Chapter Text
PRESENT DAY:
She closes the door quietly behind her. On the other side her son lies in his bed, tucked in snugly under the covers, his eyelids drooping as the fatigue after a busy, active day begins to claim him.
She sighs as she rests her head against the door. She’s tired, too, having had a very rough day today. One of those days that had started on a bad note from the get go with a phone call while she’d been making breakfast for Noah and pouring her first cup of coffee. Chief McGrath, summoning her to his office ASAP.
And the just day proceeded to continue spiraling down as it went on.
Early summer is always a hard time of year. The end of the school year always triggers a spike in cases for her squad: children out of school, being left with babysitters or family members (or even left on their own, unsupervised) by their working parents. Teenagers and college students free to spend more nights up late, partying and experimenting. The warmer temperatures mixed with alcohol.
It’s a collective recipe for trouble.
And with her squad still short-staffed (not to mention overworked and constantly stressed, teetering on fatigue/burnout), she’s having to help juggle the influx, putting in more legwork in the field in addition to handling all of the administrative responsibilities that come with being a Captain.
By the time the day was over and it was time to leave to pick up Noah from dance camp, her head was pounding, her eyes felt scratchy, and the weight on her shoulders and her heart were heavy. She’d wanted nothing more than to go home, wash the day off of her, eat some reheated leftovers and crawl into bed about five minutes after she seen her son off to sleep.
And even that attitude made her feel a horrible sense of guilt, because she’d had actual plans tonight.
No, not just plans.
A date.
With Elliot.
He’d discovered a new wine bar that he’d wanted to take her to for dinner and drinks (no doubt an attempt to impress her with his expanded knowledge of Italian wine), and she’d managed to cash in a favor with Fin and Phoebe to watch Noah.
He’d been very understanding when she’d called in the early afternoon and begged for a raincheck, most likely hearing the fatigue (and underlying emotion) in her tone as she explained how her day had been progressing.
I know how it is. He’d said. But she could hear the disappointment in his voice. They’ve been working on this…them, for a little over a month now, after one evening in early June when they’d taken that leap and begun to confront what had been simmering under the surface for decades. She knew how much he’d been looking forward to seeing her and spending some time with her without any kids around, and without any pesky distractions of work.
She’d been looking forward to it, too.
Because through the last five weeks, she’s learned how truly tactile of a person Elliot Stabler was. How he always wanted to be touching her somehow, especially now that he had permission and freedom to do so. Whether it’s combing his fingers through her hair. Or rubbing her neck or her back. Or holding her hand. Or gently stroking her cheekbones.
Especially when they kiss.
She’s become pretty addicted to the sensation of touching and feeling him, as well. It’s hard for her to put into words, but it’s almost as though any time their skin connects, it’s like an electromagnetic energy pulsating between them at the point of contact. It leaves a tingle in its wake when they part. A phantom imprint, a lingering reminder that this is real.
This is real.
That had been her first thought that evening five weeks ago. The evening that they’d shared their first kiss.
———————————————
JUNE 7TH:
The air is still warm as they walk, finally starting to cool off as the sun gradually descends below the horizon. The park activity has begun to die down a bit.
They’d met for drinks tonight, finally free to spend time together now that his UC assignment with the brotherhood had wrapped up. The majority of the evening had been spent catching up, keeping the topic of conversation light: his kids, her son, his mom. Elliot’s eventual revelation that he’d recently gotten back in touch with Donald Cragen steered the conversation down memory lane, and she found herself chuckling with him as they recounted points in their partnership that most likely would’ve caused their old Captain to yank his hair out, had it not already been gone.
She’d been slightly distracted all evening. As she’d listened to him animatedly talk about his most recent visit with his grandkids, she couldn’t help but note how relaxed he is now…how relaxed they both were tonight. The easygoing banter between them just so…easy. And natural. And for the first time in over a decade, she’d felt a lightness settling over her, a sense of peace and calm that she’d realized she’d not felt in over a decade. That she’d forgotten ever existed.
Her mind had also been wandering in and out throughout their conversation, flitting back to the words her therapist had said to her during her session several weeks prior. Now that Elliot was (hopefully) done with UC investigations for the foreseeable future, she’d been contemplating whether or not it could be time for them to talk about…them.
If she could just muster up the courage to get over the first hurdle, to get past her fear.
But every time an opportunity presented itself, she’d choked back the words and chickened out, choosing instead to swallow them back down with a sip from her glass of Cabernet.
Because even though Elliot has on two separate occasions given her reason to believe there’s something more between them, she cannot help but argue that he was also not in the most rational (or sober) state of mind. And if she brings it up and it turns out that none of it was true, that what she felt deep down was unrequited, she’s not sure she’d be able to continue having his presence in her life. But she also knows (based on experience) that losing him completely once more would be just as bad.
