Title: Story Of My Life

Rating: Parental guidance suggested. Some strong language.

Pairing: Olivia/Elliot

EDIT 2/19/14: Song title, artist and lyrics removed from Author's Note and chapter text to comply with content guidelines. May also change chapter title to remove any reference that said chapter was inspired or influenced by outside work.

Story Of My Life

"What's up?" Elliot frowned as Fin came out of the men's room shaking his head.

"Some drunk-ass cop in there losin' his cookies," Fin said, disgusted, as he sat down.

"Come on, partner, don't tell me you've never lost it after a night of hard drinking," John said, leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Coupla times," Fin admitted, picking up his beer and looking at it with sudden reluctance. "Not in public. And never like that."

The door to the men's room opened, and Elliot's eyes narrowed as he saw who came out. "Munch, is that who I think it is?" he asked.

John looked at the man, and shook his head. "Depends on who you think it is."

"Liv's old partner, from the Two-Nine. The jackass?"

"Oh, yeah." Comprehension dawned on John's face. "The guy Liv punched. The one she called the 'insensitive prick'."

"I kind of liked your 'loser son of a bitch' but yeah, that's the guy she called the insensitive prick," Elliot grinned. "She'd love seeing him hurl." He watched as the cop took a seat at the bar and began to argue with the bartender about ordering another one.

"Sheesh. Don't he know when it's time to stop?" Fin shook his head. "So what's Liv's beef with him? And where was I when she floored him? I'd'a paid real money to see that." He folded his arms. "Gonna tell me about it?"

John and Elliot looked at each other, amusement gone. "This happened eight years ago, before you joined up, Fin," Elliot said. "I'd just started working with her, and she hated my guts. I remember that afternoon Don called Olivia into his office after she and I got into yet another argument and told her she didn't have to like me, she just had to work with me. Anyway, that evening John and I were going to head out to the bar to relax and have a few…"

"Hey, Olivia, wanna come?"

I figured I knew her well enough to know that she wasn't going to accept, and I wasn't disappointed. She'd turned me down the other times I'd asked; but I thought, maybe with John along, she'd loosen up a little. She sure as hell didn't relax around me.

Olivia was by the coffeemaker, pouring herself another cup of coffee and adding sugar when I asked. To give her credit, she actually put up an appearance of considering before she declined, but the answer was the same. "Nah, you guys go on ahead. I have some work to finish up." She gestured to her desk, which, in comparison with mine, was neat. Comparatively.

"Come on, Olivia." John was apparently tired of her buttoned-up attitude and seemed as determined as I was to get her to relax a little. I can be stubborn, but years of living with Kathy and the girls has told me that women can be much more stubborn. I was going to back off, but John apparently hadn't learned anything about female stubbornness from his four ex-wives. "Let's go." He walked across the squad room, took her jacket from the back of her chair and shook it out, holding it for her to slip into.

I half-expected her to hand him his head. She'd seemed a little on edge today, just a bit more than usual, and when Kathy acted like that I knew I had to walk carefully, because it was that time of month. Olivia stared at John for a moment, then at the coffee in her hand. "I just made this coffee," she said, and my eyebrows climbed into my hairline. Was she actually…

"It's cold by now." John told her with his trademark grin. "And besides, I made the last pot, which is why there's so much left." She'd just taken a sip, and at this revelation…or the taste of it…she choked. I crossed the room to where she stood, took the cup from her hand, and handed her a napkin to dab at the coffee stains on her blouse. Fortunately she'd chosen today to forgo her usual light blouses and go for something in black, so the spilled coffee showed as a slightly darker stain on the collar. The stain on the light-colored lapel was a different matter. "Damn it, I just had this thing cleaned!" She stared at the stain ruefully, and I felt my lips curving into an involuntary smile. She looked up at me, and I felt the smile slip when I saw her eyes…but after a long moment, an eternity, she smiled reluctantly and blotted the excess coffee. "Just for that, you're buying," she said to John, and slid her arms into the coat he was holding out for her.

I didn't want to give her any time to reconsider her decision, so a few moments later she was sitting in the front passenger seat of my car with John following me in his. The black Cadillac looked like it was on its last cylinder, but it would get to the bar downtown all right. I just didn't trust it to be able to get back uptown to Olivia's apartment later, and I was sure that Kathy wouldn't mind me giving Olivia a ride home.

