Title: Need to Know

Author: mindy35

Rating: PG, sexual themes

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Dick Wolf, NBC et al. No money made, no infringement intended.

Spoilers: "P.C".

Pairing: Elliot/Olivia

Summary: Post-ep for "P.C.". Elliot needs to know which side of the sexual fence Olivia sits on.

Stabler was right. Babs' earnest expression and punchy sound-bites were all over the evening news. Every time they appeared on the screen overhanging the bar, he'd watch Olivia Benson's lips re-curve themselves into the same smirk she'd been wearing since she witnessed the irrepressible redhead plant one on him before waltzing out the squad room door. His partner didn't say a word to him about it afterwards. She didn't have to. The wry curve of her lips said it all.

"You gonna wear that smirk all night?" he finally asked when Babs graced the screen for the fourth time since their first drink arrived.

His partner nodded, eyes fixed on the screen. "At least."

Elliot picked up his glass and let it dangle from his fingertips. "Hey, I'm not the only one Babs put the moves on. Your reaction time was just quicker."

Olivia gave an amused little hum. "I must have more practice at fending off unwanted advances than you do."

"No kidding," he mumbled, sipping his bourbon, "from both sides of the fence. Still not sure which side you're sitting on though."

"Well, like you said," she shrugged then sipped as well, "what does it matter?"

His gaze tracked from the television to her face. "We're partners."

"So? It's not like I need to know about your sexlife with Kathy."

"We have five kids, Liv. We don't have a sexlife."

Olivia ducked her head then, lifting it again, saluted him with her glass. "Makes two of us, I guess."

He released a heavy sigh. "Just haven't met the right girl, huh?"

His partner finally turned away from the TV and towards him, regarding him with narrowed eyes and a creased brow. "Why're you raggin' on me about this?"

"I'm not raggin' on you," he murmured, grinning into his glass, "just asking a simple question. Gay or straight? Which is it? Or do you like the view from the fence?"

Her eyes narrowed a little more. Her lips curved up a little more. Then she swivelled on her stool to face him, tipping up her chin before asking: "What do you think?"

His brows rose. "What do I think?"

"Yeah. You never answered me before. And we've known each other a while."

"A long while."

"You've got eyes, don't you? You've got a gut."

His brow collapsed. "A gut?"

"Figurative," she muttered, taking a sip.

"Oh." He sat taller on his stool, sucking in his stomach.

"So what's your gut say? What's my vibe tell you?"

Elliot faced her fully, staring down that persistent smirk. The bar's business bustled on as he studied her for a full half minute, as though his fundamental need to know would by itself reveal the truth to him in time. Nobody knew his interrogation tricks better than Benson though. And she didn't evade his steady gaze for one millisecond, she didn't even look the slightest bit intimidated by it.

Eventually, he sat back in his seat, eyes on hers as he pronounced in a low, confident voice, "You're straight."

Olivia let out a little laugh. "You think so, do you?"

He leant in again. "You sayin' I'm wrong?"

"You never can tell, El..." She downed the last of her drink then glanced over his shoulder, raising her brows at the bartender. "Not every girl likes a hairy chest and a chunky butt and gorilla hands roaming all over her."

"Gorilla hands?"

"Not to mention a guy who never shouts," she added pointedly as the barman came to refill both their glasses.

"Never…?" Elliot scoffed in indignation. "Come on— I get the coffees, you get the drinks, that's the deal. Stakeouts excluded. We shook on it years ago."

"Yeah, except you flash your badge and get freebies," she muttered, treating the barman to a brilliant smile that vanished as soon as she turned back to her partner. "Or bring me that stationhouse crap."

Elliot hunkered up to the bar, touching her arm with two fingers. "Hey. Quit trying to duck the question."

"I'm not trying to duck anything."

"Then let's hear a straight answer."

"Pun intended?"

"For instance—" He nodded to the mirror behind the bar, directing her gaze towards a couple sitting in the booth behind them. The man sported a pricey suit and a greying goatee while his companion had her long red hair pulled back into a braid that fell down her back. "Which do you prefer?" he asked with a sly half-smile. "Her? Or him?"

"Elliot…"

"What?"

She swivelled frontwards, casting the couple a cursory glance. "Neither. If you must know."

He adjusted his elbows on the bar, sleeve brushing hers as he leant in close. "But if you were to be with someone, that someone would be…"

Olivia played with her drink a moment before answering archly, "Real lucky."

"Well…" Elliot pulled back, took another taste of Dutch courage, "I don't doubt that."

She smiled but didn't engage with his veiled response, letting the silence stretch between them only a moment before staunchly switching directions. "Men always do this, you know. They always take a woman preferring women as a personal insult."

"That's bullshit. And not what this is."

"Sure it is. Their manly egos gotta know that they have a shot, even if it's an infinitesimal, hypothetical one."

"In case you hadn't noticed—" he pointed to the ring on his finger.

"Oh, I noticed," she mused, swirling the liquid in her glass. "You're probably the most married married guy I know. And even you need to know if you're in with a chance."

