Law and Order: SVU is the intellectual property of Dick Wolf. The use of the characters, settings, and plotlines is not malicious. This is a work of fiction.

It had been three hours since he was nearly run over, since his partner had pulled him by the ankles across a busy city street to save him. He was sitting in his chair, coffee in his hands, wearing a blue NYPD logo tee and jeans. He shook his head, taking a sip from his mug as he remembered the torn clothes he'd so carefully chosen to wear now lay crumpled in an evidence bag. He eyed the clock, watching the red second hand taunt and torment him. "This isn't fucking fair," he spat, the cup coming to his lips again.

"No," she replied, hearing him from across the desks. "It's not."

He looked at her, as if just noticing she was there. He took in the worried expression on her face, the fear he could see in her eyes, and he held his breath for a moment, afraid the moment he so much as blinked, she'd crumble.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said to him, catching him staring.

He shook his head, snapping out of his daze. "Sorry, I just..." he stopped, seeing her bottom lip quiver. He shot up, out of his seat, and bounded over to her. He was kneeling beside her in an instant, cupping her face. "Don't." He shook his head again, this time demanding and fast. "Please, don't."

"I almost lost you, twice," she all but whispered. "I don;t even know why I...I mean, you're not..." she sniffled and gulped. She couldn't look at him. "You're my partner. My best friend." She froze as his thumbs swiped away tears at the corners of her eyes.

He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat, keeping his own tears at bay. "And you're mine," he whispered. "You don't have to worry about me, I'm not going anywhere," he said with a wink and a nod of his head. "I'm not leaving you." He smiled moved, unconsciously and without provocation, closer to her. He felt his hot, quick breath ricochet off of her lips, and he closed her eyes in anticipation. His heart knocked against his chest, echoing in his ears, and every nerve in his body was on fire. He was close. So, so close.

"Elliot," Casey Novak called into the squad room, effectively stopping what would have been a miraculous moment.

Elliot leaped to his feet and cleared his throat, turning to stare at the red-headed lawyer. "Yeah," he said, running his tongue along his teeth. His mouth had gone dry.

Casey stepped over to him, letting her attache case fall open. She reached a manicured hand into the large center pocket, pulled out a large envelope, and handed it to him. "His name is Roger Fielding, and he's the best in the city. You give him your terms, and he'll settle it, no hearing required."

"Thanks," he said with a grin. He hit the envelope into the open palm of his other hand. "Really, I can't thank you enough for..."

"Don't mention it," Casey said, smiling brightly at him. She tossed her head back, flipping her hair, and said, "Now that you're, uh, playing the field again, maybe we can finally get that drink."

He looked beyond Casey toward Olivia, who was sitting straight, poised, with a scornful scowl on her face and a menacing look in her eyes. Her hands were still, frozen in place, holding her coffee cup in mid-sip. He chuckled, rocking on his heels, and then looked back at Casey. "I appreciate the offer, but, uh, I'm not. Not, um, playing the field. Not really."

Casey narrowed her eyes. She tilted her head, trying to discern the meaning behind his words from his body language. "I thought...well, damn. Stabler, you really are a good, little Catholic boy, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "I try," he said, his signature cocky grin spread about his lips.

"Well, uh, when you're ready for your turn at bat," Casey said, attempting to give him a sultry smile, "Call me." She narrowed her eyes slightly, turned on her heels, and left the room, not even acknowledging Olivia.

He raised both eyebrows and tossed the envelope onto his desk. "Is she something else, or what?"

"What," Olivia spat bitterly, answering his hypothetical question.

He laughed, but then narrowed his eyes at her, seeing how her grimace had grown severe. "Hey, I already told you, I have no desire to..."

"What did she mean, finally?" Olivia interrupted. "You planned on going out with her, before? When?"

"Calm down," he eased, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She stood up fast, slapping his hand away. "After what she did? Are you serious? I thought you had more common sense than that. Or at least, better taste."

"Liv," he said, looking into her eyes as intently as he could, "I do. I have more sense than you think. And...my taste? Casey Novak can't hold a candle to the woman I..."

"You know what? Forget it," she cut him off and walked back over to the table where the coffee pot lived. "I don't care. I don't want to know."

Elliot followed her, ripping the pot out of her hand and pouring her coffee for her. "You can be really fucking thick sometimes." He slammed the pot back onto the hotplate, and then he grabbed two packets of yellow-wrapped sweetener, tearing them open and dumping them into her cup.

She watched him fix her coffee for her and stir it with a plastic spoon. "What the hell are you..."

He grunted in frustration and moved a bit closer to her. "You, okay!" he hissed in a harsh whisper. "It's you. It's always been you. Casey could walk back in here in a silk teddy and sit on my fucking lap, and I wouldn't notice, because I would still be staring at you!"

She was silent, staring into his darkened, wild eyes, gripping her cup of fresh coffee. She looked away from him, took a breath, hardly feeling her chest rise and fall. What he'd just said, the finality and firmness in his voice, scared her. But somewhere, deep down, part of her that had been broken for so long began to heal.

