L&O: SVU fans: Blank 4

[jezyk]

part 4


Chapter Sixteen

She tried to school her features into a doe-eyed vacant stare like she imagined she’d been wearing for the last twenty-four hours and pulled open the door. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for coming to check on me.” She smiled at him and allowed herself to notice his handsome features and intense eyes for the first time in their partnership without amnesia and without trying to remind herself of his less attractive qualities. One second of the slightly-pissed off stare she usually had when she looked at him, the one that invariably rose to the surface at the thought that he always belonged to someone else, anyone else, and he’d know she was back.

He didn’t back up, instead blocking the door with his broad shoulders and outstretched arm as he sized her up. His eyes inspected her face, searching, studying, finding finally when they narrowed sharply. “Were you crying?” His hands moved, no longer forming an obstacle to her escape, falling on her shoulders, sliding down until his hands cupped her elbows. He stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

In that moment she almost faltered, almost gave into her instinct to brush him off and storm past him. There was something painfully open about him, about his sudden softness, about his blatant concern, about his eyes clouded with worry. She wanted to know that welcoming, comforting side of him with her memory of their time together intact.

But she swallowed, telling herself that he liked helpless better, reminding herself that she wasn’t going to mention it until she could get him back good for screwing with her. Rather than her learned response to push away, she gave in to the comfort she felt in close proximity to him. She held her ground and dropped her hands against his forearms. She felt his muscles flex slightly through the fabric of his shirt and jacket and she filed the information away for future rumination - that he still jerked when she touched him, that a little bit of contact initiated by her did something to him, that he couldn’t withhold a physical response to her touch.

With a smile she hoped didn’t looked forced or nearly as anxious as she felt, she nodded. “I got something in my eye. I’m ok.” It was the oldest excuse in the book and she suspected he’d know right then, but she was too freaked out to come up with any other valid reason she might have run sobbing to the bathroom.

He nodded, even as his eyes continued to watch hers. He was looking for a tell, she realized, the way he’d look at a suspect.

It scared her to realize he knew her that well, that he might actually be able to sense that she was no longer the woman who’d been sitting across from him, that he instinctively recognized his partner, that he could somehow divine what was in her brain simply by looking in her eyes. She let herself think of his touching confession, of the revelation that working by her side meant so much to him, but refused to consider any ramifications of it. She knew the idea would cause her affection for him to show in her eyes without her consciously hiding it. She just hoped it would come close to the hero worship Olivia had developed for the man.

He nodded, finally stepping away far enough that she could take a breath of air that didn’t smell like him. “Come on, you must be starving.” As he turned away, his hands fell away from her.

For all of a second before one of them reached back, catching her hand to lead her back to the table.

It took all of her strength not to run back into the relative safety of the bathroom. Her partner, the man she’d had indescribably inappropriate feelings for throughout the better portion of their partnership, the man who she’d eventually come to terms with as being completely off limits and uninterested in only the previous few months, the last man she truly expected had a sweet, soft side, was being physically demonstrative of his feelings for her.

And he wasn’t patting her on the back.

She needed about a year to process everything that she’d witnessed from him. But it was only a few seconds before she was facing him across the table. She took a long sip of her wine, bottoming out the glass, and looked around for the waiter to refill it. While she was waiting, her glance fell on his scotch and she contemplated stealing it from him.

They ate quietly. She pretended to be fascinated by her food. Faking anything in front of Elliot was exhausting. Undercover work was different; it was always accompanied by the adrenaline that came with the fear of being found out. But with Elliot, everything in her told her to let her guard down and relax. Most of the time she could. At least, she could let her guard down most of the way. Her feelings for him always had to be hidden. And it was hard to hide anything from him for more than a few moments. Usually he knew anyway, tried to get her to talk about it, and then she’d promptly refuse to admit it and run away until she felt better. Because while he always knew she was hiding something from him, she knew he didn’t have the faintest clue that it was a silly crush that had gotten way out of control and turned into something so all-encompassing that Liv could only identify it as being love.

“Hey, Liv.” As soon as she looked up, his head cocked to the side. “Dance with me.”

Her heart stopped. She was sure of it.

