A/N: A new fic for summer. Takes place during Season 8, because I always wondered what it would be like if Olivia left and came back and then Elliot left instead of her going to Oregon. Thank you to detectiveeo and nicefaceilikeit for the beta, and to danalewis for always indulging my writer's brain. Hope you enjoy!

Six months ago

Olivia walked into the squad room, holding two cups of coffee.

A peace offering.

Over the last few months, any coffee they shared had a bitter edge to it she hadn't noticed before. As if her senses were telling her she needed another change. She had already left him once.

She set the coffees down on top of some of her files on her desk and looked across to his side. His desk was clean – too clean. The framed family pictures that were usually standing were no longer there. There were no papers, no evidence of him left. Panic rises in her throat and her pulse begins to thrum harshly. She unbuttoned her jacket and pulled it from her shoulders, walking towards Cragen's office.

He couldn't have left her. Not after everything they had been through, especially after Gitano. She had gone to Computer Crimes and came back when she felt ready but truly, she hadn't been. The burning feeling inside of her that she couldn't put out until she had seen him at her desk at her new unit had driven her back to him. But they were still on rocky terms, neither of them willing to push the other hard on important issues. He didn't want her to leave again. She didn't want to feel pushed out.

So, they let it simmer.

Beneath the surface, her control over the situation was spiraling. Yet she kept coming back for more. Brought him coffee, choked hers back. Ate at the same old restaurants he liked, and she tolerated. Put up with his rage even though hers had begun to bubble up from constantly getting him out of the situations he'd put himself in.

"Cap?" Olivia questioned, folding her jacket over her arm. "Where's Elliot?" She gestured at his empty chair.

Cragen dropped his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I can't tell you," he eyed her pointedly.

The realization hit her and she dropped her mouth open. "The Callahan case?" Anger began to spread through her veins. Heat rose to her cheeks. "You couldn't have authorized him to-" Cragen interrupted her before she could even finish formulating her sentence.

"Olivia," he warned. "I can't tell you." He shook his head at her, the finality of his words causing her throat to tighten. She spun on her heel and walked back to her desk and picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear. Her fingers slammed into the keys as she dialed in his number by memory. Shocked tears rose to her eyes as she heard an error dial tone, followed by a short message.

"We're sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service."

Olivia sat at the back of Duff's bar in a booth, stirring her drink with one of her long, painted fingers. The bar wasn't anything special – a large wrap-around bar with stools installed every couple of feet, a few pool tables, clumps of bikers and their wives together in the booths.

When she had walked in, she had searched every face for his, but he hadn't arrived yet. Her intel had been good thus far, she shouldn't have any reason to doubt it. She had made it this far already, no turning back now.

She looked the part. The role of a scorned lover returning for her man suited her all too well.

Olivia was head to toe in black. Heeled boots, jeans, sleeveless top, nails – even the bra that she had on underneath the tantalizingly low shirt. She tugged the material down a little bit further, the lace of her bra appearing over the hemline. When he walked in, she wanted him to only see her.

Six months.

It had been six months of shit cases, long days, and sleepless nights. Every day she had hoped he would just be sitting at his desk, drinking a cup of coffee with that smug smile, acting as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't been gone all this time.

Maybe he wouldn't recognize her. She had bangs now, her hair was darker and longer. She let her natural curls fall over her shoulders tonight. At work, she usually had it up, but she wasn't here as a detective. She was here as just Olivia.

Cragen had pulled her into his office at the end of the day and told her everything – where Elliot had been, the progress he had made. For the last six months, he had been undercover with one of the most ruthless biker gangs in the country, the Hell's Angels. Knowing that he left with no goodbye, no note or anything had stung but what really killed her was where he had been.

He hadn't even left the fucking city.

One of the members had been accused of sexually assaulting a young woman at a bar, and it set off a chain of investigations inside a larger one. The club had been trafficking women into prostitution and a host of other crimes that the wives and victims were too afraid to come forward with. They stayed loyal to the gang and Elliot accepted the offer to attempt to infiltrate the club and become a full-patch member and take the organization down from the inside.

