Summary: Elliot shows up and demands an explanation? Will the truth finally come out?

AN: This story was supposed to be a one-shot. But y'all asked for a second chapter. For me second chapters rarely live up to the hype. I find that it's the cliffhanger or funny ending that makes the story the best. So, I really, really hope that this chapter did the story justice.

Thanks for reading!

"LIV! OPEN UP!" Elliot's voice booms through the quaking metal door of her hotel room at the Rodeway Inn.

Olivia's eyes snap open from the bed as she looks at Amanda who is equally surprised. She'd turned off her ringer and flipped her phone over after Amanda sent that text. She and Amanda then used the next hour to keep drinking from the box and scheming how to explain the message to Elliot.

"Say it was a dare?"

"I'm not 12."

"Okay, say it was a stroke?"

"And have him drag me to a doctor for a second opinion?"

"God, he really is obnoxious, isn't he?"

Olivia just nods and downed the rest of her cup.

Neither one of them actually expected Elliot to actually show up here, at the motel, pay off the two unis out front, and demand entrance.

"Amanda," Olivia says in what she hopes is a whisper (it is not), "he's here!" She stands from the bed, shifting back and forth on her feet and wringing her fingers in panic.

"I know!" Amanda shouts as she rushes haphazardly to the door and peers through the peephole. Elliot's distorted face is visible.

"I CAN HEAR YOU," Elliot yells through the door, then chuckles to himself as he listens to their freak-out in the room.

"Shit!" Olivia yells.

"Fuck!" Amanda echoes.

"YES! SHIT! FUCK! NOW OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!" He laughs again, then adds to himself as he shivers, "I'm freezing my balls off out here."

"Open the door," Amanda shouts to Olivia, waving her over.

"No, you! It's your fault he's here," Olivia counters smartly.

"My fault? I'm not the one who wants to fu–"

"Amanda! Open the door before he kicks it in."

Elliot laughs even harder at this. He knew from the text that Rollins was with Olivia and that they had to be drunk, but listening to them bicker through the door, some of it about him, is nearly too much to handle. He was tempted to kick in the door, but his shoulder probably would hurt for two weeks. He'd at least see if one of the unis has a key before he opted for brute force.

Beaten by Olivia's drunken logic, Amanda flips the top latch and then turns the lock, opening the door just a crack and peering through. "Who is it?"

"Don't pull that shit with me Rollins, let me in," Elliot demands once more, pushing the door open and stepping in, Amanda looking aghast at his audacity.

He sees Liv standing to the side, a red flush over her cheeks, her hair tufted in all directions from running her fingers through it, and a deep red line across her bottom lip.

"Hey Liv," he waves to her tauntingly and grinning broadly, barely able to contain his mirth at the whole situation.

"Elliot, what are you doing here?" she asks, trying look utterly surprised by his appearance, as if it was completely outrageous that he would know where she is and has just randomly shown up without any cause.

Chuckling and knowing he has the upper hand at the moment, he responds, "Why don't you tell me why I'm here?"

"I have no idea," she tries to argue, her burning bright cheeks giving her away.

"Oh, I think you do. It probably has something to do with the very crude text that I received from Rollins," he turns to face Amanda and points to her, "You need to wash your mouth out with soap, woman," before looking back at Olivia, "And maybe something to do with you ignoring my calls and texts."

Looking over at her phone on the nightstand, muttering feebly in her embarrassment, "I didn't see your calls or messages."

Elliot licks around the inside of his mouth and tuts his tongue against the top of his mouth several times, trying to figure out how to best handle her obstinance.

Once Olivia had ignored his second call and three messages, he grabbed his keys and hit the Interstate. It didn't take him long, maybe just under an hour, to arrive at the motel.

He's wanted to talk to Olivia for weeks and wanted to see her after he heard about the green light on her and her recent street battle but had been stymied at each turn. Once she was given a protective detail and safe house, only those in her unit were given her location. Even Sargent Bell, at his repeated requests, couldn't get the address from the higher ups. He was just a day away from bribing Fin for a spot on her detail.

But give Olivia a box of crappy cabernet and a good friend and all the NYPD's efforts to keep her location a secret are defeated by a stupid, albeit sexy, text. He knows the text was a joke, but he also knows that there is a kernel of truth to nearly every joke. And he wanted to see her, to make sure, with his own two eyes, that she's just fine and safe.