We parked and walked in together. "Bar or booth? Ladies' choice," I gave Olivia the choice. She looked at me, and again I got that disconcerting feeling that she was looking at me and weighing me against some sort of internal standard, and that drives me nuts. I hate it when she does that. Finally she said, "Neither. Table."

I held my hand out in front of me, and she gave me one of those rare smiles of hers; wide, with the corners of her eyes crinkling just the tiniest bit. She's pretty when she smiles; I'd noticed that, and I tried to get her to smile more, but she took everything seriously, and she didn't smile often, much less laugh. I'd been her partner for nearly a month now, but I could count on one hand the times I'd heard her laugh…and still have fingers left over. Didn't stop me from trying to get her to laugh, though. And yeah, maybe she found some of my attempts annoying, but it had worked on three occasions so far and I hadn't given up hope yet.

Did I mention I'm stubborn?

I tried to pull her chair out for her, but she captured it herself before I could get it. She gave me another of those thoughtful looks, and I was seriously starting to reconsider my decision to bring her along when she finally smiled, sat down, and said softly, "Thank you, Stabler."

I got a smile. Not the wide one I liked, but it was still good. Now if I could get her to stop calling me by my last name when we weren't at work, I'd be a happy man. I flashed her what Kathy called my 'charming Stabler grin' and said, "We're not at work. Call me Elliot."

"Elliot." She smiled as a waitress came over, and I made a mental vow to myself that I'd make her give me five of those wide smiles by the time the evening was over, and I'd get her to laugh at least once.

She ordered herself a Miller, which surprised me, because I hadn't figured her for a Miller girl. I drink Miller too. I'd figured her for something a little more genteel, or something flavored. John got himself his usual, and we sat there for a while discussing the merits and flavors of different kinds of beer. She had experience with a lot of different kinds of alcohol; I wondered how she'd gotten that experience. She didn't look like the heavy-drinking type, or a binge drinker.

The waitress came by with menus, and I suddenly realized I was hungry. I knew Kathy would probably have dinner waiting in the microwave when I got home…I'd told her I had to stay late at work to finish up paperwork, so she wouldn't expect me home for dinner. I figured I'd eat lightly now and fill up later, but the table next to ours was crowded with a group of cops sharing a basket of fries and chatting loudly, and the smell made my stomach rumble. "Anyone hungry?"

John took a menu from the waitress. "I could eat." Olivia took one too, probably more out of politeness than anything else; I'd seen her wolf down a hero sub from the corner deli only two hours ago; she couldn't still be hungry after that. So I was surprised when she got herself a roast beef sandwich and some fries, lightly salted. When the waitress left with our orders, I raised an eyebrow. "Hungry?"

I hadn't intended it to be funny, but she did laugh. Okay, maybe not laugh. Chuckle? Whatever. "I have a very active metabolism," she said. "I eat and a few hours later I'm hungry again."

"Damn. Wish I had one of those. Wouldn't have to spend so much time in the gym." This elicited one of those wide, eye-crinkle-at-the-corners grins. Score two, and I'd already gotten that laugh. Maybe I should try for another one?

"Since when do you spend time in the gym?" John ribbed me, and I shot him a look of mock offense.

"Hey, I have to look good for the girls."

"Elliot, you're married. You don't have to worry about what you look like. And your girls are teenagers, and the twins are eleven. Maureen and Katie are too involved with the boys at their school to worry about what their Dad looks like. Right now you're just the Bank of Dad and a set of keys to them." Olivia choked on a mouthful of beer and started cracking up, and I was surprised. Maybe I wouldn't have to try so hard to get her to laugh; the beer seemed to be doing that for me. Must remember that. I should get her drunk more often. I should be miffed that John knows so much about my kids, but I was intrigued by my partner's sudden transformation into this pretty laughing creature.

"Looks like you guys are having fun." I'd seen the guy coming up behind Olivia, but I didn't know he knew her until she twisted in her chair and jumped about a half foot in the air in surprise. I hadn't even known the human body could move that way.

"Oh. Hi." My radar went on the alert. Olivia wasn't unfriendly, not exactly; but her body had just tensed. She didn't like him, and I decided right then and there that I didn't like him either. Anyone who can put my partner even higher on her guard than she usually is, is someone who needs to be watched. Carefully. I could feel my eyes narrowing. John saw it too, and nudged me. I forced myself to remain relaxed, but I knew my eyes were still cold. I couldn't help it.