And thus, her cycle of mental misery continues, the emotional spinning of the wheels in the mud.
Eventually their server had come to check on them , and seeing the hour was starting to get late and they’d needed to get home to their families, they’d finished their drinks, paid the tab, and decided to take the long route back toward where she’d parked her car.
And it’s here that they find themselves, the casual conversation they’d been maintaining as they left the bistro eventually dwindling to a comfortable, content silence. They quietly stroll side-by-side, their stride relaxed, casual, and just as in sync as it was back when they were partners. Her eyes wander, watching as parents gather their kids and belongings, preparing to head home for the night. As she watches and again hears threads of Dr. Lindstrom’s voice, giving her his thoughts on her and her former partner, and she cannot help but let her mind drift, falling into this new (and frankly, slightly annoying) habit of daydreaming. Imagining them. Being together.
Living life together.
**************
“Hey…Liv…” He whispers softly.
She remains still.
“Sleepyhead…time to wake up…” She not only hears the deep rumble of his voice, but feels along her cheek where it’s pressed against his chest. The hand that had been slowly raking through her tresses and running up and down between her shoulder blades gently scratches her scalp with an easy pressure, meant to rouse rather than startle.
“Mmmm…”She groans in protest as her eyes open to the sight of her son and Eli kicking a soccer ball back and forth in the distance, the older giving the younger tips on his technique. “Not asleep…” She mumbles into his shirt. “Just resting my eyes.”
“Mmmhmm…your snoring says otherwise.” Elliot teases from where he’s reclined underneath her. She smacks his torso lightly as she yawns. “What time is it?” She asks as she pushes off him and sits up to stretch.
He stretches his arms in front of him before glancing briefly at his watch. “Bout a quarter to five.” He answers as he reaches behind his head, retrieving her bag (the one he’d been propping his head against so he could keep an eye on the boys). “Figured if we were gonna cook tonight, we should get moving.” He adds as he passes it to her.
“I vote for take out.” She says as she gathers up the strewn about items on the blanket around them: her book and her glasses, a water bottle, Noah and Eli’s discarded gaming devices, and her phone. Tossing everything in the bag, she stands as she continues. “It’s too hot to cook.”
He follows suit, standing and grabbing the blanket. He shakes it out, removing the bits of dirt and grass that clung to it as he says. “No argument from me. Italian? Chinese?”
She glances back over at the boys. “Let them decide, as long as we can get a salad, I’m fine with whatever.”
Elliot nods as he folds the blanket. “Pizza it is, then.” He says as a small grin spreads on his face, knowing what the two boys will always opt for when given the chance to pick the meal.
“Noah, Eli…let’s go! We gotta get dinner.” She calls out as she shoulders her bag and glances around, making sure they haven’t left anything behind before joining Elliot, who’s tucked the now folded blanket in the crook of his arm.
As the boys walk in front of them toward the car, he slips his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers and giving a squeeze. Her gaze drifts up to meet his and she sees the same relaxed, lazy grin reflecting back at her that she knows she’s
Not content with just holding his hand, she releases hers from his grasps and steps into him, her fingers brushing along the corded muscles of his back as she settles her arm around his waist, pulling him closer. Taking the hint, he follows suit, his own arm coming to rest on her shoulder as he tucks her into his side. His lips fall to her forehead and she sighs, her eyes momentarily closing.
“This was a good day.” She whispers in a low voice, only meant for his ears.
She feels the lift of his lips against her brow. “Yeah.” He agrees softly.
**************
“Everything ok?” His voice cuts through the silence, steering her mind back to the present moment. Jostled out of her daydream, she casts a glance over at him, seeing his gaze fixed on her face, studying her intently.
Feeling as though she’s been caught in the act, she ducks her head and looks down briefly to hide any blushing that may be creeping up her cheeks. “Yeah.” She answers as she sees two young boys running straight toward her, oblivious to anyone in their path. She steps into his space slightly, her attention focused on swerving to avoid colliding into the children running ahead of their parents. “Just thinking.” She adds, nodding her head politely as they pass by the younger couple attempting to corral their children.
“Seem to be doing that a lot tonight.” He remarks as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of the light jacket he’s wearing.
Her brows knit in confusion. “What do you mean?” She asks as she looks at him once more.
He opens his mouth and pauses, trying to come up with the right words. “I…I’m not sure quite what it is, but you’ve seemed kinda…distant tonight.” He pauses again, shakes his head slightly as though not happy with that choice of word. “Distracted.” He amends. “Makes me think that there’s something going on.”
Damn him. She thinks.
He still knows her so well. A decade and an ocean apart and he can still read her like a book.
By this time, they’ve approached a footbridge that hovers over a man-made creek, the final obstacle to cross in the park before they’d have to cross the street and walk down a couple blocks to her car. She inhales deeply through her nose as she slows down and stops, then exhales on a sigh as she looks down toward the ground, her stomach suddenly knotted with anxiety. He follows suit and stops, as well, pivoting to face her, studying her face closely, waiting for her to continue.
