He used to think that it wasn't going to work.
But that was before the moment where she first got into his face about making smart-ass comments to her when she wasn't in the mood to deal wit it. It was before he realized that she was going to do what she would to solve a case, never mind what the department brass had to say about it…she wasn't breaking any laws and if she pissed someone off, well, that was their problem. She was just doing her job. And it was before one night where she didn't want to leave the precinct and he felt guilty about leaving her so he dragged her by the arm out of the squad room (another move she'd given him hell for) and took her to a coffee shop down the street.
It is this same place that they find themselves at now, and she kicks his feet.
"You remember the first time you dragged me here?" she asks, and he can't help but laugh at her.
"Yeah, I remember. You downed an entire cup of coffee and then told me off for making you leave the precinct."
She gives him an amused look. "Never did thank you for that," she says, and he rolls his eyes.
"Nine years late, Liv," he says. "Better brush up on your manners."
She snorts. "And you have room to talk, because…?" She trails off, letting him know that it's a question, but he doesn't answer. At least, not at first.
"Did you ever think it wasn't gonna work?" he asks, finally, and she stares at him, a startled laugh escaping her as she does.
"Did I ever think it wasn't gonna work?" she repeats, and after a moment, nods. "Yeah. I did."
He isn't surprised. When she'd first come sliding into the unit, he hadn't thought she was going to fit in, hadn't thought she was going to be able to handle it. But then, she was the one who'd handled it when he was falling apart, instead of the other way around. Six years as partners, and the roles had been reversed: she was the voice of reason and he was not.
Now they find themselves sitting in the same place they were nine years ago, when they'd first become partners, and he realizes at this point that he really doesn't know what to say to her.
"Why?" he asks, because the silence is getting on his nerves and he'd rather talk about this than leave it there in between them, another issue for them to bring up later when they're tired of each other and feel like getting into each other's faces just because they can.
She shrugs. "Because I didn't like you," she says, simply. "Because you were stubborn and hardheaded, and I thought you were an ass, and then you proved me wrong."
He looks at her with raised eyebrows. "I proved you wrong," he says, half-questioningly, and then, "How?"
She pushes at his feet. "First kid case we worked," she says. "That teenage model, you remember?"
He does. It was a case where he'd not only been preoccupied with the case, but with the goings on at home, because Maureen had been going through a phase were she didn't want to eat and she didn't want to be told to eat.
"Yeah, I remember," he says. "What about it?"
"I don't know. It was just the way you were, with the victim's family. Handling the case. Like…like it mattered to you."
They treat all their cases like that, the two of them. Because it does matter. The department says 'don't get personal' but then, it's kind of hard for them to avoid getting personal in a unit like theirs, because it doesn't work that way.
"And that changed your mind?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes and pushes his feet again.
"Yeah, that changed my mind. It made me think you weren't as much of an ass as I thought you were," she says, and then, "Don't get me wrong, Stabler, I still think you're an ass, just not all the time."
He laughs. She reaches across the table and swats at him, catching him in the arm and causing him to nearly spill the cup of coffee he's holding onto .
"Nice going," he says. She smirks at him.
"I answered your question," she says, ignoring his comment, "Now answer mine. What changed your mind about me?"
"You really want the answer to that question?"
"Tell me, or I'll tell Munch and Fin that Kathleen caught you singing Britney Spears in the shower."
"I have never done that."
"Yeah, but they don't know that."
"Oh, and you do?"
"I'm pretty sure I would know if my partner did such things as singing Britney in the shower."
"I don't even listen to Britney, so how the hell would I sing her songs in the shower?"
"You're avoiding the question, Stabler."
"You started it."
Silence, and then both of them laugh. It is a childish argument, and both of them knew it, but it's late, and so neither of them really care. She reaches across the table and takes a few fries from the plate in front of him; he does nothing to stop her.
"You really want to know what changed my mind?" he asks again, and she nods, leaning back.
"I'm waiting," she says. He rolls his eyes.
"It was you getting my face about that one smart-ass comment I made when I first got stuck with you," he says. "And no, I don't remember what I said."
"I do," she says, and he stares.
It was nine years ago, and they had been at each other's throats in a heated moment that he didn't think anyone would remember, least of all her, but now that he knows she does, he isn't surprised.
"Never did apologize for that," he says, even though he still doesn't remember what he says. She takes a few more fries.
"Nine years late, El," she says, parroting his earlier comment. "Better brush up on your manners."
He rolls his eyes. "And you have room to talk, because…?"
It is the same roundabout argument they have every time something like this comes up, and the same roundabout argument that they will continue to have every time it happens. But it hardly seems to matter anymore. It did in the first year or so, but nine years and some odd weeks later, and the two of them know each other inside and out.
When they split up, he will go across the bridge into Queens, and she will stay in Manhattan, and when the morning comes, they will meet up again at the precinct, and she'll have bagels, and he'll have coffee, and they'll go to work. When they split up, it is with the promise that they'll see each other again, an unspoken promise, because somewhere along the line, they became best friends, and he really doesn't see doing this job without her, even though he has, and he can.
"I have room to talk because I'm your partner, and I know you," she says, smirking, and then, "Top that, if you will."
He shakes his head at her, and takes a sip of his coffee, and knows that even though she's saying nothing about it, she knows she's won this particular so-called argument.
He used to think that they were incompatible, but now he knows better.