"Gonna introduce me?" he slipped into the empty chair next to her without an invitation, and beside me I felt John tense too. The guy touched Olivia's elbow and she pulled it, firmly but without comment, out of his reach. Couldn't he sense he was intruding? Her good mood had vanished.

"Elliot, this is Officer Dave Freeman, my former partner from the Two-Nine. Dave, this is my partner, Detective Elliot Stabler, and my friend Detective John Munch from the One-Six." I noticed that she introduced all of us with our ranks too; we ranked him, and I filed that information away as I tried to figure out the reason for the hostility. Her former partner…so they should be on better terms.

"Nice to meet you." Olivia was reaching for her beer at the same time Dave held out a hand, and he knocked it from her hand. She made a quick grab for it, just saving it from spilling with some quick juggling. Excellent reflexes…but I knew that already. She could drop papers and pens like the rest of us, but the other day when Kenny Briscoe accidentally dropped the empty coffee pot she caught it before it could crash on the floor. And it was still hot too. She seemed to have this sixth sense for falling glass; I wondered where she'd gotten it. Just another of those questions I had about my new partner that I was looking forward to finding out over the next twelve months or eighteen months. She'd have enough of the SVU by then; all new transfers did.

"Enjoying work at the SVU?" Dave Freeman had turned back to Olivia, seemingly oblivious to the near-miss. She nodded curtly, saved from answering by the appearance of the waitress with our orders. I took mine, John took his; Dave, however, took Olivia's before she could get it herself and set it on the table in front of her…after he snagged one of her fries for himself. John glowered darkly at Freeman; I did too. Olivia looked like she was biting back some kind of sharp retort; I almost wished she wouldn't. I'd love to see how pissed she could get with this jackass. "Good." Freeman handed her the ketchup; she politely took it but didn't use it. "You'll get enough of it soon. You know, I don't even know why you signed up for the Panty Police. Unless you like that sort of thing. Run into any pervs yet?"

Jesus, the guy was such a jackass he couldn't see just how close to the edge he was pushing her. She looked like she was ready to spit nails. And I wouldn't have blamed her.

Instead she closed her eyes briefly as she ate a fry, and I could almost hear her counting to ten in her head to keep her temper. I'd heard of people who did that, but I'd never met one until Olivia. It was interesting; by the time her eyes opened the anger had cooled somewhat. She'd tightened the leash. "Karen suggested that was where I could do the most good, so I decided I'd give it a try. I've liked it so far." Hmm. She liked her job here. Maybe she'd stay longer than the average year-and-a-half? I could get to like working with her.

Dave grinned. "Yeah, right. You like looking at beat-up chicks who let themselves get raped. Okay." He laughed. "Or maybe you swing that way? I never pegged you for a lesbo, but you know, you never know—"

Olivia put her beer down on the table with harder-than-necessary force and said, clearly enough that even the noisy party at the next table could hear her, "Dave, get lost. You're drunk and it's making you an insensitive prick. Go home and sleep it off. I'll forget what you just said if you're gone by the time I get back." She pushed her chair back and headed for the ladies' room at the back of the bar.

"Oops. Did I hit a nerve there?" Dave made no move to leave. Instead he picked up Olivia's beer and polished it off, and then helped himself to another of her fries. "Have you noticed that she's real sensitive about rape victims? I mean, jeez, she needs to grow a skin." I made a move to get up and toss him out; John gave me one of his dark looks, and I subsided as he leaned forward.

"No woman 'lets' herself get raped," he said. "That's the second rule of the SVU. Olivia's gotten that a lot faster than most of our transferees, and certainly a lot faster than you. Good night."

"No woman lets herself get raped?" Freeman got up, not quite steadily, and laughed loud enough to attract some attention not only from the party at the next table, but a few others in the room. "Tell that to Olivia. The only reason she's here is because her drunk psycho bitch of a mother let herself get raped!"

My jaw dropped. John's jaw dropped. We both stood indignantly, and I knew I was going to hit him, John or no John.. The entire room went silent. That was personal; he shouldn't have shouted that, especially not here in the middle of a cop's bar with a lot of other off-duty cops in it. If she had told me that, I would never have broken that confidence.

"Look here, you loser son-of-a-bitch—" John started, then stopped, because the temperature in the bar had suddenly dropped about ten degrees. Cold rage entered the room from the direction of the ladies' room and strode across the floor, navigating tables, and stopped in front of him. One hand came up and swept in a half-circle that stopped in a noisy, forceful impact on his cheek.

"Get the fuck out of here, you bastard." I have never seen any woman so pissed off.