Elliot had definitely not asked her to dance. It was absolutely outside the realm of possibility. Someone needed to call Fox Mulder and ask him to investigate.

She would never have believed he even knew how to dance, let alone that he’d ever let her know if he could, and that was despite the idea that even if he knew how and was willing to tell her that he would certainly never ask her to dance with him.

Her mouth fell open, so dumbfounded for a moment that she forgot she was pretending anything.

He smiled, apparently ready for her confusion. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

And suddenly, she was at a crossroads. Because Liv would roll her eyes and tell him that was between him and Kathy. But Olivia would jump at the chance.

With a girlish fluttering in her stomach, she looked up through her eyelashes at him and smiled coyly. “I think that’s the problem.”

He’d been planning on her confusion at his suggestion, but not for her return to flirting. He looked surprised, as though his rebuff leaving her apartment should have been strong enough to end her incessant tempting. He swallowed so hard she could hear it and stood up. She didn’t know what else to do when his hand hovered in front of her. She slipped her hand into his and bit back the urge she had to giggle as Olivia had been so fond of doing.

The dance floor was so small that she hadn’t even noticed it when they’d walked past it on their way in. Of the four couples in the place, she and Elliot were the only one who dared to venture out on the wooden square. Nervous wasn’t enough to explain the way her body was shaking; panic was closer, yet still a little too mild to describe the way her whole body threatened to dissolve into a puddle of goo.

Thankful for the perfect excuse of not remembering how, Liv waited with her hands at her sides for Elliot to guide her. His eyes held hers with a glint of mischief as he lifted her arm to drape around his shoulders. With his other hand, he took hers, cradling it against his chest rather than holding it out to the side as she’d expected.

Because in whatever single neuron in her brain that could comprehend both Elliot dancing and dancing with her, there was a firmly entrenched notion that he’d hold her hand out in the traditional style.

And then his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her body firmly against his, laying his open hand flat against the tender skin of her exposed lower back.

With the added height her shoes loaned her, their faces were even. He took advantage of it, pressing his face against hers. She took a moment to wonder if it was worth risking a heart attack to play a game with him because she was pretty sure she was having one.

She was dancing cheek to cheek with Elliot Stabler. She could only hope he didn’t notice she was weak in the knees.

If there was music playing, she couldn’t hear it. She couldn’t see either, not with the way her eyes sealed shut the moment his skin found hers. There was only the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears, seeming to increase with every second in response to his hot breath searing her cheek and ear.

She’d known Elliot for so very long that she knew almost everything there was to know about him. Except for the occasional curve ball he threw her, like with the idea that he could and would dance, nothing he did surprised her. Out of all the adjectives in existence, she could put them in order of their correlation with her partner.

Unfortunately, she’d been very, very wrong about him.

Because graceful would have been about at the bottom of the list, down there with innocent and stupid and chubby. Yet he was, magically uniting his bulky muscles and lanky height, forming a strong, solid column of elegance and refinement that moved her pliant body with him across the floor. Olivia had never been a big fan of dancing; she’d always thought it was far more intimate than she was willing to get with most people, even more than sex really. Sex was more equal in her book, as much about getting as giving, and it was a purely instinctive, physical drive. Dancing, on the other hand, was about being close, touching, togetherness.

And after the twelfth grade, Olivia had never been so moved to be in contact with anyone as to enjoy having his body pressed against hers without any chance of getting off.

The whole experience was overwhelming; leaving her clinging to him in a fashion she’d never thought herself capable. As if practically swooning wasn’t enough simply at the concept of being in his arms, his hand began to move, slowly, carefully stroking the skin of her back, his fingers gently skimming the top of the swell of her ass, dipping ever so little beyond the edge of her dress. His fingertips roved over a tiny circle, sucking out what little strength she had left.

Her head dropped, suddenly too heavy to support. Her forehead brushed his shoulder before she turned her face in, pressing her closed eyes against his neck, letting her breath fall across his throat. Her arm slipped, no longer reaching over to rest on his other shoulder. Instead her hand cupped the shoulder she was leaning on, her arm laying against his. She could feel his muscles flex as his hand moved up, abandoning her lower back in favor of climbing up between her shoulder blades and lightly grasping the back of her neck.

