Same disclaimers apply, I don't own anything, sadly!

A/N – Apologies, apologies that it's taken me so long to post! We lost one of our kittens so my time went to making fliers and distributing them, or course the little critter has returned now – seemingly unhurt! But it's a relief and so now I can finally post the next chapter. Still not in the 'M' rating zone yet, next chapter though … yeah … I actually re read what I've been writing and blushed I think I might have to tone it down turns out the Liv I'm writing has the potential for s seriously dirty mind. Anyway, enough of my ramblings – here's the post. Please review if you're enjoying this I'd love to hear and the reviews keep me going!

The sidewalk outside 235 West 78th Street.

Minutes later …

Breathe Benson, just breathe.

I'm trying to remember the precise reason why I allowed her into my apartment that first night, all those months ago? Despite knowing that by doing so I was acting dangerously out of character and also allowing her into my heart.

I think it's because I knew then, no matter how hard I pushed, how cruel my words, how raw my anger, she'd still keep coming back.

Her words sting, but not because I think she meant them. I've done worse things and said worse things in trying to push people away. I think I underestimated her though; the courtroom persona and the fixed icy stare led me to believe, falsely perhaps, that underneath it all a softer side was just begging to be unwrapped.

Either that, or I was right all along and she's upstairs in her apartment right this moment wishing she could do anything to stop her heart from breaking too.

"Liv?"

I think I felt her before I heard her, the revolving doors swish round and now I know she's stood there watching me, on the street outside her building getting pelted with rain.

"Liv …?"

Her voice is soft again, like a nursery rhyme, lilting and gentle and with as many different intonations as a classical symphony. My overactive mind is suddenly bombarded with images of wanting to accompany her to Carnegie Hall or the New York City Ballet, even though it's the last place I'd ever go. Just to hear the sound of her humming softly to the music without realising she's doing so. I want autumnal walks in the park and lazy afternoons in front of an open fire after getting caught in the rain. I want the mundane and the ordinary, as well as the verbose and extreme, as long as it's with her – I want it all.

I don't want her to think this finished us.

"Liv … please?" She still hasn't moved from the entryway. "You're getting soaked."

I turn, and see she's changed her clothes since I came out here, losing the charcoal grey suit and wrinkled shirt from her day in favour of a tight pair of skinny blue jeans and a simple baby-blue tank. She's shivering.

"Alex, go back inside, I'll come up in a minute."

Even through the sheet of rain I can see her eyes are red from crying, she doesn't need to say how sorry she is, but she does anyway.

"Liv … what I said … you've got to know … I'm so sorry." She whispers, her voice heavy in her chest.

We're still a few feet away from each other, unsure.

"I know." And I do, all of a sudden she's not hiding anything anymore. "Alex, you're freezing. Go back inside and I'll be up in a minute, I promise."

I'm not sure if she believes me? It wouldn't be the first time I've made promises I couldn't keep. This time it's different though, this time it's Alex – and the only promise worth making is the one where I swear to myself I wont run away.

She looks up, and in that second I see an element of fear, mixed in with certainty and belief. She squares her head to look directly at me.

"You asked me what happened Liv, with this case?"

I nod. She takes a second to control herself and I continue my assurances, I did ask, I want to know what changed her?

"You happened." She exhales quietly, "you, Liv."

The day of my mother's funeral, the squad were midway through working a case that was starting to piss everyone off – since it turned out in the end that the 17 year old rape victim was actually the 23 year old mastermind behind the entire scam. I was on my way back to the Cap's office after completing my daughterly duties when Alex and I ran into each other, and I mean literally.

"Ooomph!"

We collided head-on, and on instinct I took hold of her upper arms and turned us both around, swallowing up some of our combined momentum.

"Olivia!"

She sounded startled, and breathless, and a little unsure of herself, she'd not been assigned to the team for more than a few months and she rarely referred to us as anything other than 'Detective' or our surnames.

I smiled back at her, I remember because it felt like the dark day suddenly grew brighter.

"You look … er … nice." She mumbled, referring to my functional black dress.

My hands seemed stuck to her arms, despite it being several seconds since our collision. Our composure sufficiently regained, I moved us both to the side of the coridoor and out of the path of oncoming traffic.

