AN: Sorry about the delay, I've had a busy couple of weeks. Good news is that I already have the next two chapters written so there's that :) Huge thanks to everyone reading this. It's been a LONG time since I wrote anything and even longer since I shared it online. The reviews have made me smile. As always, my beta E is amazing and incredible and my life is not complete without her.
It's late and Noah is finally asleep. As she returns to the kitchen, Olivia grabs a glass and a bottle of wine. This is the first moment in almost three days that she has allowed herself to finally breathe. A seventeen-year-old girl from Tampa was found in an alley in Soho, barely alive. She'd gone missing four months ago and their leading theory was sex trafficking, though they had very little evidence pointing to that. She feels that tightness in her shoulders-the one that happens when a case isn't sitting well with her-and she pours a generous amount of wine into her glass and takes a slow, languid sip.
The news about Kathleen had shaken her. She hadn't expected it. She didn't want to believe it was true. She hadn't seen Kathleen since that day in court. Since that day she had driven to Jersey to pick up his mother so she could talk to her granddaughter. His mother. She had only met her twice, but she knows that Elliot had a rocky relationship with his mom and she knows what that's like. To bury the person who's supposed to truly understand you and love you the most, but they just-couldn't. And he had gone through their deaths alone. She can't even bring herself to picture him during this time because the thought of that much devastation on his face steals her breath.
Her phone vibrates on the countertop, right next to what remains of dinner. She reaches for it and stares at the unknown phone number that illuminates her screen. And she knows that it's him.
"Benson."
She hears his sharp intake of breath; he didn't expect her to answer. Hell, she didn't expect her to answer.
"Hey. Hi. It's me."
She can feel the smile begin without her permission. She balances the phone with her shoulder and snaps the lid on the container holding what was left of tonight's spaghetti. "What do you want, Stabler?"
He chuckles before speaking. "Can't an old friend call to talk?"
"Sure," she replies. "An old friend can. You don't." Shit, she thinks. That sounded way more accusing than she had meant. She immediately feels bad, but the stress from the last couple of days has caused her so much frustration that she doesn't care too much.
"Liv…"
She takes a deep breath, her hands grasping the edge of the counter. She repeats the words from the other day. "Elliot, what is this? What is it you're looking for here?"
Her phone is silent for so long that she wonders if she should check the screen to see if they're still connected.
"I made a mistake, Olivia." His voice is low. He lets the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I fucked up. I lost my shit and it cost me a lot of things."
She swallows. "Elliot…"
"I never meant to stay gone this long. I shot a kid, Liv. I couldn't get it out of my head. For a long time, every time I thought about that day…" His voice dips to something she doesn't even recognize. It's low and shaky and so, so quiet. "I wanted to eat my own gun."
Her world is spinning. Her chest is filling up with emotion as she turns in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, letting her head fall against the cabinets. Back then, she had spent so much time wondering if he was alright. She had reached out to him multiple times – calls, texts, voicemails – all had gone unreturned. Her nights had been sleepless-desperate sobs escaping her mouth after she had learned from her Captain that he had put his papers in. She eventually gave up, stopped all the calls after a couple of months, after he had never tried to get into contact with her.
After he left, she went through a period of unrest. She didn't know who she was without him. She started to question herself and everything she thought she knew. The cases didn't seem so clear anymore, everything held a grey hue as if his leaving had put a tint on her perspective. She had been angry and obstinate when Cragen had ordered her to work with Nick and Amanda. It took months before she even allowed herself to trust either one of them and even longer to consider them her friends.
Elliot leaving had shifted her world upside down. With distance, she was able to concede that they had been too close, that she had relied on him too much. She never allowed herself room to grow because she thought that as long as she had the job and him by her side, she'd be forever content. But things changed. He left, she'd learned that she was actually capable of having intimate relationships, and somehow-despite all hope having previously been lost-the universe or God or the State of New York had finally recognized her as worthy and had given her Noah. Noah had righted the axis that Elliot had left skewed and made her realize that she had been wrong all those years. She didn't need Stabler to survive. No matter what she had convinced herself in those first few nights when she was alone and sobbing and couldn't comprehend that she would ever be able to breathe again, she didn't need him. It was not need that she had felt deep in her bones, filling her lungs, weighing on her shoulders, engulfing her until she couldn't see clearly. It was want. She didn't need him. She wanted him. She wanted him there. Every single day of her life. And the desire had been so overwhelming and consuming after he left that she couldn't even recognize it for what it was until she was holding a baby boy-her baby boy-and her heart was still beating and her lungs were still working and she knew that she would continue to live without Elliot because she didn't need him. She had all that she needed cradled against her chest.
But the thought of Elliot being in such a dark place that he thought about taking his own life, while she was getting stronger with every birthday party and every milestone and every bedtime story, fills her with an unrelenting sorrow. She hates that he went through this alone and that he hadn't trusted her enough to come to her.
"I didn't want to give up the job. I wanted to take some time, but Tucker gave me a helluva time. He wanted me to go to anger management, to see a shrink, maybe even transfer out of special victims. And you know how stubborn I can be…"
"You told him to go to hell." She knew it. She had told Cragen it's what he would do.