They were barely moving by then. Whatever part of him had been focused on moving them around the floor had shifted to something else, something she believed was controlling himself in public. She could feel the tension in his whole body, his shuddering intake of breath, the shift of his hips to press himself ever so lightly against her. She could feel him, his desire, his erection beginning to form. They’d never shared such a moment, such openness physically or mentally, not while they were both conscious. She realized he didn’t know they were sharing it even then. And it made her feel like shit.

She withdrew the hand he’d been holding over his heart, sliding it down to circle around his waist, sliding inside his jacket to pull him even closer. Without her hand to hold, his hand dropped as well, skimming across her back on its way around her, pulling her directly in front of him into a hug.

They weren’t moving at all anymore, having given up any pretense of dancing. They were holding each other. It made her shiver to realize it, to comprehend that they were sharing a far more intimate hug than they had after his son had been born, to know he wanted to explore their connection, to feel the undeniable reaction he had to her touch.

His chin slid down, his five o’clock shadow scraping across her forehead as his face sought hers. She didn’t, couldn’t, deny her own reaction to him and felt her head lifting of its own accord, angling to the left as his mouth moved to cover hers.

Chapter Seventeen

Having kissed him several times, amnesia or no, in the previous day, Olivia expected that she’d be somewhat prepared for it. Had she thought about it, she might have been better able to understand that having kissed someone who, for all intents and purposes, was a stranger, would absolutely not take any of the shock out of the first real contact of his mouth on hers.

And even having understood for several years that she was extremely attracted to Elliot and would have been more than willing to kiss him, she still wasn’t quite aware of how desperately she wanted that touch.

There was a moment, just as his mouth pressed fully against hers, that she was almost disappointed. In that instant, when she didn’t faint or see fireworks or feel the world rock off its axis, she thought maybe it was just a kiss, just like hundreds of others, not special enough to merit risking her job.

But then the thought more fully struck her, the stark reality bouncing around in her skull, resonating through her entire body as she began to shake. She was kissing Elliot. Elliot was kissing her. His mouth was open and his breath was hot and his hands were insistent and his body was demanding.

And oh god his tongue was touching her lips.

And then his tongue was in her mouth, making his claim and marking his territory and stealing her breath.

The kisses they’d shared before, when she didn’t know him, had been nice - wet and hot and sexy. But the memories of who they were, of what they’d seen, of everything they’d survived by each other’s sides, of the unspoken, inescapable bond between them - the knowledge changed it. She couldn’t think, not with the way his body was taking over hers, but she couldn’t stop thinking either. She kept repeating to herself that Elliot was kissing her. Elliot’s tongue was in her mouth. Elliot was nipping at her lips. Elliot was encouraging her to explore his mouth. Elliot was shifting the length of his body along hers.

For the love of god, Elliot Stabler was hard as a rock, his pelvis rocking into hers, pressing his length into her, seeking more fulfilling pressure.

For those other kisses, she’d been in charge. She’d been ruled by the mere sensation, a physical desire for more telling her to seek it. He’d been in a different position, having all the information she’d been lacking, he’d been unable to resist her, desperate to deepen their bond, powerless to stop his body from responding to her touch. His behavior clicked into focus, his hot and cold see-sawing made sense to her as it hadn’t before. Because the attraction between them demanded his body respond, the overpowering link causing his body to act on the most primitive urges, until he consciously realized what he was doing, understood that he wasn’t supposed to give in, which caused him to pull away.

The same behavior she’d wanted to torture him over, the whole reason she’d wanted to get even with him, suddenly made perfect sense. He hadn’t been taking advantage of her; she’d been taking advantage of him. But she couldn’t feel bad for her actions or do anything to make it up to him. She was hardly in a position to confess her lie.

With no conscious thought, her mouth disconnected from his, her forehead flopping down against his chest. She was out of breath, shaking and not quite able to stand. The guilt rose up immediately, strangling her already choked airway. Every time she’d flirted with him, every time she’d teased him, every time she’d tried to seduce him, she’d thrown him off balance, sending him reeling. She’d been torturing him, without even fully realizing how cruel she was being, and he kept coming back for more. She may as well have been a drug he couldn’t live without; he was addicted to her. As though once that line had been crossed, that first time he’d reached for her, that first contact of their lips, he couldn’t resist anymore. He couldn’t get enough.