"I … er, I … um … I just came back from my mother's funeral." I admitted, unsure why it was easier to say it to her, a virtual stranger, than speak with most of the people who'd been there.

Something happened then, and whether she stepped closer or I stepped away, I can't remember. I only know it was her hands on my arms, instead of mine on hers, rubbing soft, soothing circles as she stared intently down at me.

"God, Olivia, I'm so sorry."

A long, comfortable silence followed, during which I noticed – for the first time – that she wasn't really that much taller than me.

"I … er … I'm just on my way to thank the Captain for the flowers." I mumbled, as if by way of explanation as to why I – as the heartless daughter – returned to work on the day of my mother's funeral.

She nodded. "If you don't mind, I'd like to send something as well?"

I frowned, for one - she'd never met my mother and the funeral was already done. "Alex, you don't need to do that …"

She held my arms tighter. "I know, but I'd like to."

"I …" I began to protest further, but she cut me off. I noticed then that her eyes betrayed her, the rest of the package carried an air of an 'up her own ass politician' but her eyes told a different story.

"Olivia, my father died a few years ago," She said. "Quite suddenly, now I'm not suggesting I know what you're going through." She added gently, "but I am thinking of you …"

That night, after a trip round several of my neighbourhood bars and a wise decision to return to my apartment, alone, I came upon a hand-delivered parcel outside my front door and approached it with the necessary amount of caution.

Inside the box were a tub of lavender bath salts, an English poetry book, a Chopin CD and a bottle of scotch, with a parcel label tied around its neck that read, simply, 'Thinking of you. I said I would send something.'

I hadn't realised she meant 'to me'.

I ran a bath, and put in the salts. I put the CD in the hi-fi and let the sound filter softly through my apartment. I poured myself a generous measure of fine scotch before getting in the bath with the book. I started reading 'Remember' by Christina Rossetti, heard my mother's voice resonating inside my head and began to cry real tears for the first time since it happened.

I turn away from the rain and head back into the building. If nothing else, I'll always be grateful to Alex for giving me the means to cry when my own grief felt too far away.

You could laugh, I suppose, at the sight of the drowned detective squelching all the way from the elevator, leaving damp footprints in my wake and a discernable puddle on the expensive wooden flooring in the entrance hall of Alex's apartment.

She doesn't laugh, her face is stoic and fixed but all of a sudden laughter is the only thing I can manage to cut through the silence of our current predicament.

In fact I'm laughing so hard she might think I'm crazy, my tears mixing with rainwater as it drips down from my hair.

"Liv, you're gonna catch pneumonia or something." She mumbles, only she stays by my side and doesn't move, too afraid that if she leaves me alone by the door I might bolt again.

I tone it down to a mild chuckle, since I really am quite cold and cant afford to waste the heat from all this extra movement giggles cause.

"Alex, do you think, maybe, you have a towel, or something?"

She nods, returning seconds later to hand me a fluffy grey towel and a change of clothes.

"You're laughing Liv." She notes, "Is that a good sign … I don't know?" Suddenly she's rambling, "I mean, you're here, which is good, but outside, the rain … Liv …?" She seems to settle on what she knows for sure. "You're gonna go and catch something awful … " She berates me. "What's so bad about actually looking after yourself for a change?"

I want to say that I've forgotten how to look after myself, since lately she's been doing it for me. Instead I say nothing, mute as she takes the towel from my hands and begins to rub it through my hair.

I sigh. Nothing ever felt so good.

She positions herself in front of me, and I can't help it – my eyes close of their own volition as she softly rubs the towel through my short hair. She takes a little step back, and with extra care she pauses to clear the dampness of rain from my forehead before she relaxes a little and lets her fingers massage deeper into my scalp. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and for a split second her eyes catch mine and then she backs away, leaving the towel around my shoulders implying I just went several rounds in a boxing ring.

"Alex …"

It came out like a whisper, meant to say so many things.

"I'll make you some tea." She offers. "You can use my bedroom to get dried off."

I decide to wait until I hear the whistle of the kettle on the stove before returning to the living room, dressed in a pair of Alex's black sweats and an NYPD polo shirt I left here one Saturday morning after we went out running. Alex had this wonderful idea she was going to train for the New York City Marathon and I promised I'd help, but it soon wore off when we realised it was much more fun to run our modest route round the park then head to a café on Columbus for a spot of brunch.