"Yeah," he scoffs. "I did. Shit hit the fan after that. I didn't know what to do. I hated sitting at home all day but I wasn't about to give into IAB."
She listens to his voice as she makes her way to the couch, propping her legs up underneath her and she takes another sip before placing it on the coffee table.
"Like I said, Liv. I became an angry sonuvabitch. The kids hated being around me. Hell, Eli called me 'Oscar the Grouch' until he was eight, if you can believe that. Kathy and I weren't doing so well before Jenna and whatever we had just fell apart after that. She put up with me for a year, I don't know how, but she did. And finally, on Easter, she told me that I owed her a divorce. And she was right."
"What happened to Jenna, El-it wasn't your fault."
"I know that," he sighs. "Now. It took me a really long time. It was just...hard. I knew I'd never be able to get rid of the image I had of her bleeding out in the squad room."
She thinks of the way his words seem to come easier to him. Getting him to confide in her before had been like pulling teeth; he only offered up the bare minimum and he rarely discussed his feelings. Now, his words slide from the phone to her ear like it's always been that way for them. After all this time, she's still learning new things about him.
o0o0o
"Can I ask about work now?" He keeps his voice steady, he wants to keep her on the phone as long as possible and he knows he needs to approach her with caution. He hears her sigh. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to. But I'd really like it if you told me a little bit... Captain," He knows she's smiling on the other end, so he continues. "God, Liv. No one deserves it more. I'm proud of you."
"Thank you." Her voice is thick with emotion. "It's been a lot of hard work."
"You always were the best cop I knew."
He lets the compliment hang in the air of his dark living room, the glow from the muted television flickering against the walls, as if the words themselves were the decor he's been waiting to put up and finally got around to it. There are not many decorations, mostly pictures of the kids and an old drawing that Eli did of the two of them when he was in the third grade. His coffee table is about the extent of his small apartment's interior design-a heavy chunk of unfinished wood that Maureen had insisted on buying him when she ran across it at a flea market. He knows his apartment isn't much, but it's home to him and home to Eli on the weekends. He wonders what Olivia would think of it. But then, he always wonders what Olivia would think about things.
"So…," she begins, pausing for a second. "You said you went to therapy. How was that?"
He can't help the deep laugh that forms from his chest. "The first few months are exactly how you're thinking. I'm not sure if you're aware, but I wasn't really great at sharing."
"You don't say?"
He knows she's smiling again and he feels warmth rush over his skin. "It took some time, but it really helped. I've been able to let go of some things that I couldn't before, and Eli-he gets a full-time involved dad which is great for me, but probably not so much for him."
She chuckles. "He's lucky to have you, El."
El. He can feel that single syllable vibrate in his ear and slide down his skin until it reaches his fingertips, still buzzing.
"I'm glad it helped."
It's quiet again and he's afraid she's going to say goodbye any minute. He needs to keep her talking. "Tell me something about Noah."
"I told you about him the other day."
"I know, but tell me more. What's he like to do?"
He thinks back to Eli at that age. He had really fucked it up with his family for a while. He's lucky Kathy had even let him see the boy and honestly, he wouldn't have blamed her. He had spent his entire life trying to be the good family man that his father failed to be. But in those couple of years, he had spent every night at a bar two blocks down and whenever he looked in the mirror, he saw a glimpse of the man he had hated for far too long. He wasn't abusive like his father, but the same rage and resentment that had filled his old man had made a home on his own face.
"He's a dancer. He tried baseball for a while and didn't like it. So he switched to dancing and I gotta tell you, he's actually really good."
He smiles at the affection that fills her voice and settles further into his couch.
"He eats more ice cream than all other kids combined and he sleeps with a stuffed elephant named Eddie." Her voice pauses, as the sound of her taking a drink fills the phone. "He's such a funny little guy, El. I mean, he's genuinely funny. He's constantly making me laugh. When we found him and learned of his history, I just formed this bond with him and I'm in awe of how happy he is after having such a sad beginning. He's just… he's incredible."
He had always wanted this for her. He remembers the conversation they had while waiting for the elevator and she told him that she had tried adopting and was denied. He remembers the fiery anger that filled his gut as he heard her say that she wasn't prime parent material. He's so grateful that the system had righted it's wrong and made her a mother.
"Well, I'll tell you one thing," he smiles. "The kid hit the mom lottery."
He hears her soft laugh and decides to press his luck. "Would you want to have a drink with me next week?"
He can feel her sudden tension through the phone.
"El…"
"Well, non-alcoholic for me. I don't really drink anymore, but we can go wherever you want." Silence. He begins to panic. "It's just a drink, Liv."
"We're in the middle of a big case. I don't know when I'm going to have time."
He's willing to wait; he's not going to accept the 'too busy with work' excuse even though he knows all too well that it's usually the truth. "How 'bout this? Think about it, okay? Just think about it and let me know next week. No pressure."
He tries to accentuate the last two words even though he knows he'll flounder if she turns him down.
"Okay," she says after a deep breath. "I'll think about it."
He can't see her, but he knows her well enough that he's certain her eyebrows are furrowed, deep in contemplation. He lets this silence linger for a brief moment before he lowers his voice and whispers, "Goodnight, Liv."
TBC…