Chapter Text
The clock on the cablebox read 2:17 a.m. when the sound of her door creaking pulled Olivia from the haze, that is sleep and fever. Her face was flushed, hair sticking to her sweat dampened face. She was curled on her couch, a mound of mismatched blankets, watching the muted glow of the television without seeing it.
“Liv?” A soft whisper filtered in. “Olivia, if you're awake, it’s just me.” Elliot announced as he stepped in locking the door behind him.
The memory of the key exchange flashed in her mind during the Richard White case. How she and Elliot sat outside her apartment in his car. Everyone was concerned, even Munch had offered her a ride but Elliot…Elliot was different. Despite her protest, she still let him drive her home.
Stabler: Blink your lights when you get inside.
Benson: You're just gonna sit here all night until I do, aren't you, you stubborn son-of-a-bitch?
Stabler: Yes, I am.
She could so vividly still see the cocky grin on his face as he said it and all she could do was laugh and shake her head avoiding his gaze. That night, he insisted that he have a spare key. Not because she needed protecting, no. Not because she needed saving, no. But because she was his partner. He had a family to go home to but she had no one and even that wasn’t entirely true because she would always have him if he could help it.
His shadow moved into the light spilling from her small kitchen. He was moving quietly in her small apartment and it felt different. He stopped by her place before the way in which he moved, was different and with purpose. His coat was already off and draped over the back of a kitchen chair, and it felt unnervingly domestic. It wasn't with the same urgency he exuded at crime scenes or the clipped efficiency at the 1-6. Elliot was unhurried, acting as if he were moving in his space. He wasn't a guest… he was an inhabitant.
Olivia’s head throbbed, but she couldn't look away. The sleeves of his dark brown button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing his muscular forearms. The fabric of the shirt pulled slightly across his shoulders as he reached for a mug. Elliot seemed to find the herbal tea without a conscious thought. The clink of the kettle, the soft rush of water into the pot sloshing around, before he placed it on the stove. The clicker tinkering before the flame ignited. He put two aspirin on the coffee table beside her water glass, and she didn't have to be told to take them.
Then, he came to the couch. He didn’t speak, he simply handed her the mug. Elliot gently pushed aside the mess of blankets, lifted her head to fluff the pillow. Meticulously tucking the thick, warm wool around her, catching her completely off guard. He walked back to the kitchen and began unwrapping something. The rustling and crinking of a paper bag and plastic, something liquid being poured with big plops. He carefully padded over to the couch and set the soup down before flickering on the lamp.
“Come on. Eat something. And don't protest cause I know you haven't eaten shit.” he said, settling on the edge of the ottoman cushion holding a spoonful of the chicken soup towards her lips.
“You think you know me or something Stabler?” she croaked.
He smiled and shrugged, bringing the spoon closer. She swallowed the soup, its warmth easing the tightness in her chest. She took another spoonful. He blew on the next one before offering it, his gaze unshakeable, intense, and entirely hers.
Why is he here?
The question, heavy and thick with years of unspoken longing, finally pushed past her dry throat. " Not that I don’t appreciate this” she began clearing her throat and shifting on the couch “But El... why aren't you at home?"
His hand froze mid-air, the spoon hovering inches from her lips. He didn't look up right away. When he did, his blue eyes were a little guarded. Elliot set the spoon down slowly against the rim of the bowl. He shrugged, trying to muster a careless air that failed utterly in the confines of her quiet, dimly lit living room.
"She...left," he said, the words quiet and flat, almost clinical. "Took the kids to her mothers. She filed for separation.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped tight, as if trying to hold himself together.
Olivia felt a wave of immediate, stinging sympathy. Aside from the job, his family was his whole world. A life he carefully and meticulously cultivated since high school.
"I’m sorry, El," she said genuinely, reaching out a weak hand to rest on his forearm. “When? How are you handling that? She asked as she felt his warmth under the soft cotton of his shirt.
He didn’t pull away. He just looked at her hand on his arm, and then back at her face. "She says I'm angry. Distant. Dark," he confessed, like a quiet punch. "That deserves better than what I’ve been giving. Butshut Liv. I try ya know? Says I’m not present, that even when I’m home it’s like I’m not even there." He gave a hollow laugh.
Olivia pressed the issue, even as a small, guilty voice in her head told her to stop. "And what do you think, Elliot?"
He sighed, deep and shuddering. He pulled his hands apart, running a frustrated finger under his collar and loosened his tie. "I love her, Liv. I love the kids, the house, the life we built." His voice was rough, low. "But, I guess she’s not all wrong.”
“What do you mean?” she prodded, taking a sip from her mug
"My feelings are tied up somewhere else," he finally admitted, the words barely a whisper in the quiet apartment.
