A/N: Hey everyone. Thanks for your reviews on the last chapter. Let me know what you think about this one. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: SVU and everything related to it belongs to NBC and Dick Wolf.
Elliot stalks into the precinct, turning the ring on his finger around and around with his thumb. He mumbles to himself, calling Porter a few choice names. The elevator doors open, and Olivia's there. Not the Olivia who questioned Porter, but the composed Olivia that he's used to.
Seeing her dispels Elliot's lingering anger from confronting Porter. His scowl becomes a smile and he's amazed at how easily she brings him back to center without a single word.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey."
Although anyone in the squad room would say she looks fine, there's something in that single syllable that strikes him. He knows she's not okay. How could she be? After all that's happened this past week 'okay' and 'normal' and 'fine' have been suspended from their vocabulary.
"Goin' home?"
"Yeah. Cragen's orders. For both of us." She shuffles her feet, waiting for him to get out of the elevator so she can get in.
"Do you want a ride?"
She glances up at him, biting her lower lip in indecision. Then she tilts her head, hair brushing over her shoulder and falling across her eyes. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it."
He's not sure why he was holding his breath waiting for her answer. His smile grows. He can't help himself. She steps into the elevator beside him, her shoulder brushing against his. Elliot doesn't bother to get his jacket.
He'll just tell Kathy that a case came up and that he couldn't get out of it. She'll see right through that excuse, but he'll give it to her anyway. Or maybe he won't say anything.
***
At some point on the ride to her apartment they realize they're both starving. They don't want to be around other people, so they stop for take-out at a Chinese place. He pays. She cracks a fortune cookie in the car and hands him half. Her mouth curls in a smile as she reads the fortune out loud.
"'Face facts with dignity.'"
Elliot notices that she's more relaxed, like she's forgotten or blocked out what Porter said a little while ago. That or she's still too angry to acknowledge what happened.
***
Cartons of lo mein noodles and chicken fried rice are scattered across her counter. They steal mouthfuls of food from each other's containers. Elliot splits his fortune cookie and Olivia almost chokes when he reads the slip of paper.
"'You have an unusual equipment for success, use it properly.'"
"It seriously says that?"
"It's even got smiley faces surrounding it."
Elliot grins while she subdues her laughing.
"I'm not gonna say a word." Her second bout of laughter is contagious.
***
Eventually they move to the couch and Elliot refuses to picture Porter sitting there, kissing his partner. This is his space; he's reclaiming it like a dog marking its territory after a mutt tries to encroach on its terrain.
As Elliot lifts a beer bottle to his lips, Olivia narrows her eyes at his hand. Elliot inspects it and realizes that his knuckles are bruised.
"What've you been punching now?" An eyebrow arches. "Or should I ask who you've been punching?"
Elliot rubs the back of his neck and tries not to grin. He can still see the shocked expression on Porter's face as his fist made contact. That image will bring him satisfaction for weeks, maybe months.
"El…?" She drags out his name and it's strangely arousing. Ever since Porter showed up in Terri's apartment, Elliot's been hyper-sensitive to every little movement Olivia makes, every word that escapes her lips.
"He deserved it."
A slow, knowing, smile creeps across her face. His whole body goes warm, glowing with smug, male pride.
She gently takes his hand, her thumb grazing over his knuckles. He remembers that hand fisted into his shirt as he cradled her against him on the airport tarmac. This little touch should pale in comparison to the contact between them that day but, somehow, this touch is much more intimate.
"Thank you," she says.
It's not the saying he expects, but he couldn't ask for a better reaction. There's only one thing wrong with it.
Elliot uses his free hand to brush away the tear that's run down her cheek. It's the only tear that escapes. His fingers reach up into her hair, caress the nape of her neck.
"I wouldn't've let him get away with what he did to you."
Olivia lays her other hand on top of his without moving it from her neck. Then she turns into him and pulls his arm across her body so that he's holding her in a one armed hug. She rests against his chest. Her head covers his heart, feels its fast but constant pulsing until its rhythm becomes her own.
They sit like that—quiet and together—for a while. Elliot twirls a lock of her hair between his fingers, inhaling the appealing scent of her shampoo. His mind begins to drift and fantasize.
Olivia starts to stroke his uncovered forearm, at first without thinking, then with purpose.
Elliot's hand slides down, stopping at her breast. His thumb lightly brushes over her nipple, testing, pushing the limits of their relationship.
Her head turns and she looks up at him. The apology he doesn't want to give is on the tip of his tongue. But then she pulls his face to hers, presses her lips against his.
Elliot's more than a little surprised, but his mouth acts on its own accord. It's always getting him into trouble, especially with her.
After a while, things stumble to the bedroom. She takes off her clothes, he takes off his. Bodies fall to the bed and entwine themselves, scattering throw pillows and sheets. At this moment they are not themselves. They are some other unified and shuddering entity.
A mixture of sighs and screams fills the apartment. Then silence.