Cap sends them home because he can tell that she's overly exhausted and asks El to make sure that she gets home okay. Olivia agrees to let Elliot take her home and now we begin!

Disclaimer: I think we've established that they're not mine.

Chapter 7: Something Like Attraction

My back begins to tingle

Sedan

Saturday, 9:37 pm

Elliot drove easily through the streets of Manhattan without direction. He knew how to get there of course, he'd been there several times before. He glanced over at Olivia, taking in her seemingly incapacitated form. To his eyes, she appeared to be asleep, her forehead propped up against the side window as she leaned into the door. If only he'd known the truth.

The truth was, Olivia was far from sleep, even if her body was giving her every signal and indication that she should immediately surrender to it. She only closed her eyes to keep herself from becoming sick due to the fast moving lights zooming by the window, decorating the city as they moved through the streets. Besides, she was too exhausted to show any outward signs of the emotional distress that was sweeping through her like a hurricane in August. Something had happened to her once they'd gotten in the car. It was as if all of her insecure feelings from earlier had suddenly resurfaced yet again.

The truth was that right now, the farther away Mark was from her, in time and distance, the easier it became to detach herself from him. The truth was that she couldn't stop reliving the events from earlier that evening, trying to analyze why she felt this way. The truth was, that even though she knew it was nothing to be this upset about, her emotions, or her hormones, or whatever the hell it was that was doing this to her, didn't see it that way!

She could scream. She could burst into fits of tears and sobs if she'd had the energy. Too damn bad, too. Because all of those unheard screams, and all of those unshed tears, and deafened sobs, simply flung themselves at each other with incredible vengeance, while shrieking for release, but remained bottled up inside her. All she could do was sit back, and feel herself push him away, push her affection towards him away, just like she always did.

Mark. She didn't need him. She'd never felt more unhinged in her life than she did right now, and in her chaotic mental state, this was a direct result of her relationship with him. And if that was the truth, she didn't need him, because she sure as hell didn't need this. If being with him, being close to him, meant that this feeling was part of the deal, she was out. She didn't need that. Not now. Not ever. She hated it.

God, she wished she had the strength to cry.

Why did she always do this to herself?! Just when she was good, just when she was finally steady, she single handedly allowed the solid ground to crumble beneath her. Not only did she allow it though, on no. This was Olivia Benson, and Olivia Benson hammered away at her solid ground mercilessly and unconsciously, as if she were sleepwalking. Consistently, always on schedule, she managed to bring down the good things that were bestowed upon her the very second that she was given the chance. And tonight, she was given just such a chance, and she was running – no, sprinting – with it like she'd never done before. She was practically having a full mental break down. What the fuck was this?!

She'd promised herself, she'd promised that she wouldn't do this anymore. But this was far beyond her normal M.O. Usually, she just split, there was something wrong with him just like every other human being, which was reason enough in her books, so it was sayonara. Plain and simple. Usually it didn't come with a side order of panicked anguish. But she couldn't help it, and it wasn't even at the thought of letting him go, she was way past that, this was the snowballing creation of her deranged mental status plaguing her.

All she really needed though was momentary stability, just a bit of firm earth to rest her heavy mind on, and she would snap out of it, she would. If only she could have seen that. And yet still, her fingers twitched feverishly, as if she knew exactly what she was looking for and just ached to touch it, grab hold of it, or at least hold on to the knowledge that it was there.

The SUV came to a halt. They'd arrived. Elliot turned off the car and looked over to his passenger, wishing that he didn't have to wake her, even if he could sense that she wasn't entirely peaceful. Nevertheless, he placed his hand on her left forearm, nudging her gently.

She knew that they were there, she'd felt the Sedan stop. But she didn't move, she wasn't sure she wanted to. The thought of going up to her apartment alone… He was going to leave her and then she'd have no one. The thought in itself was enough to make her want to collapse all over again. But just then, she suddenly felt a warm pressure weigh soothingly on her arm, very near her restless hand. At first, she wasn't quite sure what had happened. It was suddenly as if someone had knowingly applied the needed pressure to her bleeding emotional wound. All at once, she felt as if she'd just taken a breath of the most relaxing, and yet stimulating, oxygenated air, its serenity passing slowly through her lungs. Vaguely she could hear a soft, "Liv… Wake up, we're here." She could still feel the rhythmic stroking on her arm, then there was a soft squeeze, and it was gone.

