Warning: sexually explicit, M rating

Disclaimer: They are not mine, but they want to be.

A/N: You know it had to come to this for them. I continue to be disappointed that the series won't address it. I hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading. Comments are always welcomed.

Undercover

Chapter 2

Olivia unlocks her door and steps into her apartment. She is shocked at how good it looks, the FBI had told her they had someone going in and out, keeping it clean and running the utilities. She walks into her kitchen and opens the cupboards and looks in the fridge. All her things are there, clean and put away exactly where she left them. There is food in the fridge, things she likes and had before she left. Ironically she has given some of them up while she was away. It's strangely familiar and comforting and just a little creepy, it looks as though she just stepped out a few hours ago. If there's underwear in the hamper she's backing out of here, she laughs at her own nervousness in her home, it's ridiculous. She knows the FBI did it, they probably know more about her now than she does herself, but not more than Elliot. They know everything she did while she was gone but they will never know how she felt about it. All she has to do is tell Elliot the circumstances and he'll know, but she's getting way ahead of herself.

First she has to see him. She had called and talked to Fin while she was in a step down unit being debriefed on her life. They had created a story for her absence, told her what could not be said and went over the details with her for days before letting her go home. In her own time she was allowed to slowly reestablish contact with her friends to put her story out there on her home turf ahead of her arrival. She had called Fin and Cragen and asked them not to say anything to Elliot. Cragen had sounded strange and she knew something was happening but he told her he'd get her back into the squad if she wanted to return. She didn't bother asking about Elliot, she knew that her boss would have said back with her partner if the space was available. It took her three days to calm down enough to call Fin.

Fin on the other hand was straight up with her despite the slightly awkward undertone to the conversation. He told her about Dani, stating that he didn't know what was between them. She found it interesting that his own observation was that the best part of the woman seemed to have been buried with her dead husband. He wasn't being cruel, just honest. He thought that her bond with Elliot was based on grief and nothing more. Olivia asked if Elliot was still taking his divorce that badly and she could hear Fin make that sound, the one that meant he thought she just said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. In her minds eye she could see him drop his head and shake it in that Fin way.

"You Olivia, every moment you've been gone the man has been mourning you." His words still rang in her head. She had chatted with him about the rest of the squad, getting a feel for the atmosphere. He had assured her that after five minutes inside the door it would feel like she had never left.

Accept for the other woman in my seat. Accept for the other woman partnered with Elliot. No, no, no Olivia, do NOT think about her now.

Olivia had to focus to finish the conversation with him. He had asked her why she had called him and she knew what the real question was behind his words. Why him and not Munch, whom she has known for so long? Olivia was aware of the partner code, Fin would have to tell Munch that he had spoken to Olivia and Munch would talk his ear off all day on the thousands of possible reasons Olivia had not chosen to call him instead. She started chuckling and Fin sighed in relief on the other end of the phone because she understood him. In that moment he was sure she was the Olivia he knew and he couldn't have been happier to hear from her, all the awkwardness faded away. Olivia had made Fin promise not to tell Munch she had been in a debriefing program or he would be freaking out over everything she said for the next six months. They were both laughing when she hung up but she was aching with longing to go back to all of them. At that point she just wanted the FBI shit to be over and she didn't care about their Protocol.

Olivia had stayed in her room the next day, refusing to see anyone, much to the dismay of the FBI. The information from home was ambiguous and she needed to be still with it, ruminate until she had a plan or a truth. She had learned a lot about being still while undercover.

Elliot had a female partner and something was between them, Fin had used the word bond, she couldn't dwell on that for long or it became hard for her to breathe. Could she return to the precinct and watch him partner with another woman every day. No. Clearly and abso-fucking-lutely not. She would have to transfer if the temporary replacement was staying.

Okay, she had also learned that Elliot had grieved her absence. Was he still grieving for her or had he moved on? A knot in her chest tightened at the thought. She didn't want to ask Fin for details, she knew he wasn't comfortable with that and she didn't want to sound like a twelve year old. It was enough to know that Elliot was angry and hurt and it wasn't going to be an easy conversation. By the next morning she cooperated fully to get home as fast as was physically possible.