Now that he'd confirmed that she was just fine, he wanted answers about the text and what the hell she and Amanda were saying about him.

"Uh Liv," Amanda's voice breaks the standoff, "my Uber's here. I'm gonna…" she thumbs out the door with one hand before grabbing her purse with the other.

Olivia's look could kill, and Elliot bites his fist to keep from cackling, happy not to be on the other end of that glare for once.

Amanda just mouths "Sorry," and "call me tomorrow," as she escapes out the door.

"So, Olivia, you want to explain this text message," Elliot challenges once the door clicks shut, pulling Olivia's attention from the door back to him.

"Amanda was drunk…just a prank, uh…it's nothing, girl talk," Olivia fumbles with barely-there slur to her words, her mind still fuzzy from the wine.

"Amanda was drunk?" Elliot asks rhetorically, "Hmmm, I think you might be a little drunk too, Liv." He knows she is. His unexpected presence might have sobered her for a minute or two, but as the adrenaline subsides, the alcohol makes itself known.

Olivia tries to deny it, "No, no...I'm not drunk. I only had a couple glasses…and, uh, we ate." She points to the pizza box on the table next to their cabernet.

Elliot walks to the table, flips open the pizza box to reveal only a couple slices left next to a few nibbled-on crusts. He smirks, recalling how Olivia never liked to eat the crusts of her pizza. Some things never change, he thinks. Then he grabs the boxed cabernet by the cardboard handle on top and lifts it easily from the table.

"I think you had more than a couple glasses," he chuckles as he sets the box back down. He can't help himself. The entire situation is too funny. Captain Benson, in her hideout room, drunk off boxed wine and having girl-talk that results in a message to him—a message about him and his body. That message, however, gave him an inlet to get the exact insight into Olivia that he's been dying for. He knows that she's going to keep denying it, but he is certain that she admitted to Amanda that she wants him, at the very least. And armed with knowledge, he's determined to get the truth from her.

"I'm not drunk," she huffs out again, watching him stalk towards her with a dangerous grin on his face. She knows that grin. She's seen it one hundred and one times over their years together. It's his I've got you now grin, and she hates being on this side of it.

How did she let Amanda get her this drunk? How was she so obvious with her attraction to Elliot that everyone knows it? And how did Amanda actually send that damn text message? It's all absurd, but she can't think fast enough to come up with an excuse. Not with her blood alcohol level where it is and not with Elliot looking at her like that—like he has her trapped and he wants to devour her.

It's all too much.

He's standing in front of her now, big and broad, almost imposing if she didn't know him. But she knew him, and her body knew him. Even after ten years, his hulking figure next to hers makes her feel safe, not intimidated.

She doesn't take a step back as he stands so close to her, just a couple inches between them.

"Olivia, stop lying to me. Your cheeks are flushed red," he says as he rubs down her cheek with the back of his middle finger, "and your lips are even brighter red," he whispers as he leans in, his forehead almost touching hers, and traces her bottom lip with his thumb. His eyes were drawn to that very lip. He had to lift his head and create space before her stained pouty lip tempted him too far.

She gasps at the contact, raising her hand to grip his wrist, holding his hand still. He takes her touch as permission to keep going.

"I think you and Amanda were sitting on that bed," he nods his head in the direction of the bed, "drinking and drinking from that box, and talking about me. I think you were talking dirty about me," he grins even wider when her eyes waiver, looking back over to the wine.

His hand cups her cheek, covering the entire side of her face and making her look back at him.

Olivia's eyes close and she whispers weakly, "No."

"Yes, you were. You and her were talking about me. You can't lie to me. Not now. Tell me, Olivia, did you say to her—what was it?—that you wanted to ride my dick?" He finishes on a whisper, leaning in so his lips are just millimeters from her ear.

Her "No," is even more faint than the prior one. Even though she didn't say those words aloud tonight, she can't deny that she's never thought of him, of her and him, of them in all sorts of compromising positions. Her cheeks are bright red now, having turned a few shades darker since he's encroached on her space, touched her, made her think of those images of them together. Her chest heaves as her breath deepens.