And she understood perfectly how he’d felt because she wasn’t sure she could survive without touching him. It was like the forbidden fruit; once tasted, she couldn’t go back to the way it had been before.

His hands moved to her face, pulling her lips back to his, just barely glancing over them as he rained kisses along her jaw. Her fingers clawed at his clothes, the one at his waist close to lifting his shirt, needing to feel his skin. But his lips skimmed down the column of her throat, his mouth opening to let his tongue touch her there, where her pulse beat against her skin, causing her hand to forget what it meant to do.

“Oh, El.” Her hands fisted involuntarily; her body so over-sensitized at his touch that she was sure a few more seconds would have her climaxing, loudly and publicly. She forced her head up off his shoulder so she could press her lips to his ear. “Take me home.”

It was a request, a plea, a prayer that stripped her raw. She had no defenses, no walls, no protection left. The physical need for him, the one she’d always been so skilled at hiding and denying and shoving back, the emotional void that only he could fill, it was finally too much. She couldn’t hide it anymore and she didn’t want to. Not once she knew the pleasure of his hands on her. Not once she knew the feeling of his lips caressing her skin.

His hands dropped to fold around her lower back, the stiff fabric of his suit coat raising goosebumps on her bare skin. His lips were on her ear, his breath tickling her neck, his body warming her with its burning heat. “Give me a minute, baby.”

She lay her head down again, settling it against his shoulder. The position felt so familiar she could hardly believe it was one they’d never been in before. She savored the feeling, the acceptance, the reassurance, the love, waiting for him to regain enough control of his body that they could leave the relative privacy of their embrace without making a scene.

As fast as his body had been to come to attention at her proximity, it seemed to take forever for him to soften enough that he could pull away. She couldn’t honestly say which one of them was shaking, or perhaps more accurately, which one of them was shaking more. She did know that she was staggering as she moved, unable to coordinate her feet, leaning heavily on Elliot to avoid falling. And rather than leaving his hand against the small of her back as he’d been doing for years, his body was much closer, pressed fully against her side with his arm completely around her waist, his hand holding the curve of her hip.

She would have been embarrassed for how clumsily she fell into her chair except that Elliot had done the same thing, his body slamming heavily into his own.

He looked at her over the table with half of his mouth twisted up to smile. “I’ve never been so sure my legs were going to give out.”

Grinning, she nodded. She wanted to stare at him, hold his warm stare, but she couldn’t. He’d revealed himself completely to her, opened the armor she knew so well to show her how tender and sweet he really was. But he’d done it in response to what he thought was a perfectly innocent pursuit from a woman who didn’t know him, a woman she was almost sure he would gently reject at home to preserve the relationship that meant so very much to him.

A lump lodged in her throat, choking her, threatening to bring tears back to her eyes. She was the biggest asshole of all time. Lower than the lowest criminal they’d ever met. Besides the guilt, the heavy, unbearable burden that made her want to scream in pain, there was something more, something worse. Because Elliot would eventually find out. Because she’d eventually have to tell him. Because he would hate her, never, ever forgive her, for misleading him. He thought he was showing vulnerability to someone who depended on him completely.

Not his partner. Not the last person on Earth he’d ever suspect would understand let alone respect that he had such a softness for her.

And if she ever had to face the day when he severed their partnership, their friendship, their convoluted, unquestionable love, she would die. He might as well just shoot her. Which, she reluctantly had to admit, might actually happen.

For some inexplicable reason, the situation brought to mind that message she used to get on her computer eons earlier, when she’d first been trying to figure out just what the hell the device had to do with her life. The black screen with the white letters staring at her - abort, retry, fail, ignore. She bit her lip and hazarded a quick glance at her partner. She wanted to choose all of the above. Anything to get her out of the colossal mess she’d made.

Anything to keep him from thinking she’d deliberately wanted to hurt him.

He was distracted by the waiter, refusing the server’s attempt to wrap their dinners to go. The other man nodded, clearing the plates from the table and looking between them expectantly. “Would you be interested in having dessert this evening?”

