Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She’s seen that hoodie before, Kathleen realized, brows furrowed as she watched her father settle into the booth across from her after planting his lips against her forehead in greeting. 

She couldn’t place it for the life of her. 

She knew it looked different from the last time she’d seen it. Worn down from years of use with a few torn seams, a few small holes on the arms, and a small bleach stain on the cuff of the wrist.

It wasn’t something he’d wear–not like that at least–ever, she thought.

She knew it wasn’t one from when he was undercover–all of those were sleeveless and the only clothes he’d kept from that time were the henley’s, the rest she’d help him pack up and drop off at a shelter–and he had never been one for thrift store clothes, especially after living in Italy and having to wear all those tailored suits for his liaison job. 

So, why couldn’t she place that damn hoodie?

“Sorry for being late.” He grunted, situating himself comfortably against the cushioned seats while picking up the menu that had been waiting for him. “Still forget how bad the traffic can get.”

“Uh-huh.” She narrowed her eyes at him, pursing her lips with furrowed brows. “You live fifteen minutes away.”

He shrugged and without missing a beat, “Slept through my alarm.”

She raised a brow and he squinted down at the menu.

Fine, she decided, two could play at that game.

“You always wake up at eight.” She intertwined her fingers and rested them atop the table. 

“I’m old, Kathleen.” He snorted, flipping the menu around.

“Says the man who runs after criminals,” she tilted her head and hummed, adding, “and still gets into fist fights with ‘em.”

“Protect and serve.” He sniffed, tilting his head back and squinting at the small letters.

“Ah, yes, to protect,” she leaned back against the booth, stretching her legs out to purposefully knock against him and spoke once he glanced her way, “and serve.”

His tongue poked against his cheek, narrowing his own eyes, while he furrowed his brows, “That’s what I just said, Katie.”

She stared flatly at him and he went back to the menu.

She snorted and rolled her eyes, detangling her fingers to rest her chin between them. She decided to give up for now–glaring at her father at the upturn of his lips in a small triumphant smirk–and refocused on the jacket, desperate to remember something until the waitress came up to take their orders.

She ordered her usual–waffles and pancakes with a side of hashbrowns and bacon–while pushing her menu to the edge of the table.

He turned his neck to the side, looking up at the waitress as he ordered and Kathleen’s eyes slowly widened as a very noticeable hickey was openly displayed just below his ear. Her mind spiraled just for a moment–what the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fuck–before it hit her.

The jacket. 

That had been their jacket.

A jacket she hasn’t seen in over a decade. 

One she’d thought had been tossed away with everything else that kept him connected to New York.

To Olivia Benson.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d kept it or she did–not that it really mattered.

He was wearing it proudly now, just like the hickey he was sporting, brushing his fingers against it for just a moment, pretending he was scratching at the back of his ear, before moving his hand back around his mug.

He wasn’t as slick as he tried to be.

And she smiled, soft and sweet, as she watched her father relax back against the booth with an arm stretched out against the back, his finger tracing the edges of his mug as he stared out of the window next to him.

With Eli across the country in dual enrollment and Bernie able to live on her own once again, her father was essentially alone in that large, empty apartment. Kathleen was happy that he wasn’t as alone as she thought he’d been. One of the reasons she’d started forcing him to meet her for breakfast every couple of days was because she didn’t want him to feel lonely.

She was happy she didn’t have to anymore–not that she’d allow him to stop after this new development.

She was only disappointed it took them this damn long.

Her father's attention was back on her after he’d picked his meal, and he looked at her with a raised brow, mumbling a small, “What?” Before picking up his mug.

“Nothing, daddy.” She said simply, picking up her orange juice and taking a few sips before setting it down. He stared at her wearily but nodded, taking a sip of the coffee. 

“Next time, though,” she couldn’t help it–one reason being she was just so damn glad to see her father happy again, the other wanting to rub it in that he wasn’t as slick as he thought he was–adding as she smirked, “just invite Liv along.”

She laughed as her father choked on his drink, his face turning a shade of red she hadn’t seen before, quickly pulling up the hoodie and hiding from his daughter.

Chapter Text

Kathleen was the one running late this time.

There had been an accident before the Queensboro Bridge that had left her sitting on FDR Drive for nearly 30 minutes before finally getting past it.

She’d at least called her dad to let him know–”Take your time, sweetheart,” he was already sipping on a drink at the diner, surprising her that he was there already, “let me know when you’re ten minutes out, I’ll put your order in.”–before turning the music up and relaxing against the seat as she waited for traffic to lighten up.