A cold, sharp pit dropped in Olivia's stomach. Her throat suddenly felt tight. Her fever riddled head suddenly felt crystal clear. She knew. She knew because it was something she fought and buried. Locked away within the deepest confines of her mind. She had always known, the same way she knew when he was about to burst through a door or when he needed a wordless moment of support. That bond, that psychic level synchronicity they had been lying to themselves since the day they met. It was their avoiding the undeniable truth that their emotional lives were so fundamentally intertwined they were practically breathing the same air.
When he told her, his feelings were tied to another, she didn't need him to say the name.
"El," she whispered, her voice rough, a plea and an acknowledgment all at once.
His gaze intensified, becoming raw and exposed and she felt her body light on fire under it.. He didn't have to speak. The devastating hope, the yearning, the fear of consequence, cause god knows there was going to be. Everything was conveyed in the way his eyes clung to hers, in the subtle,yet desperate way his shoulders sunk. They never needed words. Just a look, the slightest of touches, the proximity that drew them constantly into each other's orbit.
God she just wanted to be in his orbit
Her head began to spin again, and it wasn't just the flu.
People talk. They always talked. She knew the whispers and the glances. If they acted on this, they would be proving the speculators right. Worse, if she and Elliot started a relationship, they couldn't be partners anymore. That meant losing the foundation they’ve built…togther.
“You’re doing that thing.” he began
Her bottom lip quivered slightly as her brown eyes reconnected with his blue.
“When your mind is spinning and you don’t know which way is. Breathe Liv.”
"Our partnership, El," she choked out, her voice breaking. "If we... if we go here, we can't..."
"I know," he interrupted softly, his voice full of pain. He reached across and covered both of her hands with his large, warm ones, anchoring her. "But how much longer do we lie to ourselves, Liv? How much longer do we deny what's been staring us in the face for nearly six years?”
“And what is this somehow implodes both our lives?” She asked, her voice laced with fear and reservation.
"Maybe," he admitted, his eyes holding a terrifying clarity. "Maybe it does. But how much longer do we lie to ourselves, Liv? How much longer do we look at each other and pretend this” he gestures between them “this connection is just typical partnership stuff? It’s not. I know it and I think you know it too.”
He reached out slowly, deliberately. This time, he didn't touch her hand; he gently brushed the damp hair from her forehead, his fingers lingering on her skin before dropping away.
"I owe it to myself, and frankly, I owe it to my family, to finally be honest about what I feel and what I want," he confessed, the last word thick with conviction. "I'm willing to take that risk because you are so more than worth it Olivia.”
Olivia watched him, breathless. "And what is it you want, Elliot? Beyond the end of your marriage?"
Elliot steadied his breath and looked at her with such clarity. He rest his large hands in bother her knees giving them a gentle squeeze.
"I want to kiss you without the fear of the Captain walking in. I want to hold your hand in the car without pulling back at the red light. I want to walk into a bar, knowing you're my date, or that I'm on my way home to you."
His voice grew softer, yet more profound. "I want to make love to you and wake up next to you. I want to cook you dinner on a Tuesday night. I want to worship you, Liv. I want to be the one who comforts you when the job gets too dark. I want to take you shopping and stop looking at every new blouse and wondering who’s tearing it off of you."
He paused, his chest heaving slightly, the ultimate, terrifying confession rising to the surface. He dropped his eyes, unable to meet her gaze for this final truth.
"I want to fly you out the country and leave the crime behind when it feels too heavy. I want to see you swollen with my baby inside you, and know that I get to call you the mother of my child. I want to call you my wife one day Olivia.”
“Elliot-“ she sniffled. She hadn’t even realized she was shedding tears, and here he was pouring his soul and wiping them away with the pad of his thumb.
Silence descended, heavy and absolute, charged with the sheer magnitude of his words. He wanted the life she had always thought was impossible for her. She reached out and took his hand, finally. Her grip was weak, but firm.
"Elliot," she said, her voice a mix of awe and terror. "I... I want it too. All of it.”
Elliot didn't speak. He moved with a slow certainty, leaning over the space between them. His eyes searched hers, seeking confirmation, permission, a final green light. When she held his gaze without flinching, he closed the distance.
The kiss was slow and tentative at first, a soft, cautious press of lips. His hand weaving through her chocolate brown tresses. It wasn’t long before he pulled her in closer, everything melting away because they were doing this. It was the taste of the sun coming out after a dark stormy day. It was like rainfall after a drought. Dizzying and all consuming. A release of all that had been built and messily tucked away since 1999.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, foreheads resting against each other.
They looked at one another, their eyes wide, lips tingling. Then, simultaneously, a small, nervous sound escaped them. It started as a choked breath and quickly morphed into a shared giggle.
Elliot pulled back, his mouth curved into a stunned, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Well," he whispered, his voice still ragged. "That happened."
"Yeah," Olivia breathed, matching his smile. "That happened."
They talked for what felt like an eternity about everything and nothing because they could. The ceiling had been shattered and they were free.