"What is it, Liv? She can text it for you, but you can't hear it from me?" He taunts, then commands, "Say it."

Olivia shakes her head, her grip on his wrist tightens.

He traces her lip once more, letting the wine residue on her lip transfer to his thumb. She draws in a sharp breath before exhaling a quiet, "Damn it, El." She's liquid in his arms. Her resolve has been tested and beaten by him. She can't think of anything else than his warm palm on her face, his hot breath washing over her ears, and the scent of him flooding her nostrils. She wants him and she's not sure she has the ability to fight her desire much longer.

"You want to know what I think? I think you were talking about how much you want me; about how much you like me…maybe even lo–"

His words are cut off by the only thing she can think to do—kiss him. Her lips are urgent and rough as they press against his. Her hands are cupping his face, holding it to hers so he can't break away and finish his thought. It's not soft and sweet, but desperate. She needed him to stop talking or he was going to pull it from her, force the truth from her. She couldn't hold out any more, she wouldn't be able to deny it if he said the words.

Elliot doesn't care though, he leans into the contact, opening his mouth to taste her. But he only tastes the cheap wine on her tongue and he immediately pulls away, wrenching his lips from hers with a soft pop.

He can't do this, not right now. She's been drinking.

"Liv," he pants, questioningly with hand on her shoulder, keeping her a few inches away. He needs to hear to say it, say that this is okay. That she's sober enough to make these decisions.

But she's not paying any attention to him. Her hands are covering her face and she's muttering "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit."

Fuck! He thinks that he's pushed her too far, that this isn't what she wanted. "Liv, Liv…come on, look at me," he pleads, pulling on her forearms to get her hands off her face.

She fights his grip on her, turning from him to keep her face hidden. "No! God! I can't believe I did that."

He stops reaching for her, and just stands with his hands hanging by side, his hands turning into fists by his hips, afraid for the answer to his next question. "Did you…did you not want to?"

She shakes her head, her back still to him as she starts and then stops, "I, uh…"

"Honesty Liv," he grits out. "This is the time for complete honesty." He's the desperate one right now. He's lost for words. He expected that she'd keep lying to him, maybe even slap him across the cheek if he pushed too hard. He did not expect her to kiss him. Not right now, not like this.

Olivia turns, facing him but her eyes still closed, her body stiff as she looks up at the ceiling. She knows he's right, that he deserves the truth right now after all her shenanigans this evening. She takes one…two…three deep, calming breaths, before she finally answers. "Yes."

"What was that?" He heard her, but he has to hear it again.

His question was just too much, however, and she lets loose.

"I said yes. Okay?" She looks at him, almost angrily, and throws her hands towards the ground. "I said yes, damnit! Yes, I wanted to kiss you. Yes, we were drinking and talking about you and Amanda sent that stupid text."

His eyes widen and a smile crawls over his lips as she rants, waiting for her to finish.

"And now you are here, and you were looking at me like that and looking like that," her hand moves over his body, "and saying those things and I kissed you," she finishes with a huff, then she sees him grinning goofily.

"What are you smiling at?" she demands.

"You. I'm smiling at you Liv."

"Why?"

"Because we are damn fools who can only admit the truth when we are drunk." Two peas in a damn pod, we are. He can't stop himself from chuckling at their predicament.

His constant grin and small laughs piss her off. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing, it's not important," he brushes off her question, he'll tell her about his drunken confession another night or never. "What is important is that you kissed me."

"Ugh!" Olivia scoffs, throwing her hands back up at the reminder of her pinnacle of her humiliation.

"No Liv, not ugh. Come here...please," he sits on the edge of the bed, and tugs on her hand so she will follow him over.

"El, I'm mortified," she admits as she stands between his open thighs.

He holds her hands and entwines their fingers. "Don't be. Just talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" she asks, looking at their hands and noticing their proximity to his chest, which looks so good in his blue quarter zip sweater. Her fingers itch to reach out and tug on the zipper. Is that new? I've never seen him wear that, she wonders to herself.

"Well, for starters I'm hoping that you aren't so drunk that you are not going to remember this in the morning."

"No," she shakes off his concern, "I'm just drunk enough to have a killer headache and maybe puke."