Olivia swallowed hard as Elliot’s eyes caught hers. He winked at her and then turned to the waiter. “We have alternate arrangements.”

Chapter Eighteen

Wanting to sink through the floor, Olivia kicked herself and tried to postpone the inevitable moment when Elliot would discover that she was the meanest little fuck of all time. Slipping back into the persona Elliot wouldn’t have any desire to kill, she smiled as the waiter dropped their check on the table and disappeared. “Still going to tell me we’re just friends?”

He nodded, answering the question in what Olivia knew was technically all honesty. “Yes.” But then he winced and looked away. His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “No.”

His confusion, his admission made her heart pound and her mouth dry. She couldn’t believe they were finally at that moment where it would all come out and she wouldn’t have to hide it anymore.

His eyes were everywhere but on hers and she hated that she’d made him uncomfortable. “Yes.”

But the other Olivia would have gotten a hell of a kick out of the answer that was still technically completely honest. “Which is it?”

He lifted his scotch, draining the glass of the alcohol and melted ice. Then he cleared his throat and looked her directly in the eye. “We’re not sleeping together.”

She grinned, recognizing the dodges she always used when people grilled her as to the nature of the complicated relationship. “Not at the moment.”

She expected a flippant answer from him, had chosen the snarky response purposely to give him an out. But he reached across the table for her hand, dragging his thumb over her palm, his jaw clenching at the sight of the red scratches from the previous night. The tears in her skin had been superficial, enough to draw blood, but they barely hurt and Olivia had forgotten entirely about them until he reminded her. She closed her hand over his, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand, trying to reassure him.

But his brow was furrowed and his eyes were wet with unshed tears and, to her amazement, he didn’t even try to hide them. “I’m sorry, Liv. I would never-” His words stopped abruptly and for the briefest of moments, she could have sworn she saw his chin tremble.

She nodded, shivering at the thought that he was talking to her, to the woman he knew, not to the woman she was pretending to be. She wasn’t sure if he knew or if he simply wanted to be certain she’d remember. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Don’t worry about it.”

Her words were truer than she realized until they crossed her lips. Her hands and knees didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. Since she’d experienced the pure magic of his touch, it felt like all of her wounds had healed. His feelings for her replaced the gaping holes left in her from her mother’s drinking and her father’s existence. He made her feel normal. He made her feel special.

Ready to cry herself, her eyes dropped to their clasped hands. It didn’t help her control to see that his ring finger was bare, except for the pale line marking where a thin gold band had once proved to be the insurmountable obstacle between them. Her mouth fell open, recalling the confession of the state of his marriage, the overheard phone call. It had taken him a long time to remove his ring the first time, even longer to actually sign the divorce papers. But the second time was different - he’d admitted it and he’d taken off the ring so quickly. It appeared that he was really through with Kathy.

He stood up suddenly, leaving his hand in hers while he moved around to sit in the chair adjacent to hers. Olivia noticed the other diners, and the restaurant staff, had turned to watch and she wanted to laugh. They’d all witnessed the behavior on the dance floor and now, she knew, they were expecting the show of Elliot sliding off his chair onto one knee. She managed to not laugh, but there was no way to prevent the smirk that appeared.

He didn’t know what to make of her smile, not in the midst of a serious talk. “What?”

Her eyes moved over the expectant faces. “We have an audience.”

“What the hell?” He copied her movement, looking back at her for an answer.

“If you’re not about to propose, they’re going to be very disappointed.” She saw confusion and then understanding dance over his features.

He ducked, embarrassed for the attention he was getting. “I should probably wait until I’m legally divorced before I get engaged, right?”

Although he was only making a joke, it still sent a chill through her. He hadn’t laughed and declared how preposterous the thought was. He hadn’t told her he wanted to patch things up with Kathy. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d sit on the divorce papers for a year. He especially hadn’t said something like if he ever wanted to get married again, it certainly wouldn’t be to her.

She leaned in and winked. “So you want to pretend to propose so they can clap and go back to their dinners?” Expecting a hearty laugh at the idea, she was shocked to get silence.

Even more shocked to see him shrug. “Would you say yes?”