Dave was either so stunned his brain wasn't working, or he never had one to begin with. "You're calling me a bastard?" he asked. "You're the one who doesn't even know who her father is!"

Olivia froze for just a second before she punched him. Hard. He fell back into the chair he'd just gotten up from, and stared up at her with a dazed look around the black eye he'd soon be sporting. She turned and grabbed her purse, dug out her wallet, and dropped some bills on the table, and turned on her heel and left.

I didn't even think. I dropped a twenty on the table to cover my order and ran after her.

I didn't see her outside the bar. I'd assumed that she'd go straight to the car and wait, but there was no sign of her. I looked around; no Olivia. Shit. I dug my keys from my pocket and got in, then peeled out of the parking lot and made a left…then realized I had no idea where she lived. I had no idea which way she'd go. And damn, she could move fast!

I drove around the block, then got on the main north-south connector and cruised along slowly, scanning the sidewalks until I suddenly saw her. She was heading north, and her hair was so messed-up I figured she'd started running as soon as the bar door had closed behind her. I pulled up to the curb. "Olivia!"

She saw me. "Go home, Elliot," and she sounded so terrible that I decided instantly I wasn't going anywhere.

"It's cold, Olivia," I got out of the car and waited. "Come on, get in. We can talk."

"I don't want to talk. I want to go home."

"I'll take you home. Come on." But she brushed past me without a word, her eyes avoiding mine, and I barely had enough sense to turn off the engine and grab the keys, closing my car door before following her, falling into step beside her. "Talk to me, Olivia."

She laughed, but it was bitter, filled with emptiness. "What do you want me to say, Elliot?"

I didn't know. I just wanted her to talk to me. We're partners. If we're going to be partners, I should know shit like this. Now I understood why some cases hit her harder than others. Now I knew what drove her. "I don't know. He's a jackass, Olivia. Forget him. He shouldn't have said all that stuff in the middle of the room like that." We walked on in silence for a moment. She made a sharp left at the corner; I followed.

"You didn't ask me if it was true." Her voice was suddenly soft, uncertain.

"I don't need to, Olivia. Your personal business is your business. I have no right to pry." Besides which, her reaction told me everything I needed to know. Dave Freeman was a fucking insensitive prick, but he was at least a truthful fucking insensitive prick.

"My mother is not a psycho bitch."

"I never said she was." But the pain in Olivia's voice made me wonder.

She stopped suddenly and turned to face me. "I'm the product of my mother's rape. She was drunk one night and it happened. The guy was never caught. I don't know who my father is, and at this point, it's unlikely I'll ever know." She finally raised her chin to meet mine, and what I saw in her eyes staggered me. Raw emotional pain, anguish, a haunted look that I'd seen in her eyes a few times before on a few cases, and fear. No, not fear. Hopelessness. I was just wondering what that emotion was doing in her eyes when she turned around and took a left turn. Taken by surprise, I hurried after her. When I caught up with her, she spoke without looking up. "I'll put in my transfer papers tomorrow."

"What?" That made absolutely no sense to me, so I grabbed her arm and stopped her. "What the hell are you talking about? You just started; I haven't even gotten you broken in yet!"

She looked up at me in disbelief. "After hearing what Dave said in there, you still want to work with me?"

"Aw, fuck." That explained the hopelessness. "Is this why you left the Two-Nine? Is this why you transferred here?"

She sighed and stared at the sky, and I saw the streetlights reflected in her suddenly damp eyes. "No one wanted to work with me anymore," she said softly. "Harrison and Gilman went out on a DUI call, and they came back with my mother. I saw her when they started to take her down to booking and I tried to convince them not to book her." She stared down at the sidewalk, kicked at a tuft of weeds growing from between the cracks, then reached down and picked a bright yellow dandelion and stared fiddling with it absently. "She was really trashed. She saw me and started screaming about how she wouldn't have been drinking if it wasn't for me. If I weren't around as a constant reminder of what happened she'd have been able to move on with her life. I was yelling at Harrison, trying to get him to let her go as a favor to me, and she just…"

