A/N: Trying, yet again, to take a different spin on things, and give them Christmas Miracles. What if it was Elliot that had gone to Oregon, under different circumstances? NOTE: Kathy and El split up after having Kathleen. The other kids, therefore, do not exist.
DISCLAIMER: L&O: SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf; This story and scenario belong to TStabler©
It was below zero and snowing like hell, but she walked in without a coat on, no gloves, no hat, no scarf. She just had a sweater with a turtleneck on and a cup of coffee in her hands. Before she even got both feet into the bullpen, Munch's voice rang out.
"Merry Christmas, Li-"
She shot him the most horrifying glare he'd ever seen, and if he thought for a single second she had laser vision, he would have ducked under his desk. He stopped talking immediately. Was it because he said "Merry Christmas" or because he was about to call her "Liv?" Either way, if she was pissed off when she woke up, now she was fucking homicidal.
"Good goin', Munch," Fin spat as he immediately rose to wrap an arm around Olivia's shoulders. She was ice cold, but it didn't seem to bother her. That happens when you're numb. She brushed Fin's arm off of her shoulder violently, because she was beyond comforting, and sat at her desk, staring at the empty one across from her.
Everything was gone. His phone. His coffee mug. Even the pictures that had been taped down to the top of the grey, metal surface. Had it really been a year already? A year since the fucker ran off without telling her? Since he took off to play the hero for the fucking FBI? Since he had been forced to be a fucking martyr and go into the program with the child who witnessed the murder of his parents? Couldn't they have sent another cop who didn't have a fiancée or two kids who couldn't live without him? Why did he have to leave on Christmas anyway? Why, when she was going to give him the biggest news of their lives while they sat by the fire and exchanged their gifts? His was still unopened, on the mantle, dusty and untouched.
She was in such a daze as she stared at his evacuated seat that she hadn't noticed Captain Cragen next to her, or heard his voice the first time he spoke. "Olivia!?"
"Oh, what?" she asked, still staring at the chair, as if she expected him to materialize in front of her at any moment.
"I asked you how Ellie was, and you said, 'mother fucker.' I assume you were not talking about your daughter."
She paled and tightened her lips. She must have been grumbling out loud. "Sorry, Cap. No, she's a little angel, aside from the fact she won't sleep through the night, eat till she's full or ever have any idea who her father is."
Cragen's heart broke. "He's coming home, Li-" She stopped him with that evil glare again. "Olivia."
"How do you know that? How do you know he's even still…" A tear rolled down her cheek and she stopped breathing. She lied awake most nights convincing herself that he was fine. This was the first time she let the thought, the dreaded yet possible thought that he might be dead, enter her mind, and it felt awful. Cragen, with tears in his eyes, cleared his throat. "Go home, Olivia. You can't be here today. Not like this." Cragen rubbed her back and she didn't argue like she usually did. She simply walked out of the bullpen.
The walk home had been uneventful; she ignored the pitiful looks passersby were giving her and by the time she reached her place, her tear ducts had frozen over, so the crying had stopped. She pushed open to door to the fruity-blue house and smiled at the sight before her.
"Hey, Olivia. She just fell asleep. What are you doing home?"
"Cragen kicked my sorry ass out because it's Christmas," she said as Maureen handed her the sleeping five-month-old.
"Oh," the pretty blonde said with a sad smile. "He'll be back soon. He would never have left us if he had a choice. You know that," she said, sounding so sure.
"I know," Olivia whispered. She looked down at the baby in her arms and knew that underneath the tiny closed olive-toned eyelids, she had the beautiful sapphire-blue eyes of her father. How she longed to look into the orbs of the man who passed those genes down to her! "Mo, listen. Just go. I'm sure your mother would love to have you and Katie spend Christmas with her and Carl and the other kids. Ellie and I will be just fine sweetie."
"You sure? I hate leaving you alone here," she said as she rested a hand on her would-be-step-mother's cheek. She noted that it was terribly cold, but thought it best not to mention it.
"I'm sure." Maureen pulled Olivia into a warm hug and kissed the baby gently on the forehead. "I love you, Olivia. I'll go get Katie from school then, we'll be home tomorrow morning." She bundled up and left, locking the door behind her. Olivia cradled little Ellie in her arms and walked over to the rocking chair next to the lavishly decorated tree, sat down and sighed. She didn't really want Maureen to go. She didn't really want to be alone on Christmas. She didn't really think that she was going to be fine. She just didn't want Maureen to see her break down and cry. She held the sleeping infant to her chest, for dear life it seemed, and let a year's worth of unshed tears finally pour out of her cloudy, lifeless eyes.