Her eyelids fluttered open as she sharply inhaled, a real breath this time, but it just wasn't the same. All she could feel now was her body flooding with an inexplicable sense of loss. Her breathing increased slightly as her fingers fumbled, looking for the numbing agent that alleviated so much of her heated anxiety. The moment her fingertips found his, she instantaneously breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes closed calmly, and she sat back into the seat, straighter this time. She took in another therapeutic breath before opening her eyes again and looking down at their hands. Her somewhat shocked stare traveled from their laced fingers to his puzzled countenance, and then back again. What was she doing?!

"Sorry…" she mumbled meekly, her hand retreating into her lap as she refocused her gaze blankly ahead. What was happening to her? Why was she doing this to herself? To Mark? To their relationship? Why was she doing this to Elliot? What was she even thinking? Elliot? She really was insane. It was true. She was. She'd lost it. Completely.

Elliot, in the midst of his intense confusion, noticed her obvious upset and embarrassment. What the hell had happened to her? Had she and Mark broken up? Was that why she was so upset? Was that why she was reaching out to him? His heart clenched, both at the thought of that bastard hurting her like this, and then at the fact that she was so upset about it in the first place. She must have really loved him. He considered asking her if she needed to talk about it, but then thought better of it. She looked like she could barely make it up the stairs, let alone talk about such an emotional subject.

God dammit… He knew it. He knew this would happen. It had to, especially with a guy like Mark. And she probably felt like she couldn't talk to him about it. It was probably because she didn't want a big 'I-told-ya-so' thrown in her face. But didn't she know? Didn't she know that when she hurt like hell, somehow, in some twisted way that even he didn't understand, he hurt like hell too? She was his partner, he cared about her…unlike this 'Mark' guy.

"Need me to walk you up?" he asked her softly.

"Yeah," she returned, in an equally quiet voice, more likely due to her palpable fatigue than anything else though. And once again, she surprised him. And yet she didn't. At the same time. It was a difficult feeling to explain, expecting, and yet not expecting, in unison. Strange as it was though, he accepted it.

They sat there for a few more moments, in silence, before her eyes shifted, landing upon his. This… This was genuine surprise. This he had not been expecting. The look divulging her features, adorning her pupils, he could not describe it. It stirred him, allowing his heart to beat a little faster, and his breath to catch slightly. Beneath her lazy cloak of tiredness, he saw a vulnerability that was often a stranger not only to his eyes, but to the eyes of the world as well. And tucked loosely behind that vulnerability, just along the rims of her darkened irises, he saw something else. Something that he could only attribute to… desire. But desire for what? A home? A family? A steady relationship? Him? Him? Ha. That was laughable. But as he searched her eyes for a moment longer, he almost began to think it wasn't such a crazy idea after all. He almost began to think he was wrong. Almost.

With a sigh, he tore his searching eyes away from hers. He couldn't let himself do this, not to her, not to Olivia. Olivia. His partner. No. Screw him for even thinking that way. He was married. And… And she was Olivia! And she was distraught. And exhausted. And he was a bastard. He was. Letting his thoughts take advantage of her innocent situation like that. Damn him. Damn him to hell. Well… Maybe not to hell. But seriously. How messed up could someone get? Olivia… Jesus. What was he thinking?

Before he knew it, he was opening the door and stepping out into the refreshing night air. Good. Maybe that would knock some sense into him. He ran his fingers over his shut eyes, meeting at the bridge of his nose, as he walked around the car and over to her side. He was actually pretty tired himself. Maybe that's why he was being so stupid. When he got to Olivia's door, he opened it and held out a hand to steady her as she climbed out of the vehicle. She accepted it without hesitation, even while dressed in a somewhat embarrassed expression, and placed her feet on the ground with a heavy sigh. He paused for a second, studying her actions while keeping a close grip on her arm, and a secure hand on the small of her back. She seemed to be reasonably alright, so they headed towards the door.

Each step, for Olivia, was weighed down by her corpulent emotional baggage, and although Elliot's familiar proximity aided significantly, she was still silently struggling. Nevertheless, they reached the door to her building without liability, and she took a strenuous moment to think about where she'd last placed her keys.