Olivia took a shaky breath. "She said that I was violent, and I'd turn out just like my rapist father. I think it shocked everyone….Gilman let go of her…and she ran at me and hit me. She missed and fell over, knocking herself out on the floor. And then the sergeant came over and told me to take her home, they wouldn't book her, so I took her home and cleaned her up and got her to bed, like I did so many times while I was growing up." Olivia sighed and stared at the dandelion, whose stem she'd just shredded. "Before I started working at the SVU I hated her. Now…I just feel sorry for her. When I worked with Freeman a year ago if he'd said that about my mother, I'd have probably agreed with him. But now…I see other vics like her, and I think she's incredibly strong to have gotten this far. It can't have been easy for her having to take care of me when she never wanted me to begin with. I wish—" she clamped her lips closed on whatever she'd been about to say and started walking again around another left corner. I followed her; at this point I couldn't have done anything else. I was shocked, shaken…and through my mind ran images of my own family, my parents, my sibs. We'd had rocky times, but I couldn't imagine any of us wanting to be anywhere else. I couldn't imagine my mother and father not wanting me. I couldn't imagine a life like Olivia's.

"So that's the story of my life." She came to a stop, and I almost ran into her. It took a moment for me to realize we'd just circled the block on foot and I was back beside my car. "This is what I am."

"Oh, God, Liv." I didn't even think about what I was saying or doing. I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her, because suddenly she just looked so lonely standing there on the sidewalk, shoulders squared, trying to blink back the dampness I could now identify as tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

She endured the embrace for about a minute, then pulled back. "Sorry for me?"

"Oh, God, no." And I wasn't lying. I didn't feel sorry for her; Olivia was not the sort who inspired pity. "No, Liv. I'm sorry for what you had to go through, I'm sorry that those sons-of-bitches that you used to work with rejected you like that." Did Don know? I'd have to talk to him. "I don't care what happened to your mother, Liv. It's not who you are."

"Who am I?"

Sweet Jesus. Dickie had asked me that just the other day; I'd been able to answer that. How the hell could I answer this?

"I've always been what everyone wanted me to be. Who do you want me to be?"

Oh for shit's sake. "I want you to be you, Liv," I told her firmly, staring her in the eye. "I want you to be the woman I met that first day, the woman who looked all of us in the eye and didn't back down, the woman who laughs at John's jokes and criticizes his coffee, the woman who has my back out there every day, the woman who argues like hell with me when you don't agree with me, the woman who fights for the vics as fiercely as she fights for the mother she cares about." Whatever Olivia's mother's hang-ups were, Olivia loved her, cared about her, and that was enough for me. "I don't want you to be what I want you to be. Who do you want to be, Olivia?"

"Your partner."

"You're that already. And you'll be that until you don't want to be that anymore." I took a breath. "I've never had a female partner before. It's taken some getting used to, and the habits I got used to are different with you. I'm sorry. I know I can be difficult sometimes. When I start being difficult, Liv, please, for God's sake tell me. Kathy tells me so at least four times a month, and my kids tell me at least four times a day."

Her lips twitched upwards. "You rarely see your kids during the day."

"All right. Three times."

She laughed, and I got that big smile that reminded me of my earlier vow. Score three, and two laughs. I was making progress. "Go home to your kids, El."

"Huh?"

"I said, go home to your kids, El."

My grin threatened to split my head in half. "You've never called me that before."

"You never called me 'Liv' before either."

Huh. I didn't even realize I'd done that. "Is it bothering you? I could stop."

"No," she said after a thoughtful pause. "I think I like it. Everyone called me Livy before, I don't like that. It sounds so…childish."

Right. No 'Livy'. Must remember, must remember, must remember. "So, Liv. Before I go home to my kids, can I take you home?"

Another smile. Score four. "Do you even know where I live, El?"

"No, but if you tell me, I could learn. Then you wouldn't have to walk or take a cab or the subway or whatever it is you've been taking."

"I like the walk. Clears my head on the way home, and I get a lot of thinking done." But she stepped off the curb to the passenger seat of the car. "I'm up on West 82nd."

She didn't live all that far from the precinct. Maybe a thirty-minute walk if she was in a hurry, forty or forty-five if she was just strolling. Not too far, but still a fair way, especially if it had been a long day or she was tired. Or if it was night, when anything could happen.

"Here we are." I pulled up in front of the building. "Got your keys and everything?"

She fished around in her purse and pulled out her keys. "Yep." She smiled at me. Score five! And one more laugh than I'd set out to get from her. Definite progress. And we were on a nickname basis now. Damn, if I'd known she would loosen up like this, I'd have taken her out for drinks earlier.

I'd do without Freeman, though.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the courthouse at nine." She looked at my quizzical expression. "Don't tell me you forgot we were supposed to meet Abbie Carmichael there to review testimony for the Bryan case."