An hour later, after the baby had woken, cried, ate and fell back to sleep, Olivia walked her to the nursery and laid her in the crib, making sure to face her toward her daddy's photo just in case she woke up. It would be the first thing her tiny, little eyes spotted. Olivia made sure she knew her daddy, even if she'd never get to know him. She smiled sadly as she left and walked into her bedroom, changed and cried herself to sleep.
She heard the noise and jolted awake, pulling her gun out from its home under her pillow. She leaped out of the bed and slid against the wall, holding the gun up, ready to aim and fire at whoever was in the house. She padded lightly out of the bedroom, into the hall, her heart in her throat. She scooted into the nursery and checked on Ellie, who was sound asleep. Relieved, she sidled back out into the hallway and narrowed her eyes at the figure standing by the fireplace. He looked ragged and rather large, and she gasped when she saw that he had Elliot's present in his hands, and he had opened it.
"Drop the box, put your hands in the air, and get the hell out of my house before I shoot your balls off," she commanded, aiming her gun and cocking the trigger. The dark figure didn't move. He sniffled. He was…crying. "Great, I get the sensitive home invader," she quipped.
The figure stepped away from the tree, away from the fireplace and into the moonlight pouring in through the picture window. He had the sonogram photo in his hand, which was shaking, and as he looked at the note, that had been written a year ago, he calculated. "She was born on July twenty-first, right? She's five month's old, now?" She dropped her gun, letting go of the trigger, and her eyes welled up with fresh tears. "Elliot?"
"We have a baby?" he asked, stepping toward her, pulling her into his arms, the tears streaming down his red cheeks. She couldn't speak, so she just nodded. "I'm so sorry, Liv. I didn't…I can't believe I missed…you were all alone and…" Her mouth was on his before he could finish his sentence. This kiss was emotional and hungry and passionate and desperate. She ripped her lips away from his and looked longingly into the eyes she missed so much. She cupped his face with her hands and, even though he was unshaven and stubbly, she ran her soft, delicate hands down his cheeks. "You're here. You're really here," she repeated over and over, trying to convince herself that it was true and not a dream.
"Yeah, I'm here." He slanted his lips over hers again and devoured her completely. He pulled away, slowly and peered into her eyes. "I want to meet my child, Liv."
She grabbed his hand and led him to the nursery, quietly stepping up to the dark cherry wood crib. "Oh, my God. She's beautiful. What's her name?" He took off his torn, tattered coat and tossed it on the floor. Then, he reached a hand into the crib and stroked the tiny cheek, earning a small smile from the slumbering angel. "Ellie. We call her 'Ellie'. Her name is Elle Angelica Stabler. She's…"
"Named after me?" he asked suddenly turning toward Olivia. "You know I never wanted…"
"I didn't know where you were. If I was ever going to see you again, El, if she was ever going to know who you were. I was scared and when she came out of me and they handed her to me and I looked into her tiny blue eyes, I saw you staring back at me," she explained, crying. "I gave her her name because I couldn't survive another day without saying yours."
"Jesus, Liv," he, crying again, too, pulled her back into his arms. "It's perfect, Liv. She's perfect. You're perfect. I missed you, so much." Another terribly tragic kiss, and they were lost. He picked her up in his arms, though they were aching and bruised and scarred, but he cared not, and carried her into their bedroom, laying her carefully in their bed, tearing his shirt off once she was out of his hold.
She stared at him. He had, if possible, gotten more muscular and she thought maybe she had started to drool. He thumbed the buckle of his belt open and yanked his faded, well-worn blue-jeans down and off, leaving Olivia very surprised to see he hadn't been wearing anything underneath them. He threw himself gently over her, like a warm blanket, and covered her with kisses and caresses as he lifted her long satin nightgown up and over her body.
He noticed she'd lost weight, he'd noticed the dark circles under her eyes and as he dropped the red fabric to the floor he noticed the barely healed bullet wound on her shoulder. He pressed his cold, chapped lips to it, Olivia hissed and flinched, but she thought it was the most beautiful gesture. "God, Liv, I'm…"
"Shh…El, don't." He looked up into her eyes as he slid into her for the first time in a year, causing a great gasp and moan of pleasure and pain from her and a deep groan of immense relief from him. "I should have been here. I didn't want to go. You have to know that," he whispered to her as he buried himself to the hilt.
"I know. You're here now. You're home." And he was. Inside of her, in their bedroom, across the hall from their sleeping daughter, on Christmas, he was home. "Merry Christmas, baby," he cooed in her ear as he began to move in a blissfully ponderous tempo. She smiled, wrapping her leg around his hip, drawing him in deeper, and cooed back, "Oh, Elliot. Merry Christmas."
A/N: See? Happy ending. Reviews, please?