"Don't worry about it," she heard his voice, and saw that he was already unlocking the entrance with the keys she'd entrusted him with years ago. She smiled slightly – at what, she didn't know, but he returned it, and they entered. It was then that they were confronted with the real challenge – the four flights of stairs that would eventually land them at her door.

Both stood there for a moment or two, assessing the task at hand. Worried about her, Elliot angles his head to look down at her. "You okay?" he asked, pulling her a little closer, for support of course, as they prepared to make their way up. He felt her lean in slightly and nod a little into his jacket. He didn't know if they'd actually ever been this close before, and he certainly could never remember a time where he'd felt like this before either. And suddenly, just as he was about to make the first move – in terms of climbing up the stairs – he felt her arm slither under his coat, and settle itself comfortably around his waist.

It was all he could do, not to damn himself to hell all over again. He glanced down at her closed eyes, and fixed figure that had somehow molded itself onto the side of his body, and had to practically force himself to remember what he was here to do. Drop her off. And leave. Get outta there, and forget every single thing that she'd made him feel. Because it wasn't right. It just wasn't. It was wrong. He just knew it. It had to be. It felt right. But it wasn't. Feelings could deceive. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. He could not have told himself this enough times as they trekked up to her apartment.

Perhaps against her better judgment, perhaps not, she'd slid her arm right through that perfect spot between his shirt and his jacket, merely to hold herself up, of course. It was four flights of stairs after all. Or at least that's what she told herself. She couldn't say that she regretted it, and the rush of tingles that flew through her body the second she had acted upon her impulse, was enough to make her almost giddy. She was far too fatigued to feel completely ridiculous though, so she accepted it for what it was, her eyes falling shut as she breathed in his scent, and allowed him to lead her up the stairs.

It was funny. Every time they ascended to a new step, the pressure of applying weight upon the platform below to lift themselves up to the next one, caused their bodies to clumsily collide with one another over and over again. With every step, she felt the material of his coat smush against her face, and she could not fight the smile curving at the ends of her lips. It was almost in a dream-like state that she observed this though. In fact, if she had not been so intensely registering every aspect of her current position, the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt as they walked, or the way he held her a little tighter as they rose to the next step, she could have easily fallen asleep. The warmth from his body was melting through her, encompassing her senses in a new sensation that she wasn't quite sure she'd ever felt before. Suddenly, she was no longer Olivia, and he was no longer Elliot, and they were no longer partners, there was no longer the job. The way he'd so easily been able to dissolve those small, yet seemingly significant, facts from her somewhat conscious mind, astounded her.

She was making this difficult. She was making this difficult for him. And she was making this difficult for him in such a way, that doubts were beginning to spill carelessly into his train of thought. Every time he told himself that the feelings swelling beneath his skin were wrong, she wordlessly told him that they weren't. Every time he cursed himself for holding her so close, she blessed him with a smile. Every time he started to think he was losing his mind, she somehow affirmed his sanity. Maybe this was reasonable. And maybe this was how it was supposed to be. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn't crazy. But he was. He was. He mercilessly had to remind himself over and over, because the second that he didn't, the second that he forgot, they'd both be done for. He knew this.

They finally reached the fourth level, and he led her towards the 3rd door on the left. He saw that door and thanked God that he'd made it this far. He was unsure how much longer he could have fought off those doubts with his sensible frame of mind.

Arriving at their destination, he took note of the fact that she was still leaning heavily into his support. Did she realize that they were here? Was she asleep? He didn't quite know, especially after she sighed dreamily into his side, so he decided that he would just have to prop her up against the wall while he unlocked the door. And he did. Gently grabbing both of her shoulders, he rested her back against the wall, right next to her door, so that he could toy with the lock.

She felt him let go – again – and she felt her heart race as anxiety began to trickle through her – again. And what the hell was he thinking? Didn't he know that she needed him? She closed her eyes trying not to think about it, trying to calm herself into believing that she would be okay, but it was just so damn hard. You didn't just take someone off of a respirator when their lungs were getting stronger, but that's exactly what he'd just done to her. He'd cut off her air supply. Just when he'd almost fixed her. Who'd he think he was? Well, there was no way she could just stand by and let herself drown in her own weakness, not when the cure was a mere foot away. Her hand found his shoulder again, and she let it trail down the length of his arm to meet his fingers. She felt better.