You deserve this, Olivia. She thinks to herself. You deserve to find out.
“My therapist…” She begins. “He said something in my last session.”
She brings her eyes up to meet his, and finds his gaze open and curious. She can see the question and the concern in his eyes.
“He said…” she pauses, the words stuck in her throat. She glances away nervously. She cannot look him in the eye.
Liv…” He encourages, taking a half step closer to her.
“He said that you and I need to see if there’s more here or move on.” She rips the band-aid off, forcing the words past her lips in a hurried rush as she feels the flush beginning to creep up her neck.
He's silent as his brows knit in confusion, trying to understand. “Where?” He asks, oblivious to the weight of what she’s telling him.
She rolls her eyes before looking over at him. She's already embarrassed at how badly she feels she's handling all this, and now she's slightly irritated at the fact that he’s really going to make her spell it out for him. “Here, Elliot. Us...” Her eyes blaze as she gestures between their bodies with one hand. “You and me…and…whatever this is.”
As he processes her words, he cannot help how his jaw drops open slightly as understanding dawns. They silently stare at one another, the air between them suddenly charged at the realization of what she’s just opened the door to: The thing that’s been simmering between them for nearly a quarter century. The thing that they’ve dare not confront head on out of fear. Or obligation. Or duty.
Feeling the need to ease the sudden tension that's arisen between them, he lifts the corner of one lip as he attempts to lighten the mood just a bit. “You talking about me in therapy, Benson?” He asks teasingly.
His humor falls flat, and she scoffs as she moves, charging past him, fearing that if she doesn’t move she may do something she’ll regret (like smack him across the cheek). Realizing his error, he spins and follows right behind, hooking his hand in her elbow to stop her movement. “Liv…Liv…I’m sorry. That…that was stupid.”
“No shit it was.” She responds curtly, her ears hot with humiliation, frustration and annoyance, her eyes remaining glued to a tree in the distance, not looking at him. She shakes her head. "Not funny at all, Elliot."
“I’m sorry." He apologizes again. "It's just, what you said just…it came out so far out of left field, and I wasn’t expecting..." The hand not grasping her elbow waves around as he tries to find the right words. "It just caught me off guard and I didn’t know how to respond.” He inhales deeply as he drops his hand from her arm. “Would it help to know that I’ve talked about you in therapy?” He offers.
Her eyes shift as she leans back against the concrete ledge of the bridge, searching his face for any sign of deception and finding none. He nods. “It’s true. And if I’m being completely honest, it’s not just recently, either. After…after I left SVU…I spent a lot of time in therapy, and your name came up at practically every single session.” He pauses. "I've never told anyone that." He confesses.
She turns her head slightly, shifting her gaze to focus on the water. He follows suit, stepping forward to rest his elbows on the ledge in front of him.
“It does.” She answers in a soft voice after a minute of silence.
“What?” He asks.
“It helps. Knowing that you’ve talked about me, too.” She clarifies.
It really did. Knowing that he spoke of her probably as much as she spoke about him gave her a slight sense of reassurance. Maybe even hope.
“Mmmm.” He hums in understanding.
They stand there, side by side, watching the gentle ripples as they lazily cascade downstream, disappearing under their feet.
“So…” She says, bringing her hands to rest on the ledge, nervously picking at a chip in the concrete.
“So…” He parrots back before falling silent again, not sure what to say.
The awkward silence stretches on, and she longs to return to ten minutes ago, before all this, when the silence felt comfortable rather than stifling.
“Your therapist…” Elliot eventually comments, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he keeps his gaze focused in front of him. “He sounds like he’s a straight-forward type.”
She gives the briefest of nods as her eyes focus on the swirls created by the current. “He can be…pretty blunt sometimes…but he’s gotten me through…” She hesitates, her eyes shutting briefly as she chooses her words carefully, not wanting to open any doors to that particular topic right now. “He’s been a big help through the years.” She finishes.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the slight incline of his head as he straightens. “Good.” He says, before falling silent once more.
Not sure of what to say, she watches as a fallen leaf makes it’s way toward them on the current before disappearing under the bridge beneath their feet.
She’s tempted to tell him to forget the whole thing, to forget that she even brought it up, when she feels his hand come to rest once more on her elbow, coaxing her body to turn to face him. She resists for the briefest of moments before giving in, facing him squarely but keeping her eyes trained on the material of his shirt.
She startles slightly when she feels the feather-light touch of his fingertips as they graze along her jawline before hooking under her chin. He applies the gentlest of pressure, tipping her chin up to look him in the eye.
She gasps at what she sees swirling in the blue depth of his eyes.
The adoration.
The need.