When the light outside had begun to pale to the soft grey of approaching dawn, Elliot finally gathered his jacket and stood. The moment felt too fragile to break, too monumental.
"Don't go," she said, her voice small as she scrambled to her feet.
He hesitated, his back to her, and then slowly turned around. He set his jacket back down and walked back over to her.
“Lay with me?”
He smiles then, small and soft. He walked back over to her bringing her into his arms. He buried his face in the nook of her neck, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo. It smelled of blueberries and mint. He kissed her temple, then her cheek, finally a soft, devastating brush of his lips against hers.
"You're still burning up, Liv," he murmured against her skin. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his thumbs gently wiping a residual tear from her cheek. "Let me run you a bath first?" He phrased it as a question but it was already known that it was more of a statement.
Before she could protest and she almost did, out of habit, he was already moving. It was another action of effortless, intimate domesticity. He walked into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and started the water, the low rumble of the pipes filling the early morning quiet.
Olivia followed him to the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watched him work. He tested the temperature with his hand, adjusted the tap, and then reached up to her small medicine cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of unscented bath oil and poured a capful into the steaming water.
"Sit," he commanded gently, pointing to the closed toilet seat. "You look like you're about to tip over."
She obeyed, too weak and too overwhelmed to argue with his care.
“May I?” he pointed to her bedroom and she nodded.
Elliot came back out, opened her bedroom door, and pulled a soft, oversized t-shirt from her dresser. When he returned he hooked it behind the bathroom door.
"I'm just going to wait outside," he said, turning back to her. "Call me if you need anything."
“You..you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.” She offered quietly.
Elliot felt himself hardening at the sheer thought. “Liv” he groaned. “If I watch you, if I stay in here…” He said, looking at her, his blue eyes turning dark with lust. “ I just want to take care of you tonight”
“You are” She said shimming out her sweatpants and stepping out of them. Her long tan legs against the lilac lace panties she adorned. Her long sleeve top was next, under lying a strappy black sports bra.She unhooked the bra, the elastic snapping softly, and let it fall to her feet. She stepped out over her panties and stepped in the tub lowering her body, the warm water expelling all the cold the way hot chocolate does after playing in the snow.
Elliot stood motionless, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on her. The sight of her bare and nature left him breathless. He watched her with utter reverence. A few minutes passed with only the sound of her soft sighs of relief and sniffles. Elliot remained leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the rise and fall of her shoulders above the water line.
"El," she murmured, her voice soft as silk. "Can you... can you wash me up?”
He didn't hesitate. He knelt beside the tub, taking the bar of soap and a fresh washcloth. His movements were slow, strong, and deeply focused on the act of care. He started with her arms, then the back of her neck. He followed the curve of her spine with tenderness and care. He felt the knots of stress coiled beneath her skin and began to knead and massage, trying to work them out. He wanted to ease the pain and the tensions that have built up over the years. As long as she had him, she need not worry.
He cleaned her sides, tracing the delicate ridges of her ribs and her waist. He paused, his breath catching, as he with a trembling hand gently guided the washcloth over her inner thighs and then to the most intimate part of her. Gliding the cloth through her folds, and she responded with a sound that he vowed to commit to memory. He took the time to wash her stomach, her hips, and finally, his touch moving down her long,olive toned legs to her ankles and toes. Elliot was mapping her entire body, making a mental note of every scar, every freckle. He just wanted to cleanse her of the illness and the years of holding herself together alone.
He then lathered the shampoo, working it gently into her hair, massaging her scalp with slow, strong, hypnotic movements before rinsing her clean.
"Come on, Liv," he whispered, his voice thick with a tenderness that made her heart ache. "Let’s get you back in the bed hm"
She stood, wrapped herself in a plush Pewter colored towel, and quickly dressed in the soft t-shirt he set aside for her. Elliot led her silently into the bedroom. He stripped down to his boxers, tossing his clothes aside, and slid in beside her. Olivia burrowed her head into the space between his neck and shoulder, his warm, solid skin against her cheek. He held her tight, one hand resting on her hip the other stroking her hair softly.
"This is…nice. Exactly what I needed." she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.
"It is," he agreed, his voice thick and rough with exhaustion and emotion. He pressed a long, soft kiss to her temple. “Glad I could do this for you Liv.”
They lay there for a beat, wrapped in each other's embrace. Their breathing and heart beats becoming one. Their bodies melding and relaxing, sinking further into one another. Sleep was welcomingly creeping in. In a state of pure, subconscious grogginess, he whispered, barely audible,
"Do you know how much I love you?"
He felt her smile against him, her lips brushing his neck as she inhaled his scent. "I feel it in everything you do," she replied.
He kissed her temple again and held her tighter, her leg across his thigh. She sighs content and at peace. Nervous but excited about what lies ahead, wrapped in the warmth and absolute certainty of each other, they finally drifted to sleep.