Disclaimer: Not mine. Belong to Dick Wolfe and company, you crafty geniuses. Though if they were mine, Olivia would get to be happy some of the time and Elliot would go shirtless at least every other episode.

Rated "M" for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Icky situations and possible sexual situations in later chapters. We'll see.

Reviews: Please. This is my first fan fic.

Chapter One

Outside of the situation, she would have been embarrassed at the fine tremor in her right hand. Her police issue Glock 9mm felt awkward, almost heavy. Olivia swore she almost heard the rattle of the magazine competing with the pounding of her heart against her ribs.

"Drop it! Drop it now, Clarkson, or I'll shoot!"

Clarkson sneered back at her, his Smith & Wesson 45mm trained at her chest. She memorized the details of the weapon in his burly hand, trying to remember how many bullets were left. One in the chamber, yes, but how many had been shot? Two in the left brick wall of the alleyway, two into her partner…she shoved the thought forcefully from her head even as she heard Elliot groan from somewhere behind her. No, she couldn't think about it. Take this guy down, Liv. Take him down.

The crooked grin pulled at Clarkson's tobacco stained mouth, his face as hairy as the backs of his hands, his dark eyes squinting at her. He laughed again, the noise brittle against her ears. It echoed faintly in the alleyway, a singular sound. No sirens, no, she had been waiting for that. But Clarkson had caught her and El completely unaware. And Elliot…

"You or me, bitch. I ain't goin' back. So you fucking drop your piece or end up the same way as your partner."

She tried to keep her breath from coming out in shallow gasps. She steadied her hand, her lips pulled out in a tight line. She was cool. She had been in this situation before.

His weapon didn't waiver; neither was going to relinquish their hold on the situation. Could she even reason with this bastard?

"Clarkson, if you kill me, you know there is no way you'll get out. Two cops? That's an automatic death sentence. Drop your weapon and the DA will consider…"

He snorted. "Fuck the DA! You don't get it, bitch! I killed your partner. The only way I'm getting out of this is through you!"

Olivia knew it, the moment it happened. Something in his eyes, a barely perceptible movement of his gun hand. His mind was made up and nothing she could do would salvage the situation. But Clarkson had miscalculated how fast his opponent was.

She shot off three rounds, keeping her aim steady even as she felt her left bicep burn. Clarkson's burly body hit the pavement in under a second, Olivia was standing over him in two. Her gun was aimed with deadly precision at his head, but his open eyes and split skull told her it was unnecessary. Their perp was dead.

Her breath came out freely now in sharp gasps, her body shaking visibly. She fumbled her Glock into her holster, barely getting the weapon contained. She swung on her heel, pounding across the pavement to the crumpled body of her partner.

"El! Oh God, Elliot! Talk to me!" She was screaming, her voice punctured by liberated emotion. She tore at his khaki trench, ripping free the radio at his left hip.

"Officer down! Officer has been shot! I need a car at 18th and Holcombe stat. Repeat, officer down!"

The radio slipped out of her hands to the concrete. Olivia pushed back the rest of Elliot's coat, trying to access his wounds. He looked up at her, his usual piercing, ice blue eyes dull. He grimaced in pain, trying to talk as her shaking hands grazed down his torso.

"Liv. Damn, the bastard shot me. It was out of no…damn, that hurts." He hissed in as her hand pressed against his left side. One of his hands covered hers over the wound, and he was surprised how cold and shaky she was. He stared at her intently, taking in her paled face and trembling lips. "Bad? Tell me."

"Twice. Graze to the forehead, just a scratch, but this...," her voice trailed off. Two inches in. Probably punctured a lung. Bleeding badly. God, this was serious.

She rolled back and tore off her own trench coat. She pulled rapidly at the pale blue button down shirt underneath, splitting buttons in her haste to jerk it from her body. It left her in a white tank top in fall weather, but at this point, she was cold enough from the shock to be beyond caring on the outside temperature.

She balled the cotton dress shirt against his side, gentling her touch at his sharp intake of breath. "It's bleeding badly, Elliot. Pressure, to stop the bleeding," she spoke softly.

She felt his cool hand slide up her arm and goose bumps left a trail from the path of his palm.

"You've been…shot, Liv."

Olivia became aware of the pain for the first time and looked down at her left bare bicep. She grimaced. Clarkson had got a shot at her after all. A quick assessment told her it wasn't life threatening. Close enough to the surface of the skin that the bullet had sliced across her flesh instead of puncturing. Some stitches would be needed. Another battle scar.

"Liv…"

She jerked her attention from her wound to look down at him. His eyelids were fluttering and she knew instinctively he was fighting consciousness.

"Elliot, no! Stay awake, sweetheart. Please. El, please stay with me."

He blinked, and then focused on her drowsily, his mouth pulling into that off kilter grin she secretly loved. "Sweetheart? Are you afraid I'm dyin', Livia? You think…not going to pull…"

He coughed suddenly, the movement forcing blood up into his mouth. The hand that wasn't holding her shirt against his side touched his mouth; she was horrified when she found blood there.

"El, stop talking. Please, it's going to…"

Her sentence was cut short by the sudden wail of sirens. A sob broke through her usual cool exterior; all of this became too much. Thank God they were coming. The paramedics would save Elliot, three little girls would be avenged by Clarkson's death, and everything would go back to the status quo. Her own version of happily ever after.

His cold hand against her cheek brought her focus again on Elliot.

"Cold, Liv. My body…," he coughed again, the movement screaming pain through his side. "Just in case, I want to say...best fucking partner. Best…" His fingers smoothed across her trembling bottom lip, pausing for a moment. He stared intently at her, memorizing every line on her face. "So much to say." He coughed, the harsh movement bringing more blood up into his mouth from his lungs. "Damn."

"Elliot, please, don't speak."

"Livia, damn it…," he coughed again, his body trying to bring more air into his injured lung. "Love you."

She covered his mouth again with a shaky hand. His hand slid limply to his side.

"No…," she whispered. Elliot's eyes closed and his shallow breathing seemed to stop suddenly. Behind her she heard the ambulance screech to a halt next to their undercover car outside the alleyway. Heavy footsteps as the paramedics beat across the concrete to get to the bloody scene.

She didn't even feel it as someone pulled her away, numbly watching as they worked hastily on her partner's static body.

If he didn't make it, she didn't know what she would do. This couldn't be the end.