Now here she is, standing around reviewing when she needs to shower and change her clothes, do some routine things in her own home to settle back in to her space. She pauses at the counter to plug in her cell phone, they had taken the one she used undercover and had only returned her old one today.

Olivia needs to make the apartment hers again; it still feels a little off somehow. Could it be smaller than she remembered in just a few months? How could the room feel smaller but the bed appear so much bigger? Her eyes fall to her bed with a look of longing but she has things to put away and she wants that shower and a cup of tea. She takes out her gun enjoying the familiar weight of it in her hand. She was surprised this morning when it was returned to her. She lays the gun and her badge on the nightstand and immediately feels more like she lives here. Her smile is fleeting as she retrieves her bag.

Elliot opens his eyes and sits up rapidly, feeling his abdomen. The spreading wetness on his stomach is water, just water. He had been dreaming that he was shot and it was his blood oozing into his clothes. The bag of ice has slipped to the floor but there's a wet spot on the sofa cushion and the floor and the bag looks like a giant used condom sitting scrunched up with a small puddle still inside. Elliot starts to chuckle, at least it's a dream about getting shot and not about being fucked. Still laughing, he looks at his hands, flexing them slowly. They're not as bad as he had predicted they would be, maybe it was the cold water. Two knuckles of one hand look pretty torn up and there's definitely some swelling and discoloration across the back, still, all in all not too bad. If he trims off the ragged bits of skin and lets it scab over it won't look too damaging. He doesn't have to go in for the next two days anyway so by the time he returns to work it will be as good as new, or as good as new but purple.

His nap has made him feel better but he knows what will really help, the one thing that brings him comfort, his own personal secret. He has only indulged in it three times since she left, always late at night and always when the ache of missing her was too great to bear. At those times, he felt he had to do something to prove to himself that she was still a part of his life and this was the only one of his choices that was not destructive. After all, he had already tried destructive tonight and that didn't accomplish anything. He heads back into his bedroom and carefully dresses in jeans, a black t-shirt and pull over hoodie but it's the simple act of tying his tennis shoes that reminds him of his hands being sore. He pops two more aspirin, takes his wallet, gun, badge, his gloves and most importantly the key. He grabs his leather jacket, checks the pocket for his apartment keys and heads out the door with a lively step. He promises himself it will only be for a minute, but he already knows he's not going to keep it.

Olivia stretches her arms over her head, rolling her neck and trying to keep herself relaxed. She has all her personal items put away and has gone through the apartment and moved things around so it doesn't feel like a cleaning lady just left. She's been around other people for months, day and night. The solitude moves over her like waves at the beach, soothing her one moment and reaching with the under tow to drowned her in the next. Within this silence her voice seems louder in her head and she starts to think of all the things she wouldn't do while bunking with the righteous but mostly homeless protesters.

She was amazed at how relaxed they were, never worrying about where they would stay or eat, never concerned with when they would next be able to shower or how they looked. They weren't dirty, not really, things always just seemed to work out so there was a shelter or a house they rented with money from sales of the things they made, or from donations, or from someone's worried family or from a whole list of other sources. Life moved in its own rhythm though and she often heard someone say not to worry, if they slept in a tent one night they would have a house the next three, if they missed a meal one day they might have two the next, eventually everything happened as it should.

It was against all of Olivia's instincts and training to not have a direction, to not have a lead. She was not the laid back type of woman but over time it served her well to learn to sensor all her words, to pause before she spoke. It probably saved her life once or twice. She was very good at the observing and the paranoia, with that part of the crowd she fit in perfectly. There were many nights that she sat quietly and listened to long debates within the group over the environment, the atmosphere, the government or any number of topics. She often thought about what a field day Munch would have with these people. More often than not, when she appeared fascinated by their words, she was really thinking about home, about her job, and about Elliot. She would have gladly given up food and shelter just to hear him say her name.