I had forgotten. "Yeah, yeah, I remember." I must not have been too convincing, because she saw right through me.

"Liar. You forgot." Her smile took the edge off her words. "It's okay. That's why you need me as your partner, to remember the stuff you forget." She climbed out, a silvery laugh floating in the cold night air as she closed the door and turned back for a moment. "El? Thank you." And she was gone, heading into the building. I watched her go in before I pulled away from the curb.

Fin shook his head. "Man. What a jackass." He turned to check out the cop, now snoring facedown at the bar. "Glad Liv don't work with him anymore."

"Yeah, me too." Elliot finished his beer. "Well guys, it's late. I'm gonna head home."

"Me too," John stood and stretched his back, popping vertebrae. Fin winced at the sound. "Damn, man, hurts just lookin' at ya." He got up and shrugged on his leather coat. "Come on, let me take your bony ass home and tuck you into bed."

"Thanks, Mom," John said sarcastically as he followed Fin out the door. "Night, Elliot."

"Good night, guys." Elliot dropped a twenty on the table to cover his tab, and started to leave. Acting on impulse, he stopped, went back to the table, and pulled out his notepad and pen. Hey, Freeman. Thanks for being an insensitive prick. He thought for a moment, then signed the note Elliot, 1-6, SVU. He dropped the note beside the slumbering Freeman's limp hand and left the bar feeling considerably happier. He drove home in the same mood; he'd almost forgotten the incident in the seven years since it had happened, but the sight of Freeman brought the memories to the front. And he still felt the same dull anger at the guys from the Two-Nine for rejecting Olivia like that. She was a good cop, and an even better partner and friend.

He didn't feel much like sleeping when he got there, so instead he turned on the stereo and grabbed a beer. As luck would have it, Dickie had left one of his CD's in the player and left it tuned; the song that started playing was from a band Elliot wouldn't ordinarily listen to, but even as he crossed the room to change it, a line from the song popped out at him.

Olivia had stood there on that sidewalk eight years ago telling him the story of her life. In the eight years since, he'd helped her write it; her mother's death, and after that, the gradual process of becoming truly free, stepping out of who she'd been with her mother around to become the woman she was now.

His heart ached suddenly on that last soft note. He wanted to be there. If he or Olivia ever split up as partners, or transferred to different precincts, or if something ever happened and one or both of them were no longer cops, he'd still want to be in her life. He'd want to be with her, as a friend or as whatever time made of them, for the rest of her life.

He went to the stereo and started the song over, closed his eyes as the first soft notes changed to a pounding high-energy rock beat, and decided his son didn't have such bad taste in music after all.

He had to smile at that. Yeah, they had been going the same way, hadn't they? He just hadn't known it when she'd led him back to his car that night eight years ago. When she'd chosen to let him take her home that night, neither had known that they'd be in it for the long haul.

And his too. Anything could happen. Like Kathy leaving him. Like his kids somehow miraculously not being scarred by the abrupt separation. Like them accepting him and continuing to love him. Like Liv, continuing to be there for him and supporting him and covering for his ass.

He had to laugh at that. There were times during those first weeks with her as his partner he'd wondered what he'd done wrong to deserve the curse of having a temperamental female for a partner. He hadn't known that her defensive wall was a shell to cover the hurt she'd felt when her former precinct suddenly hadn't wanted her there anymore. Now having her was a blessing; he couldn't imagine anyone being as patient with him as she had been over the last year since Kathy had left.

"Sure, Liv," he said to the instrumental that followed the question. "Sure I will."

Elliot let his eyes drift closed on that soft note. He could see Liv's face behind his eyes; Liv as she was now, the fierce protector of victims, the crusader, the firecracker she'd become…but superimposed over that image was Olivia as she had looked that night eight years ago, lonely, anguished, haunted, despairing. Hopeless. She'd tried to find a family of sorts at work, and he knew that she hadn't found what she was looking for until she came to the SVU. He, John, Fin, Don, Casey, George, and Melinda made an odd sort of family, but it worked for her, and she was happy. He couldn't remember having seen that hopeless despair in her eyes any time recently; in fact, he couldn't remember when the last time was that he had seen it. The thought elicited a 'warm fuzzy feeling', as Maureen had put it when describing her latest boyfriend to him a few days ago, and he suddenly sat up on the couch, staring at the stereo as if he'd ever seen it before.

"When the hell did I start falling in love with my partner…?"