Authors Notes - I actually msged Stebson yesterday and mentioned that my various pairings were writing themselves, and I can safely say that that's incredibly true of this chapter. All the same, I hope you like it!

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He didn't have chance to consider the consequences of his words in the first instance as Olivia stole the moment making her shock at them known by letting the pan in her hand clatter to the floor, covering herself with pasta sauce as she did so.

"Are you ok?" He asked hesitantly, not sure whether he was asking about her physical or mental state, "Did you burn yourself?"

She glanced down then, looking at the red stains all over her shirt and pants, as if she'd not registered the spillage until he pointed it out. Even then though, her mind was on other things.

"You used the 'L' word. You used the 'L' word about me."

He nodded slowly, not about to deny it, although he sensed they'd be having a little chat regarding definitions before the night was out, a fact that was confirmed when his partner spoke again.

"If that's not confusing things Elliot, then I don't know what is."

He knelt down then, picking up the pan and tossing it in the sink, before grabbing a cloth to clean the floor. Only then did he offer any kind of reply.

"I know Liv. And we'll talk about it. But I can't talk to you while you're looking like the victim of a frenzied knife attack. Go and get changed, I'll sort out here and then we'll talk."

She seemed to be complying, moving in the direction of the bedroom, but when she reached the door she stopped abruptly, "What about dinner?"

Elliot surveyed the mess on her clothes and the floor, not to mention the congealing pasta on their plates which, with one thing and another had clearly been overcooked in the first place.

"I'll call out for pizza."

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Olivia stepped out of her tomato stained clothes, leaving them in a heap on the bathroom floor. It wasn't her usual style, and she'd regret it in the morning when they were stained beyond repair but she had neither the energy nor inclination to deal with them at that moment. There were more important things going on.

Elliot loved her. That's what he'd said. He loved her.

Christ, even she hadn't gone that far.

Of course, it didn't mean anything. How could it? He was married. And yet, he'd still said it. He'd said he loved her. Unasked, unprompted, he'd just spewed it out without warning and then had the audacity to look shocked when she'd tossed the contents of a jar of Joseph's Pasta Sauce down her front.

Where the hell had all this come from? One minute they were just doing their thing, working a case and the next… everything had changed. Or at least it felt like it had. If this was what confiding in people resulted in, she wouldn't be doing it again; as Elliot said; it was just too damn complicated.

The pasta sauce had soaked through to her underwear so she peeled that off too, throwing on her bathrobe which was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Any other time that might have been enough and she might have headed back to Elliot as she was – he'd never have known what was or wasn't on under the robe – but tonight, with everything that had been said, she felt too self conscious so headed for her room to look for something less revealing to put on.

When she got there, before she got as far as the wardrobe, her attention was caught by the photos she kept on her chest of drawers, next to the TV set, at the end of the bed. She'd never questioned the significance of them until that night but as she looked at them she realized the three of them taken as one painted an interesting overall picture.

There was her. Alone; at her graduation from the academy; grinning from ear to ear as she displayed her badge and modelled her pristine new uniform.

Then there was her with her SVU colleagues; her with Munch, Elliot, Cragen and Monique, taken at their one and only ever company picnic. They were sprawled out in the sunshine on a rug that contained a hell of a lot more beer bottles than it did picnic food, looking all rather pink and a little worse for wear.

The last picture was her with Elliot, and was without doubt her favourite of the three. It was a candid shot, taken by Munch late one night when they'd been working on a case, nonstop for over 36 hours. They were on the sofa in the soft interview room, comparing witness statements, Elliot sat on one end and Olivia lying down with her head resting on his lap, the floor around them littered with takeaway boxes. She was wearing one of his old marine T-shirts that she'd pinched out of his locker when her suit had become to grimy to wear any longer. They were both clearly suffering from lack of sleep and looked like wrecks and yet the pictured summed up their partnership perfectly; their bond; their closeness.

Those pictures said it all. The job that defined who she was, the colleagues who took the place of her family, and Elliot…

Elliot…

He was her everything.

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Elliot ordered the pizza, not bothering to ask Olivia what she wanted. Some thing's went without saying, and he didn't remember a pizza order they'd made in the history of their partnership that hadn't considered of a large half and half pizza, half meat feast (him), half ham and black olives (her), a tear and share garlic bread and a bottle of coke; the coke being particularly necessary when they found themselves working a case long into the night.

With that done, he finished cleaning the kitchen floor and then moved back into the living room, taking their drinks in with him and sitting down to wait for her, although to a degree he could quite happily have waited all night, anything to avoid the conversation that was going to follow. Although, truth be told, the damage was done and had been from the second he'd opened his big mouth, and, ultimately, it needed to be done. No matter how bad things got, Olivia needed to understand exactly the effect she was having on him. Before it got any further out of hand.

While he waited he picked up a photo album that sat on the coffee table, more for something to do than anything else, opened it and began flicking through the pages.

The photos, and the captions underneath, quickly told him what he was looking at. The first photo was old, yellowing and was of a tiny baby, lying in an incubator. Underneath, in an untidy scrawl was written,

"MY little Olivia."

The underlining of the 'my' was telling. A desperate attempt by a desperate woman to disassociate her new born daughter from her rapist father he presumed. No doubt Olivia had figured the same when she read it. Poor kid.