Relief flooded through her veins as she pulled into the parking space beside her father’s beat-up Jeep. Found herself excited about her favorite diner's heavenly greasy food and looking forward to talk to her father about her newest promotion. Her stomach growled as she made her way towards the diner, mind wandering to the appetizingly salty, moist, and greasy hash browns she’d fallen in love with while living with her father last year. She’d always make sure to wake up early enough to come here once or twice a week to have a plate of it with some waffles, pancakes, or french toast.

She hadn’t been able to find another diner near her apartment back in Manhattan that made them quite the same–different consistency, taste, aroma even. Selfishly, having weekly meetups with her father here was more than just to make sure he wasn’t going a bit mental.

Never get between a woman and her favorite carbs.

The smell of the diner washed over her as she entered–coffee beans and cooking oil and a distinct yet unexplainable fragrance that had seeped into the walls of the diner years before she’d stumbled upon it–, its warmth curling around her pleasantly as she pulled off her coat, a starch comparison to the stingingly cold winter temperature swirling around outside, and, as she wrapped her coat around her arms, she paused to take a quick look around the diner.

Her father was situated at their usual booth, sipping on some orange juice while his other arm was resting over the top edge of the booth. He was staring forward at the adjacent chair, nodding and speaking quietly as he set his glass down. That’s when she noticed a small mop of curly brown hair peeking out from just above the booth.

Her brows shot up to her hairline as she watched Olivia–who was back in possession of the gray jacket Kathleen had caught her father wearing last week–make her way from behind the kitchen, where she knew the bathroom was, and looked on in awe as the woman slid into the cushioned seating where her father sat, whose arm moved from the back of the booth to around her shoulders effortlessly and without thought, and whose body molded comfortable against her old partner's side like it was second nature. Olivia smiled at him, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his lips, before looking towards the bundle of curls and that's when she realized it had to be Noah.

Holy shit.

She watched as Olivia drank from the glass her father had just been sipping from and Elliot picked up a fork, stabbing into a sausage link from her plate in retaliation and shoving it into his mouth. She narrowed his eyes, glaring at him, but no malice could be found in her chestnut eyes. Elliot turned back to Noah as he munched on the stolen food, conversing with the child and giving the kid a toothy grin after he finished chewing. She watched as Olivia’s eyes fleeted between the two boys, her expression the softest and fondest Kathleen had ever seen since she’d met the woman when she was just a child, her lips had a simple small smile on them as she watched Elliot interact with her son.

She almost wanted to leave–not because she felt unwanted or uncomfortable with what she was looking at, if anything she wanted nothing more than to slip into the booth across from them with Noah and grill them both about their new relationship–, she just couldn’t find herself to disturb the little bubble the couple had created in her absence, but Olivia turned her head towards the door, no double feeling eyes on her, and broke out into a smile. Olivia’s arm nudged his side, his name on her lips, and Elliot followed her gaze. His smile somehow turned impossibly brighter at the sight of her, the arm that wasn’t slinked around Olivia’s shoulders motioning her over, the fork with a piece of sausage still stuck on its tines waving with it.

“Hey, kiddo, come on,” his deep and soothing voice boomed over the comfortable silence in the diner and if she had been twenty years younger she’d be so embarrassed at the callout, “you don’t sit your butt down imma eat all this delicious food myself.”

She rolled her eyes fondly as she made her way over, situating herself across from the couple and beside the young boy who she’d met over a dozen times to babysit. She exchanged happy greetings, pulling the young boy into her arms and pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he happily spoke her name against her shoulder. 

She couldn’t help the warmth that was flooding through her body as she entered the small bubble that surrounded the booth. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt since she was a young teenager, huddling around the kitchen table with her siblings and father as her mom moved around the kitchen prepping breakfast. Joking and laughing and making gagging noises at their parents whenever one of them would even look at one another. 

It was familiar and tender and made her heart ache in a confusing yet content way.

Her father snatched some bacon from her plate, taking a bite of it before offering it up to Olivia who scrunched her nose in annoyance, whose eyes were full of only love, but still took a bite of the offending piece, keeping Elliot’s attention as she threw a piece of bacon from the man’s plate onto Kathleen’s as an even trade. The blonde hid her smile behind her drink and Noah made the all too familiar noise of disgust at seeing his mom being affectionate from his spot beside her.

And then it hit her, what that feeling was–is–and she wanted to cry.

It felt like home.