She walks into her bathroom and turns the shower on hot, stripping her clothes onto the floor she climbs in immediately and sighs contentedly as the water pours over her. A hot shower, in her own home, she rests against the tile wall for a moment and lets the soft sob rise within her. She knows it's coming from every moment she had been afraid and couldn't show it, from the monumental relief that it's over and she's out of it. She has been carrying that sense of an impending accident for such a long time, it was exhausting. At first she was terrified they would discover who she was and then later she was terrified she had become so good at being someone else that she would never find herself again. The whole thing was a highly stressful mind fuck and not the good kind. She puts her head back and let's herself have this time now that she made it back. She has been punishing herself since the moment she said yes to the assignment, picturing Elliot when he knew she was gone and weighing the possibility that she may have lost him the moment she agreed to go. She washes slowly and shampoos her hair with her own shampoo. She's glad to shave and realizes as she does that every act she performs brings her one step closer to being Detective Olivia Benson once again. In that moment the shower feels cathartic and she dares to hope that the world she is re-entering still has him in it. She finally turns off the water and steps out; the crying and the heat have slowed her down a bit. She towels her longer hair and decides as she walks into her bedroom, that she may keep it for a while. She grabs the NYPD grey t-shirt and pulls it over her head with a smile before pulling out a pair of ultra soft under shorts. Yep, every act brings her a step closer to herself.

She goes to the kitchen to put the water on, noticing the light on her cell blinking she scrunches her forehead in confusion. The cell was shut off, why is the message light blinking? She leaves it plugged in and flips it open with an automatic snap. The message and missed call icons are blinking, when she opens the file she gasps loudly and pages through the phone. The phone must not have been turned off until two days after she left, in that time there were 27 calls from Elliot. Jesus Christ. What frame of mind are you in when you call someone 27 times in two days?

Her heart is pounding as she looks over the statistics on the screen, they vary in length, some have messages attached, some were disconnected after the recording played and they were dialed in clusters through the night. She squeezes the phone shut, clutching it until her knuckles turn white. The tears flow unheeded down her face and her body vibrates with what she knows she's holding. A squeaky hysterical sound twists from her heaving chest at the irony. All those months she lay in desperation to hear his voice and if she wants to hear it now it will be in the form of his pain as he realized she was gone. By his book this would be considered punishment for her sins, even if he would never ever say that to her. He would, in fact, take the phone from her and tell her not to listen, which is exactly why she flips it open.

It was that fucking case that started it all, putting Elliot in front of her gun, forcing the issue for her, seeding it so deeply in her mind it was bound to grow. She thought she left because she needed something within her to change, even if it came in the form of a part of her breaking. She had to know what would cause her to crack; missing her life, missing her job or missing him. She was stupid enough to think that it would make her choice clear and for her it would be finished. She would come back and either leave the job or leave him before they destroyed each other. She wanted to explain, she wanted…what the fuck difference does it make what she wanted? She thought she was going to find an answer for the both of them and she never considered what it would do to him, at least not until it was too late.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. He paid the price. What did she think she was doing? She doesn't even know how he feels. Will he even give a fuck about how she feels? And now there's another woman. Maybe all he needed all along was for her to get out of the way. Jesus fucking Christ what has she done?

She jerks her wrist and the plug snaps out of the wall and back lashes against her leg, stinging on impact. She only needs enough power to listen to 5 actual voice messages. She heads back down the hall turning off the lights on the way to her bedroom and lies across her bed. She curls her legs up into her chest and pulls her comforter over her. In the dark she puts her phone to her ear and enters her password to retrieve messages. Squeezing her eyes shut tightly she tries to brace herself and then before she can possibly be ready, his voice fills her head. Those first few seconds when it's just so distinctly and completely him all the air rushes from her lungs and every moment she ever spent with him comes flooding back to her. She thinks she may not survive this after all. Her whole body tingles as she listens to him say her name and ask, in that voice that gathers the moisture between her legs, if she's there.

"I'm here Elliot." Without moving she listens to all 5 calls.