She'd seen a glimpse of it once before, on the night that he'd arrived on her doorstep drugged out. When he'd been on his knees before her, his hand reaching up toward her face, looking up at her as though she were his salvation.
But now he's fairly sober (having only had two beers over the course of nearly three hours, not to mention nibbling on a plate of finger foods they'd shared along with their drinks), and if he's feeling anything like she is, any lingering effects of alcohol that they'd consumed at the bistro are long gone. That same expression from that night is once again crossing his features, but now there's a magnified intensity that hadn't been there last time.
And just like on that night, her lips part slightly in shock. The movement causes his thumb to skim upward slightly, and she watches as his eyes fall to watch his finger, his expression shifting to a mixture of captivation and incredulity. She feels his feathery touch skim up to settle just outside her mouth, and her eyelids flutter as he intentionally strokes the digit along the edge of the fullness of her lower lip.
Elliot…” She says, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Liv…” He responds, his own voice gravelly as his eyes snap up to meet hers, and she sees it in his gaze.
He’s silently seeking her permission.
No, not seeking.
Begging.
Pleading.
Her heart is pounding in her ears. She says nothing, too nervous to speak, but gives the slightest nod that she knows he can feel beneath his fingertips. He gently draws her forward toward him, their eyes open and watching intently for any sign that the other person has changed their mind.
It’s only after their lips meet that they allow their eyes to drift shut as they relax into their first kiss.
It’s soft.
It’s gentle.
It’s…real.
This is real. She thinks to herself, slightly dizzy and overwhelmed at the thought and sensations swirling through her. Her hands come up, one hooking into the bend of his elbow while the other grasping around the bicep of his other arm, needing to ground into this moment. Their lips briefly part only to come back together immediately, and she feels him step into her a little closer, his free hand coming up to rest gently on her waist, as though needing his own reassurance that she’s here with him, that she's kissing him back.
And just like that, it’s over way too soon.
They break apart slowly, hesitant to part from one another. When their eyes open, they share similar goofy, elated, bashful smiles. She doesn’t know about him, but she swears she can feel a slight tingle on her lips where they had connected with his. A pulsing where his fingers still cradle her chin and gently grasp at the dip of her waist.
She cannot help but feel slightly shocked at the ease she felt in stepping over and crossing that line.
They both share a nervous chuckle, and he clears his throat before speaking again, his thumb gently stroking over the slight cleft in her chin.
“I don’t know about you, but I thought that was really nice.” He says, although his eyes exude an emotion that translates to so much more than just nice.
Wonderful.
Fantastic.
Everything.
She blushes, suddenly bashful, and looks down, the movement causing his thumb to drift back over her lips, so that he not only hears her response, but feels it, too.
“I thought it was nice, too.” She says quietly against the pad of his thumb, and it takes all her strength and willpower not to pucker her lips against the textured dips and grooves of his skin as her brain wonders when they can do that again, hoping and praying it could be soon (like maybe at her car).
“And I think…” he says, dropping his hand from her chin and reaching down, taking her hand in his as his smile grows wider. “That we’d be doing ourselves a great disservice if we didn’t follow the good doctor’s orders.” He finishes, his voice light with optimism.
He takes a couple steps around her before pausing and pivoting back to face her, their arms fully extended out from where her hand rests in his. She looks at him, understanding what he’s silently asking.
Asking her to take the leap with him.
To trust him with this.
Taking a deep breath, she takes a step.
And then another.
She feels the slight sheen of moisture in her eyes as she moves, and she can see the telltale redness beginning in the whites of his. As their joined hands fall back toward the ground between them, he gives hers a gentle squeeze, which she returns in kind.
They resume walking in the direction of her vehicle, although their pace is much slower now, practically a snail’s pace.
They’re quiet, feeling no need or pressure to talk, each of them utterly content with the silence and in the feel of their joined hands, swinging gently back-and-forth between them.
———————————————
PRESENT DAY:
The sounds emanating from her kitchen draw her attention. Keeping her forehead against the wood of the door, she twists her neck slightly to tune in, attempting to discern the various noises.
A clattering of silverware in the sink.
The faucet running.
Dishes being loaded into the dishwasher.
The soft strains of classic rock.
Her heart swells at the realization that he'd not only surprised her at her doorstep when she and Noah got home tonight and also cooked a hot meal for the three of them, but now he’s cleaning up so that she doesn’t have to. It brings her a sense of peace and contentment that she feels deep down in her bones, the thought that this is becoming more routine for them. That this is becoming their new reality.
She also recalls what has transpired between them the previous times he's been over here once her son has been tucked away in bed, and her own fatigue is suddenly replaced with giddy anticipation that she feels low in her belly.
Biting her lip in an attempt to stop the goofy grin that is spreading on her face, she turns and shuffles quietly down the hall toward the source of the noise.