Disclaimer: All characters property of Dick Wolf and whoever else owns a piece of this series. This story is written for fun and not for profit.

Author's note: This isn't really my first SVU fic, but it is my first completed one. I am working on another, much longer story that has an actual case to solve and shows the whole squad in action, but this little fantasy came to me in the middle of that story and it wouldn't go away, so I just had to write it down. I realize Elliot's behavior is a bit out of character for him, and this story doesn't quite jive with the series after the episode "Taboo", but I think I have created a scenario where a willing reader can find it believable. Enjoy, and please review.

Truth or Consequences

Chapter One: A Change in Plans

It was almost six in the evening, in the middle of January, and a sad, frigid rain was falling and freezing on the streets of New York. Fortunately, the SVU detectives were finishing up their shift in a warm, dry squad room because the weather was so foul even the city's creeps and perverts had decided to take it easy for a day or two.

"Benson, Special Victims," Olivia briskly answered her phone, hoping it wasn't a new case. "Oh, uh, hi . . . Uh, ok . . . Actually, Elliot and I have dinner plans."

She looked across the desk at her partner, but he was so intent on the report he was typing that he didn't know he was being discussed.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" she asked her caller, knowing Elliot was oblivious to her conversation. "I really don't know if that's wise . . . Uh, all right. I'll see what I can do, but don't say I didn't warn you . . . Yeah, I will . . . Bye."

She put the handset in the cradle, rested her chin on her folded hands, and looked thoughtfully at her partner. It was perhaps a minute before he realized she was watching him, but eventually he looked up and met her gaze.

"What?"

"That was . . . Richard," she began awkwardly and then stopped.

Elliot frowned, wondering why she seemed unwilling to tell him about the call. "Yeah? So, your boyfriend called you at work. Big deal."

"He had a dinner meeting," she said. "The client canceled because of the weather, but . . ."

"But he still has the reservations," Elliot finished with a grin, seeing where the conversation was going. He was grateful to her for not wanting to disappoint him, but naturally disappointed that he would not be enjoying her company this evening. Still . . .

"Nice place?"

"One if by Land, Two if by Sea," she smiled slightly.

"Oh, man!" he said in shock. "You know, somewhere I read that's New York's favorite place to propose."

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up, Cupid," Olivia said cynically. "I told him we had plans."

Leaning forward, he admonished her gently, "Liv you can't leave the guy sitting alone in a place like that. Even the busboy will feel sorry for him. Now, get outta here!"

He tried hard to sound enthusiastic for her, but inside, he was dreading spending the evening alone, dining alone, going home and then to bed, alone. He must have laid it on a little too thick though, because she frowned at him and asked, "You wanna join us?"

"Hah!" he laughed sarcastically. "Now that's funny. You, your boyfriend, and me having a romantic dinner at a place like One if by Land." He shook his head vigorously. "I don't think so!"

"We could have a drink at the bar beforehand," she suggested.

"A pity cocktail?" he asked with a raised brow.

"To assuage my guilt for canceling on you," she explained.

He shook his head again. "Nah, we can always reschedule. I'm gonna finish up here. You go home and make yourself beautiful for Richard."

"Oh, no," she argued. "I leave when you leave, and what do you mean make myself beautiful?" she finished in a teasingly offended tone.

"Hey, Liv, you're always gorgeous," he told her, putting his hands up in a posture to indicate that he wasn't looking for an argument, "but if you think you're going to wear your work clothes to a place like One if by Land, you better think again."

She looked down at her attire and then up at him and sighed. "You're right," she said. "I do need to go home and change, so you better get typing."

"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Well, the reservations are for seven thirty, and I am not leaving you here," she said. "I know how you are. If I go without you, you'll work all night to avoid going home, grab a couple of hours in the rack, put on a fresh shirt, have a donut for breakfast, and pretend you're ready to tackle the world in the morning."

He shrugged, "Yeah, so?"

She folded her hands on her blotter and leaned across the desk to speak to him in a low tone. "So, I don't need a partner who's dead on his feet backing me up."

He sighed, knowing she was right. He genuinely appreciated the way she had been looking after him in the year since Kathy had left, making sure he got out of the office at a reasonable hour whenever possible, forcing him to have some kind of social life, even if it was just a drink with the squad at McGinty's after work. He owed it to her to take care of himself.

"Ok, let's finish up, then," he said, trying to act casual. "Then you'll go to dinner, and I'll go . . . home." He wasn't a good enough actor to sound pleased with the prospect of spending another evening in the empty house alone.

"All right," she agreed, "and if you don't have plans, we'll go out to dinner on Friday."

He gave her a grateful smile and a nod and went back to his report.