Part Five

Somehow she suffered through the following two days. Cragen was over-involved in her day to day life, asking her where she was going and when she expected to be home, even having the nerve to call her in the evening to make sure she was home safe. Olivia nearly asked for a detail just so they could be responsible for giving Cragen all the information he wanted without her having to bother.

Elliot was another story altogether. For the first two days, the man about crawled up her ass. He drove her home, appeared outside her building in the morning, followed her wherever she went. He even had the balls to walk her to the bathroom. He insisted on taking her to the grocery store because he informed her that he didn't trust delivery guys.

She was sick to death of being hounded.

And then he stopped. Apparently he'd grown bored with her safety, albeit quicker than Olivia had anticipated he would. He went right back to his new behavior of showing up to work hungover and either not knowing or not telling what he'd done.

It was the third night after the flowers had come that she heard a knock on the door. She'd finally decided to return to her bedroom, simply because the couch was hideously uncomfortable, but hadn't been able to sleep anyway. Despite the freshly laundered sheets and blankets, which she'd policed in the laundry room, she felt like something filthy was touching her. Determined to sleep in her bed and not let the bastard win, she tried to ignore the feeling.

But the knocking had her sitting up in a panic.

Far too late for anyone sane, she knew it was either the son of a bitch that was stalking her or the son of a bitch that was her partner. She wasn't sure which one she wanted to deal with less. When she checked, she saw the familiar, if unwelcome, form of her partner waiting in the hallway.

Had it not been the middle of the night, she would have pretended she wasn't home. Because the slouched shoulders and red eyes gave away that the man was, per usual evenings of late, inebriated. She swallowed hard, wished she'd grabbed her robe to hide her revealing tank top, and opened the door part of the way.

"What do you want?"

He pushed at the door, not expecting that her foot was planted behind it to keep him from getting it open. "It's just me."

"I know who you are." She tried not to recognize the hurt look in his eyes. He might look like her partner, but she'd dealt with him drunk once already that week and she didn't want anything to do with the asshole he morphed into with alcohol.

He leaned on the door, although she couldn't tell if it was because he was trying to force his way in or simply because standing was requiring too much concentration. "Let me in, Liv."

"You're drunk."

He laughed, finding amusement that she didn't intend. "Damn, you're sharp. You should be a detective."

She rolled her eyes. "Go home, Elliot." She tried to push the door closed, but she saw his fingers wrap around the edge of the wood. Irked as she was, she couldn't slam his fingers in the door. With a heavy sigh of surrender, she moved her foot.

The door swung open fast under his weight and her rather uncoordinated partner tumbled straight to the floor. Luckily, the asshole was too drunk to realize she'd had any part in the catastrophe and glared at the door as though it was solely to blame.

While he grumpily climbed to his unsteady feet, Olivia wondered for the millionth time why he'd taken to drinking so heavily. "What do you want, El?"

He stared at her, and then turned to look around, his eyes confused when he looked back, as though he wasn't quite sure where he was. "Would you believe I don't remember?"

"Surprisingly, I would." She folded her arms across her chest. "So since you don't know why you're here, how about you leave?"

His gaze fell from hers, perhaps because he knew he didn't stand a chance of winning an argument with her drunk, perhaps because the way she was standing offered him an unobstructed view down her shirt.

Realizing where he was looking, she immediately dropped her arms. "Go home, Elliot. Right now." She wasn't in the mood to play. She already had one creepy, perverted guy fantasizing about her. She didn't need to add her partner to the list. Grabbing his arm, she stepped past him, trying to physically shove him out.

Drunk and clumsy as he was, he wasn't quite as out of it as she'd thought. He moved with her, but managed to turn at the last second, pressing her into the wall next to the door, rather than stepping through it himself. With a smile, his eyes moved to her lips. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know."

His breath, so unexpectedly close to her face, reeked of scotch. She turned her face away, trying to find a breath of air that didn't smell like a bar. But her lack of verbal response led Elliot to believe she was doing something other than trying to get fresh air. He responded eagerly, his mouth hot as his lips grazed her neck.

