Summary – Basically, I thought that US Marshal Andy Eckerson from the fifth season episode 'Escape' didn't get a fair shake. So he's back to round up another escaped con. And maybe Olivia will say yes to a "drink" this time. First person narration is Andy's POV, third person is regular third person run o' the mill storytelling and there you go.

Rating – R – language, violence, adult content, it's all here

Disclaimer – I think it would be a little presumptuous of me to claim I owned these fantastic characters, considering I don't even own the computer I'm typing on. Dick Wolf, you lucky dog.

Note – As this is my first fanfic, I'm hoping for constructive reviews, but flames are fine if you feel you must. A lot of the chapters will be overlapping, what with the changing POVs and all, so sorry if that causes annoyance. Oh, and I'm not a New Yorker, but I have a map and I can pretend, so apologies for geographical errors. Ditto for medical and police stuff.

Every morning I wake up tangled in sweaty sheets after having the same dream. Well, not exactly the same, the location changes. But her apartment, my apartment, the interrogation room at her precinct, the middle of Central Park, it doesn't matter. We're together, and it's fantastic, just like I remember. Better even. And I always wake up right before the best part. But the thing that really kills me is what I now consider the best part is no longer the physical. Instead, I feel like I'm going to die every morning when I wake up before she says the magic words –

I love you, Andy.

Over the past two weeks, my new ritual is opening my eyes in the half-light of 5 AM and proclaiming, "I love you too!" to my empty bedroom.

It's been three months since I've seen her, three months since the Baxter thing wrapped up, and I can't get her out of my head. It had been years since we'd seen each other and I never expected that she would become the center of my universe again so quickly. At first I told myself that it was because she'd flat out rejected me, wouldn't even allow me to buy her a drink after a hard day's work, and I could never resist a challenge. I sent her flowers the next day, two dozen roses with a note saying how sorry I was that I'd put her in danger and would she let me buy her dinner. She never called. And I, fearless US Marshal Andy Eckerson, who chased dangerous criminals everyday, couldn't bring myself to call her. I had no problem facing down escaped convicts with guns pointed in my face, but the prospect of a second, most likely definitive rejection from the only woman I've ever really loved had me too terrified to make a phone call. Not that I didn't make the attempt – I made it as far as the sixth digit in her number once before losing my nerve and hanging up. How's that for bravery?

I do still have the courage for the footpaths in the park, however, so I jump into some sweats and head out for an early run. I work out a lot these days – running, swimming, weight-lifting – because I like to think that it helps me clear my head. I can focus on my breathing and let her slip away. Not really. She just drifts around the back of my mind instead of pressing to the forefront of my thoughts, like she doesn't want me to get hurt because I ran into a tree while thinking about her.

By the time my hour long run is over and I stretch before heading back to my apartment, she's in charge of my brain again. Here comes the most depressing and degrading part of my day. I get in the shower telling myself that today will be different, today I won't let her affect me. I know my body is disobeying, but I still have to look down to confirm the betrayal. I feel a little ashamed that I've been reduced to this as my only means of release. I'm mainly disappointed in myself for not finding someone to replace her. No, not replace...stand in for her I suppose. I'm not kidding myself here, because I'm an attractive guy who used to have no problems with the ladies. But after I had to slog my way through an embarrassing explanation to a third woman about why I'd called her the wrong name, I decided to give up. It's officially a dry spell, six weeks and counting.

The most unnerving part is that there's only one acceptable way that I can see it ending. I want her arms wrapped around me, her lips pressing mine. I want to wake up and see her smile as she opens her eyes. Her big, dark, sparkling eyes. Oh, God, I miss staring into her eyes.

I lean my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, thankful the I can begin the day with a certain pressure relieved, but knowing that she'll still be with me all day, no matter what I do to try and wash her away. I step out of the shower and towel myself dry, noting that it's just shy of 7 and I can have some breakfast before heading to the office.

I'm deciding between Frosted Flakes and Corn Flakes with sugar poured all over them when the phone rings. I answer tentatively, always thinking that it could be her on the other line. At 6:55 AM on a Wednesday. Right.

Fortunately, it's a different her, one I'm not scared out of my wits to talk to, my partner Liz Healey.

"Morning, Eckerson! Did I wake you?"

"Nah. Just about to have breakfast," I reply, trying not to sound either disappointed or relieved.

"I'll buy you a bagel or something, but you gotta get to the office right away because there's been a major prison break. Terry Paige was being transported from Sing-Sing to the city for some damn reason and he managed to take down the two guards with him and banged one up pretty bad and we think he hijacked a car and he's headed for the city so we have to..."

I interrupt before Liz can shove any more dramatic details down my throat. "Hey, slow down. Who is this Paige guy?"

"Sorry, Andy, things are just a little hectic right now. Paige went down for the kidnapping, torture, rape and murder of those 5 college girls back in 2000 and 2001and he made some kind of comment to his cell-mate about another vic and Manhattan SVU found enough evidence to tie him to the case so he was supposed to be arraigned today on a sixth rape/homicide today. This guy's a real piece of work though, vowed revenge on the jury, the cops, the DA, the judge, the witnesses and their dogs after his trial, so we're coordinating with SVU on the canvass of potentials, just to give a heads up and all, although I'd say coordinating isn't quite the right word because they've got command even though we're supposed to take point on cases like this, but none of that changes the fact that this guy's dangerous. Hey, Andy, you there?"

"Yeah, sorry. I'll be in soon," I answer and hang up. I vaguely recall that I'm now in a hurry because there's a murderer on the loose, but somehow that doesn't seem so important at the moment. There's only one thought in my head, the only thought that ever really occupies me now, because we're coordinating with SVU. Manhattan SVU.

Olivia.