I've never actually spent that much time in her bedroom, so it feels surprisingly voyeuristic when my eyes land on a simple framed photograph of Alex, and who I can only assume to be her parents, at her graduation from Law School. It's frightening how gorgeous she looks, eyes wide with awe and admiration and a look of unadulterated ambition that still makes me a little bit scared for her.

I know that look, I majored in it.

"I left my wet stuff in your bathroom." I note. "I hope you don't mind?"

She turns around to face me and smiles. "Of course not Liv."

In her hands are two mugs of what I know will be her latest favourite – jasmine green tea. She hands one over and then gestures towards the couch, taking a seat in the middle as if to leave the choice up to me whether I sit beside her or keep my distance.

Trying to keep my distance from her hasn't exactly worked so well up to now.

She sits tense, and hunched forwards, elbows on her knees with the mug in her hands as she stares down into it. I expect her to look at me when I sit beside her, but all she does is let out a slow steady breath of relief.

With the protection of her back facing me, she starts to speak. "I meant what I said Liv, you've changed everything, you've changed me."

I can see every tight muscle in her neck and shoulders, flex and ripple. Her blonde hair's swept into a messy ponytail, exposing milky white skin leading to that irresistible place I long to run my fingers through.

"Donnelly thinks I did it to make myself feel better." She mumbles, and I'm not sure if she wants me to talk back or simply listen.

"Did you?"

"No." She shakes her head. "I did it because I knew it's what you would do, if you could."

I never asked her to take a month's suspension for me, actually, I never asked her to do any of this.

But she is right, it is what I might have done, if I'd been in her position and could have pulled it off. She was cunning and clever throughout, and even though she looked like she never slept or ate these last few days, she worked it out to the very last detail, making absolutely sure the only person she hung out to dry was herself.

"You know, even if you told us the truth, Elliot and I would still have gone ahead with the search …?"

She smiles, even with her back to me I can see it in the way her posture changes and her shoulders relax.

"I know, promise me you won't say that to internal affairs when they quiz you about this next week though!"

I laugh. "I promise."

She inhales deeply, and puts her mug down on the coffee table, folding her hands together in a mark of anguish, or maybe fear?

"Liv, promise me something else?"

Despite hearing her words I simply stare at the back of her frame, the way the tight tank she's wearing outlines every structure, line and curve. I can't exactly remember when I first noticed that she's extraordinarily beautiful; perhaps it's something I've always known – along with the knowledge that she manages to make me feel happy, simply by being in my thoughts. All of a sudden I stopped being interested in anyone else, gender aside, leaving me with months of never ending sleepless nights through which to question whether I was gay, bisexual or simply in love with Alex.

And now.

We're here, side by side on her couch, brought together by our common misadventures and in an unlikely unfolding of events it transpires that whilst I've spent the last couple of years trying to mould myself into something more like someone Alex could accept. I failed to notice that whilst I was off busy doing so, she went and became more like me instead.

I place one hand softly on her shoulder, marvelling at the sensation of her bare skin beneath my fingertips as my breath hovers over wispy blonde curls at the nape of her neck.

"Anything." I would truthfully pledge her anything.

"Promise me you'll stay here?" She whispers, "Tonight … in my bed …"

I smile, and lay a gentle, delicate kiss upon the well-defined outline of the muscles between her neck and shoulder, resisting the urge to bite down hard and leave my mark.

She whimpers, and it's the most delicious sound I ever heard. My arms slip around her waist and I realise I've left her hanging without an answer as I pull her in to lean against me.

"Liv?"

Her hands slip over mine.

"Liv?"

I start kissing her neck, nibbling at the skin as she leans to one side, revealing more of herself to me.

I love the way she's different here, wrapped in my arms and within the walls of this apartment. She's not the Alex Cabot that the criminals of New York see; she's the Alex that only I see, and this past week when everything collapsed in on her she let the two sides mingle for a while.

"Alex …"

I nuzzle my face against her neck and inhale deeply, daring to dart out my tongue for a quick, exotic taste. Unable to tell which of us moans first, me or her?

"Seriously …" I tease. "You really have to ask?"

TBC

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