He turned the page, saw a little version of Olivia looking up at him, all big wide eyes and cute little sailor dress with anchors on the collar. She was sat on a blanket and the caption read, "Olivia. Company picnic. Summer '66."

"They're nearly all of company picnics." A voice, said, breaking into Elliot's thoughts. He looked up to see Olivia herself, the adult version, standing in the doorway to the room, wearing a pair of sweats, "They are?" He asked, although he'd actually figured out for himself that they probably would be.

She nodded, "Yeah, those, and corporate fun days, and take your daughter to work events. Pretty much the only time I was worth taking a picture of I guess; when people were looking." She sat beside him, and although he knew that it was the last thing he should be doing, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, feeling for her too much because of what she was saying not to.

He flicked through the album some more, desperately trying to find a picture that disproved what she was saying, feeling a sense of relief come over him as he landed on a photo of her about aged 5 he guessed, dressed in her school uniform, "Not true." He said gently, "There's this one."

Olivia shrugged, "She was probably having a lucid day. In fact," she peered down at the photo, "she must have been. I have braids. I didn't master those until later than that. Plus," she added, and he could hear the bitterness in her voice, "I'm clean. I struggled with the whole giving myself a 'good scrub' thing until I was about 6 and one of my teachers explained it to me."

He sighed, shutting the photo album, cursing himself for opening it in the first place, and putting it back down on the table, before returning his arm to her shoulder, gently rubbing her back and planting a gentle kiss in her hair. Again, it was wrong and he knew it, but how could it be so wrong when she needed it so badly. He just held her there, in his arms, wanting to give her all the love that she'd missed out on for so long.

"Liv," he said softly, still holding her, "your life has been pretty darn shit hasn't it?"

To his surprise, she laughed, not quite the reaction he'd been expecting, "Yes Elliot, it's been shit. But," she looked up at him with the same wide eyes he'd witnessed in the sailor dress photo, "then I met you. And," she added hastily, looking just the tiniest bit guilty, "that's not another come on, I'm just saying. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

He took a deep breath, psyched himself up. That was his opening, his way in. "I'm pretty fond of you myself you know."

She smiled wistfully, reaching out to hold his hand, "I know. You said. You said you love me."

There was something about the way she said it that made him feel awkward, and he wasn't sure why. She was, after all, only quoting his own words back at him. All the same, it killed him to think that he'd given her any crazy kind of false hope.

"I do love you." He said cautiously, gently, "Because you get me Olivia. And I get you. Sometimes," he added, hoping he wasn't overstepping the mark, "I think you get me more than Kathy does. You understand me; because of what we do."

At his words, he felt Olivia stiffen in his arms, and she pulled back slightly, confusion clouding her face. "Right, so when you said you loved me, that was because I'm a cop. Cop mentality. So you love Munch too then yeah? And Fin? You'd tell them you love them?"

He supposed he'd asked for that. But then he'd known this was never going to be easy. He ignored the way her body had tensed away from him and instead pulled her closer still, and looked deep into her eyes, "It's not about being a cop Olivia. Yeah, that helps, but it's about us. How alike we are. How we click. Forget Munch and Fin. Forget Kathy. Since you came into my life we've been like two sides of the same coin. And that Livvy is love. Whether you like it or not, that's how I define it. As far as I'm concerned, real love? That's it."

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Things weren't getting any easier to understand. If Elliot had been attempting to uncomplicate the situation, to Olivia's mind he wasn't doing a particularly good job of it.

She pulled away from him again, and to her relief that time he let her. She got to her feet, pacing the room, feeling like a caged animal, trapped by all the confusion and doubt.

"So great." She knew she was being defensive again but she couldn't help it, "You've now told me you love me. Twice. Real love this time round. But I still don't know what you mean Elliot. Do you love me like Kathy? Or like your bratty kid sister? And what was that you said before about finding me impossible to resist? Where the hell does that come into it?"

Elliot shrugged, "Like I said, you have a great ass. You also have an amazing pair of breasts and a winning smile. If you were a guy, you'd find it pretty hard to resist you too."

Olivia felt like she was going to explode. From declarations of love to flippant, half assed comments about her figure in one foul swoop. She didn't have the first clue what was going on in Elliot's head and in all honesty was beginning to think she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Elliot?" She said, desperately now, needing to know the truth once and for all, "What are you saying?"

He got to his feet to then, came over to her side and grabbed her hand, pulling her to him, almost scaring her with the ferocity with which he did so.

"What I'm saying Olivia." He said, sounding frustrated, "Is that I have spent so long fighting the feelings I have for you. I've tried to ignore the fact that we have this thing between us. I've tried to push away the fantasies of taking you in the locker room, on Cragen's desk, anywhere really. But really Liv, every time you come onto me, it gets that little bit harder. It gets that little bit difficult to stop myself from doing this."

There was a pause, and she could see on his face he was wrestling with his own conscience, but even then, even though she should have seen it coming, she didn't.

The first she knew of it was when his lips brushed against hers, as his fingers tangled themselves in her hair, and as his tongue parted her lips and the hand that wasn't busy in her hair slid down to her ass.

And then things weren't complicated. He was kissing her, and she wanted him to.

Simple as that.

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