"Say something," he whispered, staring at her, trying to determine what she was feeling by her reaction. He was scared. He hadn't meant to blurt it out, he'd planned to tell her in so many ways, and that certainly wasn't one of them. "Please? Just say something."

She took a sip of her coffee and another deep breath, finally turning back to face him. "I'd kill her," she finally spoke.

"I know," he chuckled, reaching out a hand and smoothing her hair back. "You, uh, you wanna tell me why?"

"Maybe, um, after we find out who tried to..." her voice broke, and she changed her mind about thinking again that she almost lost him. "After," she told him, taking a sip of her coffee. "That divorce of yours is final." She folded one arm over her chest, the other holding her coffee up to her lips again. "And then, uh, you and me? We're the ones who are gonna be playing ball." She walked away, satisfied that he had been stunned into a stupor. "Hey," she said, spotting Fin and Munch coming through the door. "Any luck?"

Munch sighed and peered at her over the edge of his sunglasses. "With the case, or with trying to find the bastard out to get you?"

"Either," she said with a shrug. "Both."

Fin dropped into his chair with a hard grunt. "Crime lab has the squad car, looking for prints."

As if just realizing Olivia had left him alone by the coffee pot, Elliot blinked a few times and noticed Munch and Fin. "When did you guys get back?"

Munch shot him a befuddled expression. "You need to get some sleep."

"No, I...I am wide awake," Elliot said, sitting down at his desk. "You got anything on the girl?"

"Dear old graddad is still in the slammer," Munch said, "But her boyfriend seems to be dust in the wind. The mom pointed the finger, right at him."

"He has a record," Fin said, "A pretty thick one, and the last time he was locked up, guess who laid the gavel down?"

Elliot's jaw dropped. "You're shitting me?"

"Seriously?" Olivia asked redundantly. "Wait," she said, pausing. "We locked him up years ago, and that girl is only eighteen. There was no way her boyfriend could have been..."

Fin grinned and interrupted. "Juvenile sentence, when he was twelve," he folded his hands and looked from Elliot to Olivia. "I'm guessing he already knew who Chelsea was when they met, purposely got to close to her..."

"So his plan from the beginning was revenge," Elliot said, brow furrowed.

Olivia shook her head, flummoxed. "He got close to her, hell, got her to fall in love with him, just to get even with her grandfather?"

Munch tapped his nose once. "Bingo, Benson." He coughed and turned his attention to Elliot. "We're waiting for a phone call, we think we know where he's hiding out and Fin has someone on stand-by. They're gonna let us know if and when he shows up."

Elliot crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. "Where do you think he's going?"

Fin sighed, unsure of whether or not Elliot would jump to the wrong conclusion. "According to Chelsea's parents, he runs with a street-gang, they run base at The Loft, place in Queens..." he waited, and when the flash of recognition crossed Elliot's face, he said, "We, uh, we think he's after you and Benson, too."

"What's this fucker's name?" Elliot hissed, his blood pressure rising at the mention if the club that caused the downfall of, not only his marriage, but his oldest daughter's innocence.

Munch gave Fin a warning glance, and then he turned back toward Elliot. "Victor Haven."

"Haven," Elliot repeated. He sent a soft look in Olivia's direction. Before he could say anything her, though, Cragen ran out of his office, walking with clear intent over to the pin-board at the front of the room. "Benson, Stabler," he said, eyes narrow, "You two are heading out to a safe-house tonight. Don't fight me on it, I don't want to hear it, and I don't care what excuses you're coming up with as to why you can't. You don't have a choice here." He stepped aside and jabbed a finger at the photo he just stuck into the cork. "This is Victor Haven, the son of a bitch who's trying to take you out."

Munch snickered. "You're a bit late, Cap, I just told them that."

Cragen snapped his head toward Munch. "But what you didn't tell them is Haven isn't plotting this by himself!" He looked back at Elliot, not hazarding a glance at Olivia, knowing he would break if he saw her face. "I just got off the phone with a warden at Rikers, told me Haven's on someone's payroll."

Olivia looked at Elliot, her face losing color and expression rapidly. "El, you don't think..."

"Shit," Elliot spat, scrubbing his forehead with his hand. "Yeah, I do." He blinked. "Koehler."

Cragen gritted his teeth and nodded. "Koehler's had weekly visits from this punk, they're faxing over the sign-in sheets. Koehler paid off a lot of people to keep this quiet, but the guard that escorted him last time said...he overheard Koehler ordering three hits, told this son-of-a-bitch, Haven that in return, he'd get his record expunged in time for graduation."

Fin looked at Cragen, narrow-eyed. "He ordered a hit on his own grandkid?"

"No," Cragen said, shaking his head. "That was all this prick's idea, the three people Koheler wants dead are Olivia and Elliot," he paused, looked around at his detectives. "And me."

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