Her eyes are burning and her face and chest hurt from crying as she moves on auto pilot through the dark into the bathroom and runs a washrag under the cold water. Curiosity. Worry. Panic. Anger. Broken. That was the sound of him in each call. The actual words don't matter. She goes back to bed and puts the rag over her eyes, struggling to stay still. How could she come home so calm and solid, so sure, only to end up so confused? She has exhausted herself and she feels the weight of sleep settling in her limbs at last so she gratefully relaxes into it.

Elliot is tired of driving and ready to lie down. He's been as patient as he's capable of being at this time of night. He shouldn't have had those two cups of coffee waiting for it to get dark. He's been driving around a city he knows better than he ever knew his own back yard. He has a soft erection at the thought of his destination and he silences the voice that whispers in the back of his head that this is not okay. He parks down the block, puts on his gloves and flips up his hood, walking casually down the street. He pops the door and enters the building, picturing the look of disapproval Liv would be giving him at that moment. He moves up the stairs quickly and quietly, so he is panting lightly when he reaches the door. He unlocks both locks and slips inside, closing and locking the door back behind him. He sags against the wall, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with her. He feels dizzy with the scent and it has been so long it almost feels like she is right in front of him. His body instantly relaxes, his cock begins to grow hard.

He opens his eyes and moves down the hall, pushing the door open he's right up on the bed when he sees her. He gasps loudly and she moves but does not wake. He could touch her without moving he's so close. As his eyes continue to adjust he takes in the details, afraid to move, afraid it's a hallucination. Her hair is longer and she has bangs, but it's Olivia. She is half on her belly with one leg drawn up and his eyes move slowly down her body. He's completely hard now, just from her nearness. He can see the outline of her breasts and his fingers twitch at his sides to touch her. She turns a bit, burrowing deeper into her mattress and curling her shoulder as though she's chilled. He wants to cover her but he can't bring himself to do it. His eyes move to the gentle curve of her ass and his mouth goes dry. The urge to smooth his palm over her cheek and let his fingers dip between her thighs to the moist heat trapped there is overwhelming. Jesus, he wants her. His partner, his Olivia. His dick jerks at the thoughts in his head. He just doesn't care about the rest of it. She's here, she's half naked and nothing else matters. Nothing. If he wasn't certain he'd pay for it with a broken bone he would reach for her breast and even then he considers it for a moment. As he stands there, his mind racing, his dick harder than he can ever remember it being, the unthinkable happens.

Olivia opens her eyes.

Her hand snaps toward her weapon before her brain registers that it's him and then it freezes, her fingertips grazing the grip. Neither of them is moving Olivia questions whether or not she's awake. She blinks slowly, orienting herself. She can hear them breathing, she can hear the city, she's home and in her own bed and awake and Elliot is standing over her. Her eyes move over him. Holy fucking shit, correction, Elliot is standing over her with an erection. She sucks in her breath and she knows he has seen her notice his current state. Fuckfuckfuck…fuckfuckfuck…

"Liv." His voice is light as though he can't believe his eyes but is stating what he sees to find out what'll happen. She's staring at him, thousands of questions firing through her brain. She can feel the heat pouring off her body. She pulls herself up on her elbow to look at him and the haze of light from the night sky falls across her. She has never looked more beautiful to him.

"Liv." Her nipples tighten and heat pulses between her legs in response to him. It feels like a dream, even with all of her senses on hyper alert it still feels like a dream.

"El, what are you doing here?" She sits up, twisting at the waist and slipping her feet to the floor but he is so close to the bed he is directly in front of her now and entirely too close. She stands up and even then his presence seems to just fill the whole room. He takes a small step back, terrified that his hard on is going to brush against her. He wants to welcome her back, hug her, like old friends would do but he can't manage to move.

"I come by sometimes to check on things." The partial truth rolls out of him so easily it scares him but this is Liv and he doesn't want to play games any more. Still he can't bring himself to tell her that he was coming to lie down on her bed so he could feel her close to him, so he could sleep. His conscience, which sounds strangely like a seven year old alter boy, reminds him that he just swore to god a few hours ago that if he got this chance he wouldn't fuck it up.