He'd kept his first name for the operation, acknowledging how long it would be before he got information. Some men spent years doing what he was doing. They'd changed his last name though, and a new identity to go with it. He was now Elliot Morrison, one of their best enforcers. Organized Crime had been able to pull together some credentials and plant some background information online so if the members were to look him up, he would appear legit.

The plan they had come up with had gone through flawlessly. They planted an officer who came to the bar and started a fight with the lead members, and Elliot had swooped in and taken the man outside and fought him. It earned their respects and soon enough Elliot had become one of their prized fighters for the gang.

But there was an issue. The other members were starting to get suspicious.

He has no 'old lady.' He told them his last one had left him when he decided to join them.

Cragen offered her the chance to help Elliot out.

He's close to the center of it all, but this seems to be holding him back.

Olivia brought the glass to her lips and let the liquid slip into her mouth. Her anger was still palpable, but she needed the courage to see him. She was going to take him to wherever he was living and give him a piece of her mind. That was her plan; she was going to yell at him, and it would be ugly and raw. She'd already had enough and he hadn't even walked in. Of course, after six months he would make her wait even fucking longer.

Just as she is about to drain the last of her drink and go up to the bar for another one, the sun rips through the bar. The door opened and a small group of men came in, clad in leather and jeans.

Elliot is the first through the door. He always did have a death wish. His shoulders were broader somehow, the leather jacket accentuating the muscles that protruded in his upper body. His gaze had fallen on her just as she had planned and she let the corners of her mouth rise into a smirk.

She hadn't accounted for how much six months could have changed him.

Or how hard those changes hit her between the legs.

Her smoldering eyes hit him like a ton of bricks.

In the six months he had been gone, he had wondered too often what she would think of the man he had become. A casual smoker, more muscular than he had ever been, his hair shaggy and brushed back. Not to mention his facial hair and new scars.

The months he had been undercover had taken their toll on him, but also allowed him to endlessly workout. He kept weights in his new apartment, never wanting to be too far from the action. The inner workings of the club would keep him up at night. The thought of her would seep into his mind late at night, taunting him for what he wanted but couldn't have. She wasn't a part of this life. She didn't know who he had become in these months.

He didn't either.

The air around him smelled a little sweeter when he had walked in as if his senses could decipher that she was in Duff's looking for him. Waiting for him. He strode towards the bar and picked up the whiskey that Jake the bartender had poured for him upon seeing him coming into the establishment.

Little did the club know, Jake was actually Dave Cleary, another undercover detective out of the 2-9. Jake's eyes flicked over to Olivia sitting alone. Flynn and Perkins, two of Elliot's best sources of information and knowledge, walked towards the usual booth and started talking animatedly to their wives.

There were limited moments he had left before someone else would go see her.

Stake their claim.

That wasn't going to happen. He'd have to be first.

Elliot carried his glass and walked towards her, taking in her new haircut, heavier makeup, and her all black outfit. They had sent her in for a reason and he knew what needed to be done. He wasn't sure if she knew the full extent of what would happen, but it was too late now.

Fuck.

The other men kept glancing back at her. Time was running out.

He put his glass on the scratched-up table in front of her. "Olivia," he rasped, his voice thick from the smoke he just had outside.

Olivia stood up from the booth and closed the distance between them. "Elliot," she snapped.

Good. She's already pissed.

"I always knew you'd come back for more," he laughed, a smile spreading across his cheeks. He'd be lying if he said she wasn't a welcome distraction from the chaos that had become his life.

Play the game with me, Olivia.

She sneered, raising her hand up to hit him, but he caught her wrist with his hand and used it to pull her flush against his body. The impact caused a rush of air to expel from her lungs and she fought fruitlessly against his hold on her. He groaned at the contact and leaned into her, his hot breath hitting her face.

As if he had done it before, he crushed his lips over hers.

A soft whimper came from her mouth.

Welcome to the outlaw life, Olivia.

A/N: Let me know if you would like more of this little fic... :)