She was angry. Downright furious. Not only was the man drunk out of his head, but his timing was indisputably ridiculous. Some psycho was threatening her, sneaking around her apartment, stealing her damn underwear, talking about fucking her, and, after more than a decade of just being friends, her son of a bitch partner chose that week to decide he wanted to pursue a relationship with her.

She wondered what his wife would think of that.

She wanted to shove him away, to clobber him for having the balls to try it again with her, to ask him just what the hell made him think she had any interest in being the other woman.

But the truth was far less complicated than she wanted it to be. She wanted him. Apparently as much as he wanted her. Regardless of her higher brain function pointing out so many reasons why it was a bad idea, her body responded to the ministrations of his mouth on her throat.

His tongue tasted her, smoothing over the skin he'd nearly torn the first time he'd gone for her. His lips pressed light kisses all along her skin, up the column of her neck, over her jawbone, finally, firmly onto her mouth. She couldn't help responding to the way he traced her bottom lip, allowing her mouth to fall open, inviting his tongue inside. His arms were locked around her, holding her to him, as if knowing that a little space might let her get away.

She wasn't exactly trying. Her arms snuck up under his, her hands wrapping around his shoulders from behind, pulling his chest closer to hers. She felt electricity shooting through her, allowing her body to come alive in a way she wasn't sure it ever had. His knee was moving against her thighs, trying to work between them. Just as with her mouth, she let him have his way, parting her legs so he could slip one of his between them.

His body responded hard and fast, thrusting into her, shoving her harder into the wall. She moaned in response, not wanting to take her mouth away from his long enough to answer. But she curled her leg around his, encouraging him as best she could. His arms relaxed for a moment, repositioning around her until he could lift her up slightly, allowing her to straddle both of his legs.

She was ready to fuck him right there. She wanted to. And she probably would have.

Except, during a pause for breathing, the moron opened his mouth and said something that sent ice water surging through her overheated body.

"Next time I'll just use my key."

She pushed him away and practically ran across the room. "What?"

He hadn't been expecting her mood change. He hadn't been expecting her to move either, and stumbled right into the wall as he tried to find his balance after her sudden departure. Finally, with one hand propped against the wall, he turned to look at her. "What the fuck was that?"

Her mouth was wet and swollen, the same as his, and she wiped at it self-consciously. "What did you say to me?" Her voice was shaking and she prayed that he was too drunk to notice.

"I said I'd use my key." He seemed to search his memory, as well as her floor, for information as to what had happened. When he found nothing, he started, a bit tipsily, making his way toward her.

She took a step back for every one he took forward. "Why would you say that?" It had never bothered her that he had a key. In fact, half the time, she was sure he forgot he had one, since he never used it, not even when she refused to answer the door. But it felt like an odd thing for him to mention, especially in light of the fact that someone had been in and out of her apartment at will so recently.

He looked baffled as he continued toward her. "You were grumpy when you answered the door." He smiled as his eyes raked up her body slowly. "But you got over it quick enough. So I figured next time I shouldn't wake you up."

Taking refuge behind her arm chair, she nodded toward the door. "Get out."

Finally, he stopped walking. "Liv?"

She was shaking, cold, feeling exposed and violated too. "You heard me." She didn't know why she felt so weird, so discomforted, in his presence, certainly not when she'd been so thoroughly comfortable touching him a few moments earlier. "Get out."

He stared at her, noticing her defensive position, her angry voice, her unfailing glare. "Liv-"

"Out!" She raised her voice, refusing to consider what she might do if he didn't obey.

"Fine!" His voice was equally loud, laced with far more anger. His eyes were dark and filled with hostility when he walked to the door. "Have it your way, Olivia." He slammed the door behind him.

Shivering, she sat on the couch with the phone book in her lap, looking for a locksmith with twenty-four hour service. Elliot was a very different man when he was drinking. A very forgetful, inattentive man who passed out in bars and had blackouts. He wouldn't know if anyone had made use of his keys. He wouldn't have cared either, not when he was in one of his drunken stupors. She couldn't imagine who would know her well enough to know that Elliot had a key, but she didn't feel like taking any more chances. New locks and a new key were the only way for her to be sure no one had access to her apartment.

Not even Elliot.

Especially not Elliot.