A/N: Trying something new. Don't like it? Lemme know. I promise, it'll get to where you all know I usually go with these things. But, it may take a while. Ah, frustration. =) So, what if it wasn't all gumdrops and rainbows when they met? What if it took time to fall into the swing of "Benson and Stabler" and what if they both knew the reason?

DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and its characters. TStabler© owns the narrative, dialogue and plot of this story.

"For fuck's sake, Kathy, I don't wanna talk about it!" Elliot bolted up the stairs, his beer in his hand, tired of having the same argument with his wife that he'd had for years. Only, tonight, she hadn't asked about a case. She hadn't asked about a victim. She hadn't asked about the guys. She had only asked, "Hey, Elliot, how do you like your new partner?" That question, alone, had set him off. He pushed his dinner away from him, tossing the fork to the table with a clang. His face had contorted into a mix of anger and pain and something Kathy had never seen before. As his wife, that was a problem. "I don't wanna talk about it," he had said, sipping a beer, calmly. Kathy, never one to know when to quit, pushed him. "Elliot, come on. Is he at least a good cop? They didn't stick you with an idiot did they? They don't want you to train some rookie, do they?" He smiled a cold, evil smile and shook his head. "No, Kathy. She isn't an idiot. She's too damn smart for her own good. She makes everybody look fucking incompetent. She's an amazing cop, but I can't fucking stand to be in the same room with her," he spat, his eyes narrowing.

"Wow, Elliot," his wife said. "What did she do? It's only been one week?" And that's when he shoved himself away from the table and yelled, stalking up to his bedroom. He chugged the rest of his beer and flung himself on the bed. He thought, pictured that horrible partner of his in his mind and pondered Kathy's question. What did she do? She moved with the grace of a thousand swans. She licked and bit her lip when she was concentrating, the bottom half of a perfect set of cherry-tinted, kissable, lips that smiled and smirked and sneered and would probably look so fucking good wrapped around his dick. Yeah, he just thought that. What else did she do this week? She closed a case that he and his old partner had been working on for a month by analyzing handwriting. Comparing hand-written notes. Something Elliot had suggested, but Carl though would be a waste of time. She thought just like him, it was so fucking sexy to find a woman that hot with a goddamn brain. She had the nerve to walk into that bullpen Monday and turn his world upsidefuckingdown, with her brilliant chocolate eyes and her silky brown hair, her toned, athletic, tight body, her delicate, yet powerful hands that he had pictured, at least fifty times a day, stroking him madly to a hurried release. What did she do? She made him harder than a fucking titanium rod, she made him want to cheat on his wife without a second thought and she made him pissed off to no extent that he was too fucking Catholic to do it! That's what she did!

He'd been painfully aware of her effect on him since he met her that morning, seven days ago. He was a complete asshole to her because he couldn't look at her, couldn't talk to her, couldn't breathe the same air as her without wanting to fuck her brains out. She probably thought he was the world's biggest douchebag. He couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't going to waste a perfectly good fantasy and the biggest hard-on he'd had in years on Kathy; he snaked his hand into his jeans, but was snapped out of his impure thoughts about his new partner by his ringing cell phone. Her name glowed brightly on the screen. "Speak of the Devil," he said, meaning it. "Stabler."

"Oh, you answered," she said, snapping. "Thought you'd see it was from me and throw your phone out the window." She was met with silence. He wasn't going to open his mouth. She'd hear him moan, or grunt, or something, because at the sound of her voice, he started stroking. "Okay, the silent treatment? Well, if you're even listening, and you haven't put the phone down and walked away to do something better, like get a root canal, we have a vic at St. Vincent's." She waited for a reply. He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on himself, yanking faster, biting his lip. "Stabler, just grunt or something if you understand me," she said in an annoyed tone. He did. He grunted. It was a very sexual grunt. "Okay, glad you can follow directions. Here's more. Get your ass down here, you arrogant..." She hung up the phone before he heard the final insult, and he came with a violence and power that he'd never experienced before. All because of her.

She was in the waiting room when he arrived, looking…gorgeous. This was not good. She was in a slinky, backless, black dress. Her hair fell in delicate waves and she had makeup on. Smoky eyes, neutral pink lips, and she looked pissed. Even though he just came, he sprang back to full attention. He hated this woman. Because, he didn't hate her at all. He mentally told himself to say something nice. "You always wear that to take statements from a vic?" Good job, Stabler. That was not nice.