He couldn't quite process what was happening, not when she was trailing her hand down his arm like that. Just when he'd thought that he was in the clear, here she was holding his hand. And here she was, grabbing onto his other hand, pulling him over to her. Why? It didn't matter. Not really. The only clear thought flashing through his mind was that there was no hope for him. He was letting her do this. He was letting her pull him closer – letting her hold his hands. And he was holding hers back. What did she want? When his thoughts were piling up and his pulse was racing, how could he possibly know? How could he know what to do in this situation that she had so casually created? It was only when she lifted her eyes to his, that everything came to a deafening halt. His questions vanished. His doubts disappeared. He knew exactly what she wanted. Or at least he thought he did.

Could it be real though? He could hardly breathe – she was so close, and she was looking at him like that, and yet he wanted her closer. His heart was about to explode, he was so nervous because her eyes were like magnets, drawing him in without consent. Those eyes were telling him that she knew exactly what she was doing, that she was so sure, but his mind was telling him that that was impossible. How could her eyes hold such a power over him when just seconds earlier, she'd been practically out cold? It didn't make sense. Nothing did. She was so close.

And suddenly, when he drew breath, it was her air that he was breathing, and it was her perfume that was clouding his senses, and it was her hips that he was holding, and it was her hands on his arms. Still, it couldn't be real, and he couldn't be sure, not without her telling him that it was. He couldn't trust his own judgment to tell him the truth.

"Liv…"

Desperation graveling his tone, his voice came out soft, and low, asking her every question that kept them apart, even if that was only inches by now. It was almost unbearable to hear her name drip despairingly from his lips, seeking confirmation, seeking permission. He couldn't see that this was exactly what she wanted – what she needed? He couldn't see that she was practically begging him to fix her, to make it all disappear? She could feel herself shaking because she'd never done this before – she'd never allowed herself to feel his breath on her face, his hands on her sides, his eyes waiting for an answer that she couldn't possibly wait to give.

She wasn't sure if she could manage a verbal response though…was she really going to have to show him? Her hand lifted shakily from his jacket, and almost hesitantly placed itself on the side of his face where she could feel the softness of his skin below the short stubble that existed there in the late hour, which she found sexy as hell. She could feel his heated breath on her mouth intensify as he instinctively drew even closer, if at all possible to do without actually making contact. Feeling her breath shorten rapidly as the heat between them dangerously accumulated, she wasn't sure if she could take the distance any longer, and knowing this, she let her thumb slip down to the side of his lower lip, hoping that this slight gesture would be enough to convince him.

Before he could allow another contradicting thought to penetrate the powerfully induced fog that clouded his sensibility, he felt his lips masterfully clasp onto hers, as if in slow motion. It was then that his world was thrown completely upside down, and his reeling hesitations came to an utter standstill, halted by the moment he'd subconsciously dreamt about for years. And they stayed like this, overwhelmed by the swarming world around them that, essentially, did not exist, not now, in this moment in time, it didn't. It's the simplistic perfection of it all that sweeps through him as he holds her in his arms, with his lips on hers, like the last two pieces of an endless puzzle miraculously united for the first time. Slowly though, still drawn to the moment, he gradually tore the skin of his lips from hers with an almost reluctant grace.

The lids of their eyes cautiously flickered open, and it was then that he realized that he'd been holding his breath, forgetting his body's natural requirement for oxygen. Suddenly, they both let out the air, which had hence been caught, creating an unintentional pant-like sound that logically just screamed with want. It's then that his heart beats a little faster in a race to catch up with himself, and when he finally inhales once more, he's caught off guard when she brushes her mouth against his. All he can think is that this can't be happening. Not again. It was too surreal, and his mind needed to catch up to his heart, which was racing so far ahead of him by now, it was long since gone. Nevertheless, he responded to her, pushing his mouth against hers and enveloping them both in a kiss anchored with emotion. And after lacing her lips with gentle kisses that only furthered the fog of his confusion, he felt her lips part slightly, inviting him to take it farther. He could feel the wetness of her mouth on his, tingle with anticipation, but he couldn't do it. All of a sudden he was flooded with guilt – it was only minutes ago that she was half passed out in his arms as he practically carried her up the stairs, and here he was now, kissing her, her, her-Olivia-her! How could he be such a jerk, taking advantage of her vulnerable state of mind like that? Did he truly have no control over his actions? How would she ever forgive him tomorrow when she finally came to?