It took a depth of self-control she hadn’t known she possessed not to let him see that she knew he’d just crossed a line they’d never even approached in the past. She didn’t want to giggle and flirt. She didn’t want to pretend she didn’t remember them enough to know how special the conversation was. Even if it was just for pretend, it seemed like he really wanted to know. Instead of telling him that she’d just come to grips with the idea that she did actually want to get married and, surprisingly, that she did actually want to get married to him, she winked at him. “You feeling lucky?”

He stared at her, his eyes sliding back and forth between hers. His head nodded toward the dance floor and his hand squeezed hers. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am.”

She actually shuddered, knowing the motion passed through her hand to alert him of it. “Then ask me.”

For some reason, he looked down, the slightest suggestion of a frown appearing. “Can’t, I’d scare you off.”

It was a perfectly logical explanation for her because of her pronounced tendency to run away when relationships became too close. It wasn’t, however, something the Olivia with no memories would understand. Playing stupid, she feigned confusion. “How would that scare me?”

He looked away as he answered, checking to see if people were still watching. “Or give you ideas.”

It occurred to her then that she was facing a rare opportunity to play flirtatiously with Elliot. Sure, they’d flirted on occasion, but it wasn’t the sort of flirting normal people did. It tended to happen at crime scenes or other strange places and usually involved Elliot’s gloved hands picking up a whip or a leather suit or particularly offensive porn magazine followed by one of them suggesting the other would look good using or wearing or posing in the same fashion. So while average people might walk away from flirting with a smile or flattered, they tended to walk away insulted or mortified in front of the crime techs, and that was only on the rare occasions that the comment didn’t start the short trip into a big fight.

Amused by the idea of being able to play, Olivia couldn’t resist. She licked her lips, making sure his attention was back on her, and then let her leg slide forward, very deliberately pressing it against his as she extended it. Watching his eyes drop to watch her body touch his, she smiled. “I thought you liked my ideas.”

He took a deep breath before he pulled his eyes back to hers. “Oh, I like your ideas all right.” His brought his other hand over to fold on top of their still joined hands. “Casey was right about you being a trouble maker.”

“Fine, I won’t make anymore trouble.” She couldn’t help but giggle as she withdrew her leg, making it quite obvious she hadn’t conceded anything as she repeated her movement in reverse. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably and she smirked, knowing without having to look that she’d just made it impossible for him to leave again. Pretending to be completely innocent of the result, she stared at him. “So, what was it that was so important you had to come all the way over here and disappoint all these people since we’ve already determined it wasn’t to ask me to marry you?”

All the levity left his face, bringing back the heavy, thick atmosphere at their table. “You keep asking me if we’re just friends.” He glanced at her, looked down, and then slowly dragged his eyes back to hers. “And we are.” He paused to let out a sigh and she wanted to tell him to stop with the drama, but her voice refused to interrupt what was so obviously taking a lot for him to say. “I feel like I’m lying to you when I say that.” His eyes grew moist with tears again as one of his hands lifted to stroke her cheek. “That’s all we are, Liv, but I want more.” His hand fell back to his lap, taking his gaze with it.

It was an amazing moment, beautiful and breathtaking and perfect and she hated him for it. Damn the man for saying that when she couldn’t respond to it for real, when she had to pretend to be someone else hearing those words, when she knew it was likely the only way she’d ever hear them.

Screwing up all of her strength, she willed herself not to cry and smiled stupidly at him instead. “Isn’t that why we’re leaving here without having any dessert?”

She had to pretend it didn’t break her heart when he looked up, obviously hurt that she wasn’t taking him seriously. But she wanted to know what he was expecting, telling her that when he believed she had no real idea of just how big his words were. Looking down, she wished she could rewind it, tell him the truth about her before he said it, so she could tell him how much it meant to her, so she could tell him she wanted more too.

Then his hand was on her face again, holding her chin up to force her stare to meet his eyes. “God damn it, Olivia, stop screwing around!”

She jerked back from his hands, pulling her face out of his grasp and her hand as well. She was as familiar as anyone with his temper, but she truly hadn’t been expecting it to flare at that moment, in that setting. She’d never seen him explode while he was touching her either.