"I was on a date, fucker." She jerked her head down the hall, beckoning him to follow her. He would follow her into Hell. They walked into the room, introducing themselves to the young woman lying in the bed. Elliot stood in the doorway as his partner took on a whole new air. "Janey? I'm Detective Benson. You can call me, 'Olivia'. This is my partner, Detective Stabler. We need to ask you some questions. Are you feeling up to it?" The girl nodded. "Does he need to be here?" the fragile girl asked, nodding to Elliot.

"Um, no," Olivia said, "But, I promise, he won't hurt you." She smiled, sadly, turning to Elliot. "The only one in this room he wants to hurt is me," she said with narrowed eyes. She turned back to Janey and said, "But, he will leave if you want him to leave."

"No, it's just…hard to talk about in front of anyone, especially a man." The girl blinked back a tear.

Olivia grabbed her hand, gently, and said, "It's okay. We're here to listen, not to judge."

They got her story, assured her they would do everything they could to catch her rapist, and left the room. Olivia barreled down the hallway, not bothering to wait for Elliot. "Hey," he called. She didn't turn around. "Yo, Benson! Wait!"

She stopped and turned on her heels, giving him a glowering look. "What?" she spat.

"I didn't…I don't want to hurt you," he said, trying to look into her eyes without wanting to press her up against the wall. It was hopeless.

"So, you do listen when I speak?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Elliot nodded, swallowing hard. "Um, how was your, uh, date?"

She rolled her eyes. "Over before it even began. The waiter brought us menus and my fucking phone rang. Not like I would have been thinking about the date, anyway. I would have spent the entire time thinking about…" she shook her head, smirked and bit her lip. "Someone else. You know, you have done nothing but piss me off all week, and you've made it pretty damn clear that you aren't exactly thrilled to be my partner. So why don't we both just forget you even tried to seem interested in me and my life, okay?"

"Olivia," he sighed, squinting his eyes shut, "I'm a little too interested in you. That's the fucking problem." He started to walk away but he distinctly heard her say, "Well, that makes two of us." He turned around, his eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?" he asked, stepping toward her. She stepped back, in fear, regret or denial, she wasn't sure. "Nothing, Stabler. We have to go back to…"

"What. Did. You. Say?" He punctuated every word with another step until he was only an inch away from her face and looking her dead in the eyes. She gasped. Her breath caught in her throat. She hated looking in his eyes. Her whole body warmed over with one look into those blue orbs. She could smell him, he was so close. His cologne drove her crazy. She took it out of his locker, Thursday, and doused her sweatshirt with it. She'd been sleeping in that thing ever since. She got wet at the sound of his voice, she thought his attitude was sexy, a turn on, and every time the man moved it made her want to throw him against a wall. He wasn't even nice to her, but then again, she hadn't been a peach, either. She couldn't be nice to someone who made her want to be the other woman.

"I think you heard me," she said, her words biting. Her breath smelled like vanilla coffee. Elliot moaned. "Christ, Benson. I want to you fucking repeat it," he spat back, whispering, getting closer, their noses almost touching. Thank God it was a slow night at the hospital, the hallway they were in was almost empty. She felt herself growing wetter by the second, the heat emitting from his body was intense and she was definitely melting. "I'm a little too interested in you," she said, her breath shallow, he body pressed tightly between the wall and Elliot. He couldn't help the smug grin that crept over his face. "You cocky bastard," she said, with a smirk of her own.

Elliot gave a curt nod of his and blinked once. "I have every right to be, Olivia." He knew that he had just put one foot in the grave, killing his marriage, digging the ditch that would certainly be impossible to crawl out of, but he wanted to see if she would take the bait, play along, take the ride to Hell with him.

Olivia narrowed her eyes. She was aware of what she was about to do, fully conscious of what she was about to set into motion, but this was one game she knew that she would win if she just kept the ball out of her court and in his. "I'd love to believe you, Stabler, but I'm a detective. I need proof," she said, sharply and seductively. She shoved him away, purposely rubbing her hot center into his painfully hard erection, causing him to groan in surprise and move away from her. He watched in aroused shock, stiff as a board and a little intimidated, as Olivia Benson marched down the corridor, away from what might have happened up against the wall, leaving Elliot to contemplate his next move. It wasn't a question of if he wanted to make one. It was a question of when, how and if he could file for divorce before his will-power broke completely. He didn't want to be that guy, and he didn't want to make Olivia that girl, but another week of torture in the precinct, by her side, and he just might have to.

A/N: Woah. Should I continue this? I think I'm going to, but I always ask if you want me to, faithful readers!