Elliot jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I said that guy—"

"But you meant you," she responded before she could halt herself. She waved a hand, gave a one-shouldered shrug. "A hypothetical you, but still…"

There was a short pause. Babs was back on the TV screen above the bar but neither of them noticed. Olivia was busy tracing the rim of her glass with one fingertip and recalling the conversation they'd had in her loft. Elliot drew in a breath and turned to face her again.

"So – hypothetically then…Right?" He laid a hand flat on his own chest then gestured at her. "I'm single. You're single." His hand waved between them, his eyes wide as he made sure she was following his train of thought. "We're not partners. We've never laid eyes on each other before in our lives. But I catch your eye from across a crowded room." He pointed to a crowded corner of the bar where a bunch of suits had been eyeing off his completely oblivious partner since they'd entered. "I come over and offer to buy you a drink—"

At this, Olivia gave a disbelieving snort. "Fat chance."

Elliot let the retort go, staying fixed on his objective. "You gonna give a guy a shot? Or ask if I've got a hot sister?"

"A woman with your features…?" She scrunched her nose, shook her head. "Definitely not a turn on."

"So does that mean I get my shot?"

Olivia pretended to consider. She let him squirm a moment – a tactic that'd become a particular specialty of hers. Elliot just waited her out – relentless, curious, utterly undeterable. She had a funny feeling that if she refused to answer his very simple query they'd still be sitting there at 8am the following morning when their next shift started.

She broke eye contact with him. Slowly, she picked up her drink, brought it to her lips and swallowed a mouthful. "…Probably," was her soft, inevitable reply.

"Probably?"

Her eyes cut to his, her tone dripping with warning as she put a period on the conversation. "Probably, Assy McBigPants."

"See?" Elliot grinned and spread his hands. "That's all you needed to say."

She rolled her eyes and finished her drink. "Proving my point about men and their need to know."

"Whatever," he mumbled, finishing his. "You like men."

She tapped her glass with one finger. "Gimme another."

The clearly besotted bartender was ready at her beck and call, topping up her glass first and her companion's as a mere afterthought. This time, he didn't get so much as a smile out of her. Elliot handed the man a crumpled bill instead:

"And this time, I'm buyin'."

"You won't hear me object," she muttered, eyes wide.

He tipped his refreshed glass towards hers. "To the lucky bastard."

Olivia tipped hers towards his. "The lucky, hypothetical bastard."

"Wherever he is." He clinked her glass then put his to his lips. "Guy's gonna need to be persistent to get any kind of a shot with you."

"Hey, all I ask is that he's straight." She sliced the air with one hand – then added, slightly lower, "And single."

"And doesn't have hands like a gorilla."

"That's not so much to ask, right?"

Elliot didn't answer, he just smiled into his drink. Olivia was smiling too, cheeks flushed pink with the warm buzz of strong alcohol and easy company. Until she looked up and caught their refection in the mirror. Her smile swiftly waned as she took in the two of them, perched side-by-side behind the bar, cupping their drinks and sporting silly smirks. Elliot sensed the change in her more than saw it. Over a decade of working together meant he was closely attuned to the landmines that peppered his partner's psyche. Not that it guaranteed him not inadvertently stepping on one. Sometimes he still did and wouldn't even know until after it detonated inside her.

"Hey, Liv." His voice was low, his brow crumpled with consternation. "What happened, where'd you go?"

She shook her head, gave an unconvincing smile. "Nothing. Nowhere."

He nodded a few times, eyes tracing her lowered profile. He'd got as much out of her as he would that night, more than he should've tried for, probably. He'd been pushing his luck – at her expense. It was time for their mutual retreat. Something else he was well attuned to after so many years of partnership. They both were. They knew this dance beginning to end, back to front and every which way. There wasn't a move they didn't know by heart and barely a step they'd put wrong, though they'd danced dangerously close on more than one occasion. Elliot wondered whether they'd both privately look back on this night as one of those seemingly innocuous yet somehow precarious occasions.

So that they didn't, he slid off his stool.

"I should go."

Olivia nodded, unsurprised. Relieved, even. "Yep."

"I'll, ah…see you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

He waited an extra moment, tugging his jacket into place, buttoning it. "Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"I never do," she mused, shooting him a sidelong smile.

Elliot nodded once. "Night."

Olivia didn't answer. She just lifted her glass to her lips and held it there, without drinking. She made herself not watch him walk away, she forbid her eyes from following his retreating back as he made his way through the thickening crowd. She couldn't help but let them linger though on the empty stool beside her, on his unfinished drink. She knew that if she sat there for even a few minutes alone, that drink would be replaced, that seat would be filled. By men with slick pick-up lines and pretty hair and untouched hearts. And for a fleeting moment, something might actually seem possible.

She pushed her drink away. She knew better than that. It didn't matter how many men sat beside her. That seat would remain empty. And there wasn't a drink in the world that could fix it. So with one last glance at the woman in the mirror, Olivia hopped down from her stool, left the barman a generous tip and headed for the door.

END.