"In the middle of the night?" She can't believe her response to him is a cop question. All these months and she comes back to have THE talk with him and this is how she's beginning it? What the hell is the matter with her? What is he doing here in the middle of the night? Were his shoulders always that big? Were his thighs? Get a grip, now. She thought she had more time to prepare for this meeting. Damn it.

He laughs softly and it feels like a warm blanket is being thrown over her. "Yeah, in the middle of the night, it makes me feel better. With you gone and your phone shut off, it's the only way I can convince myself that you still exist. I kept expecting that one day I would unlock the door and this apartment would just be empty and you'd be gone forever." His voice had started out strong but faded down to a whisper. There, the truth, just like he promised, only the truth.

She's shocked by his honesty and the raw pain in his voice, "you thought I wasn't coming back?"

"How would I know what you were doing? The morning you left I would have said you weren't leaving at all, even for a short time." There's a little anger there, and a spark in his eyes.

"I'm sorry about that Elliot, it couldn't be helped. I wanted to get word to you but they wouldn't let me. I'm sorry, but don't pretend you didn't know something had to change. In the moment that I had to decide about going it seemed like the right thing to do. I needed some space to sort things out and at that point we weren't any good as partners. It would have been a matter of time before one of us made a costly mistake." She watches his jaw flex as he clenches and unclenches it while he works through her words. His eyes drop from hers to the small scar on her neck and she sees him soften, his shoulders drop and the aggression seeps from his stance.

"You could have tried talking to me." It's clearly an accusation and he sees the small flinch. He wants to stop hurting her but he has to understand and part of him is still so angry and still so hurt himself that he can't, not yet.

"No, there was no talking to you, and especially about this, WE never talk about this." She's starting to get angry because, after all, this was not only about her. She didn't go through this alone.

"About what Liv? We never talk about what?" His tone is sarcastic but she picks up something else, his voice is too high, he's afraid.

She's watching his expression intently and without taking her eyes off of his she makes it simple, "about us El. We never talk about us. Not once in eight years have we ever used our words to say anything about us."

His eyes squint just a bit as he tries to look into her more deeply, tries to judge what her definition is when she says us. Does she mean us as friends, us as partners or us as a couple. The forbidden us, that would be the couple that is acutely aware that they are standing in her bedroom having this discussion.

"Elliot, I had to leave to find out what I actually missed when I was gone. Was it my job? Or was it you?" She turns away from him and starts pacing between her bed and the far wall.

"So what did you find out?" He's frozen, unable to believe that after all these years they are having this conversation and so terrified of the answer he can't make his lungs expand for air. She is moving like a caged animal and all he can see is how long and tan and graceful her legs are as she continuously moves across the floor. The line of her thigh muscle as she walks has him mesmerized and god help him he is thinking about those thighs wrapped around his waist or his head. His dick throbs painfully as his eyes track her every move. She stops and looks at him and he prays she doesn't notice the tightening in his jeans again.

"It doesn't matter what I found out now does it? You moved on while I was gone, got yourself a partner and then some." It hisses across the space between them as if she had spun out a knife from an underhand throw. He could almost feel the thud of the impact, Dani. Olivia was a much better cop than he would ever be. How long had she been back in town and how the fuck had she found out so fast? He knew this was an all or nothing answer, no room for partial truths here.

"You're misinformed, Liv. I have a temporary partner and she will never be anything more than that simply because she isn't you. I'm not going to lie to you, I tried to make it stop hurting by forcing myself to go on but I couldn't do it. It never got beyond one kiss. My question is, why am I having to explain myself to a woman that is not my wife, not my girlfriend and currently not my active partner?" She's looking at him now and has, in fact, moved closer to him while he was speaking. When she doesn't answer, he prompts her.

"Liv, what did you find out while you were gone? I think since you did it for us and since we both paid a high price for your absence I deserve to know what the outcome was so I can judge for myself whether or not it was worth it."

She is hardly breathing.

No physical weapons are being held on her, no perps are hiding in the dark and still this is the most dangerous situation of her life.

tbc