Her upset was genuine, her momentary, innate fear real; she didn’t have to fake a reaction. Having seen his explosions many, many times and even being on the receiving end of quite a few, she knew how it would go. She’d feel bad for being afraid, short-lived and unnecessary as the fear always was; he’d apologize. Sometimes the apology would consist of nothing more than a dejected, pathetic expression on his face that she knew meant he couldn’t even voice how awful he felt about scaring her, but it was always there and almost always immediate.

She was beyond surprised when he stood up angrily and stalked off the pay their bill without a word. She said nothing when he came back, waiting for him to say he was sorry, since he couldn’t reasonably expect a woman with amnesia to put up with his mood swings unless he verbalized some explanation.

She almost fell when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet, half dragging her until she recovered enough to start walking. It took several minutes of chasing him while her wrist stayed imprisoned in his hard first before she could find words.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” To hell with pretending anything, if he didn’t release her hand in the next second, she’d have him all ready for the New York City Boys Choir. And no matter how much begging he did, he was absolutely not getting out of replacing her wrap, the one designer item she’d splurged on in her entire life, that was dragging along the ground behind her, barely having been grabbed before he yanked her out of the restaurant.

He didn’t let go. The pressure didn’t let up. He didn’t even look back at her. “I’m taking you home. You’re so fucking hot to get there.” He stepped out into the street to hail a cab, unconcerned when she tripped off the curb in her ridiculous shoes.

“Get off me.” She was about to follow up her demand with a string of four-lettered words and possibly a threat to tell Cragen he’d manhandled her, but a cab screeched to a halt in front of him.

He opened the door and tossed a few bills onto the seat, calling out her address to the driver. Then he looked back at her, flinging her arm back at her like she’d bit him. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to touch you again.”

Her chin trembled, allowing him to see true fear that his words weren’t false, weren’t just the product of anger. “What’s wrong?” He’d been so wonderful to her. He’d said the perfect things. He’d held her and kissed her and made her feel more loved than she ever had in her life. The dinner had been the stuff dreams were made of.

“What’s wrong? You want know what’s wrong?” He looked away from her to answer the interjection from the cabbie with a promise that he didn’t care if the meter was running. Then he turned back to her, pulling her closer. Instead of a comforting hug or some measure of reassurance that she hadn’t done anything to deserve his outburst, he pushed her back against the open door of the cab, leaning in to shout in her face. “You think this is some kind of game? Well then fine, you fucking win, ok? I fold. You got me to make an ass out of myself. Congratulations. I’ll survive. But spare me the wide-eyed innocent routine and just admit that you did it because you’re a rotten bitch.”

She narrowed her eyes, hating him for getting in her face and yelling, hating herself for letting him. And she had to admit she was letting him because he was so caught up in his fury that she could have dropped him with a well-placed knee and elbow. But she couldn’t bring herself to physically harm him, not even with the bruises she knew would be appearing on her wrist. “I take it you don’t mean that in the good sense of the word.”

His eyes widened for a split second as he realized she was throwing his words back at him. He was shaking when his hands closed around her shoulders, using his strength to shove her towards the interior of the cab. “You stay the hell away from me and I might not kill you.”

She’d never felt his hands on her like that. They were rarely on her at all, but those times, they’d never been rough. It hurt when she fought against him and she hated that he was causing it, trying to force her to do anything. It hurt to see his unbridled anger aimed at her. It hurt to not know why he wanted to cause her pain. Reaching up, she tried to get enough of a grip on his hands to pull them free. “What did I do?”

His hands gave in to her attempts to move them, suddenly removing the pressure on her shoulders. She jerked forward, stumbling into him since she wasn’t fast enough to stop pushing against his hands before they moved. He took the opportunity to take her face in both hands without even a hint of softness, forcing her to look at him. It didn’t take much force, however, because she was staring at him, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks.

He moved closer, bringing their bodies almost as close as they’d been while they were dancing. But his words were harsh and his voice furious as he spat the explanation at her. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you and you’re pretending you don’t know who the fuck I am. That’s what you did. That’s what the hell is wrong with me.”

There was no pause, no hesitation, no chance for her to grasp all the things he’d told her in one breath. He turned and left, his long stride and powerful legs carrying him away from her so fast it seemed like he was running.