Olivia could feel her lips parting, hoping that he'd continue what they'd started. It was so wonderful, not a trace of the self-doubt or the horrid confusion that had soaked through her bones earlier was palpable now. It was amazing how he affected her, how he could make the world disappear, make her feel so important, as if she was all that mattered. And then he was gone. Suddenly, he pulled away and she could practically feel the air being ripped from her lungs. Her eyes shut closed and her brow involuntarily furrowed, giving off an almost pained expression of confusion upon her face.

"Wha-"

His hand reached over and twisted the knob, and he pushed the door open, feeling like crap for letting her down – as a person, as her partner...as her friend. "Night Liv," he said quietly, too ashamed to look at her. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, maybe as reassurance, maybe as an apology – he didn't know, but after that, he made his way down the hall, not looking back.

"God," she whispered in a silent prayer, bringing a hand to her face and rubbing her eyes, hoping that maybe if she could shut them tight enough, she wouldn't completely fall apart. If she had been looking for stability in her partner, she sure as hell hadn't found it. It was anything and everything but. Her insides clutched twice as hard, churning and mocking her for being so stupid. But she wouldn't cry. No matter how unhinged she was now, she wouldn't let herself cry over him, she was too strong – and too tired – for that, she didn't cry over men, over rejection. She just wasn't sure how much longer she could take the rejection that he was dishing out to her.

Somehow though, she found it in her to stumble through the door of her apartment and-

"Liv!"

She jumped as her name sounded throughout the room in a concerned tone of voice, but when she saw the owner of that concerned voice, it was a wonder that she didn't lose it then and there.

Her mind was on overload and nothing was adding up, absolutely nothing. "What are you doing here?"

Mark looked at her worriedly as he approached. "I wanted to check on you, make sure you're okay," he said placing a soothing hand on her arm, hoping that would ease her into talking to him but she jerked away, and instantly saw his worry heighten. "What's wrong?" he asked with a note of seriousness in his voice.

"Nothing, I'm-" she didn't know what to say. She wasn't fine. She'd just kissed Elliot. Elliot! What the hell was wrong with her?! And now Mark was here. He'd been right inside during the whole thing. How could she have been so careless?

She needed to think. She needed to get away from him and think, she needed to rethink everything. And he needed to stop looking at her like that or… or she'd just explode. "I just…" she began, and then realized that she did have the strength to cry. Her eyes burned with tears, and her throat when dry. What had she done… she'd ruined everything.

"Olivia," Mark said becoming increasingly concerned. "Honey, what's wrong?" his voice was urgent and almost pleading, which made her feel even more guilty, if at all possible.

She sighed deeply, trying to rid herself of the guilt weighing heavily on her chest. She needed him to leave. She needed him to go. But he wouldn't understand that. She stepped to the side but then stopped. She didn't know where she was going. She was just so tired. A few tears fell from her eyes due, most likely, to the stress she was feeling. "I just – I have to go," she finally spat out and swept off to her bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Benson Residence

Saturday, 10:01 pm

Olivia lay in a heap on her bed, surrounded by the darkness of her room that seemed to reflect her own emotions. She was still in her clothes from earlier that day but it didn't matter. Not really. She just couldn't get over it. She couldn't understand how she'd messed everything up so badly. How could she have pushed Mark so far from her mind, far enough to allow herself to kiss someone else? And not just someone else… it was Elliot. Elliot, her partner, her God damned married partner! How would she ever face him tomorrow? She was so humiliated. And so ashamed. She was ashamed at what she'd done to Elliot, and Mark. He was so good to her. She loved him, and yet she let herself do this to him, to everyone. She was just so disgusted with herself. Even through her weak tears, she could feel her skin crawling. But not for long. Her sobs soon died out, suffocated by the exhaustion that claimed them all too quickly.

A/N: Well I hope that was okay! I'm not sure I feel about it yet but hopefully I'll get the next chapter up quickly. REVEIWS always help though ;) Whether it was terrible or whether you liked it, do tell. I'd love to know!