He smiles, "Wine will do that to you."

Finally meeting his eyes, she asks seriously, "What will you do to me?"

He softens even more at her question, her vulnerability palpable as she's finally given up the fight and is surrendering to him. "Nothing tonight. Tomorrow though? Whatever you want. I know this started as a joke, but let's cut through all the bullshit for once," he looks her in the eyes, his blue ones dark and clear as they meet her brown ones. She might still be slightly inebriated, but she's serious and focused on him and he's sure that she will remember every word of this tomorrow.

"I want you. I want to be with you. Okay?"

She nods slowly, taking in his words, letting the relief that comes with them wash over her and warm her entire body. "Okay."

"And what do you want?" He dares to ask because he has to hear it from her lips. Her okay is not enough for him.

"The same thing…things…you," she huffs then says, "I want you, Elliot." Those words are strong and definite, not a waiver or hiccup to be found.

"Good," he squeezes her fingers, "then it's all settled. From here on out, we are together."

It sounds so good when he says it, like it's the simplest thing in the world. But nothing has ever been simple for her, especially relationships. "I don't know…El…"

"Don't. Olivia. Please don't be afraid of this, of me."

Shaking her head softly, she says, "You don't scare me."

"What does?"

She might as well continue being honest, there's no reason to hold back anymore. She has to tell him what he probably already knows but hasn't really considered. Because if he had, he wouldn't want her, not really. He'd just grow tired of and frustrated with her, like everyone else.

"Me. I'm no good at this. I've never let anyone in. I've never–"

"It's because it was never us. I have faith in you and in us," he tugs on her hands, pulling them even closer and pressing them flat on his chest. "Let's just take it one day at a time, alright?"

Olivia closes her eyes, feeling his heartbeat against her palm. Strong and steady. She swallows and nods, "Yea, okay."

Elliot knows that he probably shouldn't; that he should wait for the morning, until all the alcohol has left her system. But he can't. He knows that more than anything she needs assurance from him, a promise that this is real and that he's being truthful tonight. And he just needs to feel her again.

He stands and gently tips her lips to his with a knuckle under her chin. It's the complete opposite of her burning and demanding kiss from just a few moments ago. His lips are soft and move lovingly across hers. He does his best to keep them closed as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into him. A sigh escapes her lips when their bodies settle against one another. And a low groan rumbles in his chest when the tip of her tongue licks at the seam of his lips, asking for entrance. He lets her in and this time he tastes her.

She's sweet and uniquely her and he wants to drink her up. He never wants to stop, he wants to taste ever part of her. So, when she tips her head to the side and her mouth opens even wider to raise the rating of their kiss, it takes all his effort to pry his lips from hers.

He pulls her completely against him and tucks her head into his neck. Elliot kisses her crown before mumbling into her hair, "God, Liv. You have no idea how badly I want to continue this." He has to make sure that he doesn't want to pull away, he doesn't want to hold back, but he has to. Just for tonight, at least, and hopefully never again.

She mumbles a half-hearted apology into his soft sweater, nuzzling in deeper.

"Don't. Do not apologize to me. Not so long as you mean it. As long as you really want this."

"I do." She relaxes into his grip, needing nothing more in this moment than his arms around her.

He exhales in relief out his nose, squeezing her again and pulling back to look at her. "Okay, then," he kisses her forehead and looks at the clock on the nightstand by her phone. "It's late, you need to sleep. And I need to go."

"Go?" Olivia asks with a frown, confused as to why he's leaving her now.

"Yes. Tonight, I have to go home. But I will see you tomorrow after the wedding—Amanda didn't invite me," he adds with a grin, "and we are going to be doing a lot more of this," he wags his finger between them.

She smiles and chuckles, "Yea, yea…tomorrow."

He gives her one more kiss, a very quick peck to her lips, so quick she can't even react, just because he can now. Then one more to her cheek and he squeezes her biceps, then he finally lets her go and steps to the side.

"Do you really have to leave," she asks, already knowing the answer, as he turns to open the door.

He turns the knob and cracks the door, before he answers her, "Yes, I do," he says with a solemn nod. "Otherwise, you might find yourself in a whole new dire situation."

He can hear her gasp just before the door clicks shut.