A/N: This one happened after firetipmyballs tweeted an idea for a scene and I totally stole it. Let me know if you thought it was worth it!

CONFESSION

When Olivia walks out into the balcony, she finds Elliot there alone, sitting in a chair and staring at nothing in particular as he holds a half-full glass of champagne that seems to have been forgotten in the forty minutes she estimates he's spent out there. His jacket has also been abandoned on the back of the chair.

His sleeves are rolled up, showing his Marines tattoo, more faded now than ten years ago, another blatant reminder of the time that's passed. His tie is undone, as is the first button of his shirt, and she unintentionally steals a glance at the small portion of his chest that he's unknowingly exposing, swallowing hard as if that could consume the wave of heat that ripples through her body at the mere suggestion.

She almost doesn't want to disturb him, because even though he's sitting there alone, he looks uncharacteristically peaceful. He does notice her after a minute though, and turns his head toward her, a small smile gathering in the right corner of his mouth.

"Sorry," she whispers with a sheepish smile, scratching her forehead with the tip of her thumb and clutching the coat draped over her other arm. "I'm sneaking out, so please tell Fin and Phoebe I said goodbye."

Elliot's smile fades, and his brow is disturbed by an air of confusion. His torso now turns in her direction as well. "Oh?" he voices, waiting for an explanation.

Olivia cocks her head to the side, pressing her lips together. "Just got a call from my nanny, she has an emergency so she needs to leave earlier than expected."

Elliot puts down his undrunk champagne and stands up. "You need a lift?"

She touches his arm to deter him; it's a reflex, an impulse that has not been informed of the ten-year gap. "No, stay," she says, shutting her eyes tight. "Please, stay. I'll just call an Uber, it's fine." She opens her eyes again, and their gazes linger on each other. She smiles, a big one, and her fingers curl tighter around his bare forearm. "I'm really glad you came. It's good for you to be here, among friends."

Watching her speak, the careful way she pronounces every sound, the warmth in her smile, Elliot is invaded by an impatience, a desire to let her know he's alright, at the same time that he's flooded by such gratefulness for just how precise her understanding is that he's not yet alright.

But it's her. Her presence. It almost makes everything alright. It makes him feel like himself again despite everything else.

A weird emotion flashes through his eyes, and the electricity seems to jolt Olivia into dropping her hand from his arm, a bit too fast, a bit too startled. He continues to stare at her, and his eyes narrow, and for a moment it looks like he's about to ask a question, a very important question. But instead, he scoffs, looks down, shakes his head.

"What?" Olivia pushes lightly.

Elliot loves and hates the concern that bleeds into her brown eyes, disturbing the glint that insists to bounce off of everything about her tonight: the golden surface of her matte sequin dress, the golden tone of her olive skin on the shoulder the fabric doesn't cover, the golden kissed on the ends of her hair as it falls in gentle curls.

He sighs as he raises his eyes to her again, shaking his head. "It's just… You. After what I did, the way you let me back into your life, and you're there for me even when I'm a jerk…" his eyes wander down her figure and come back up, a slow, golden path. "And you look…beautiful."

"Elliot," she whispers as she feels her cheeks burn.

"And I…" he laughs, looking away and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I feel like the worst man to walk the Earth. My wife's body has barely gone cold and I'm sitting here, trying to stay away from you 'cause all I can think about tonight is how badly I want to kiss you. But what kind of man would that make me? What kind of man who's just lost his wife of thirty years would walk up to his best friend in the entire world, that he's known for twenty years, who's been there for him through everything, who's forgiven every shitty thing he's ever done… And out of nowhere, just… kiss her?"

Just standing up straight is a challenge upon hearing that confession, but that's what he does now. He broods and runs and hides and then makes confessions. You mean the world to me.

I love you.

Olivia just stares at him, silent, enigmatic, because that's what she does now. He blurts out confessions, and she stands there and doesn't change her expression and doesn't say a word. But she doesn't run either.

It's a new dynamic for them; she's always been the one with the words, he's always been the one with the action. But he feels trapped; he can't move. So he speaks, and she stays.

And they stay together.

Olivia takes a deep breath, and Elliot knows she's getting ready to say goodnight — she does have to leave after all, and apparently enough silence has transpired between them to bury yet another confession.

But she doesn't say goodnight. Instead, she takes a step toward him, staring intently at him. Her eyes switch between his questioningly, and the answer is yes.

She closes the distance between them, her hand cupping the side of his face, her lips colliding with his, assertive but soft. Her lips move slowly, waiting for his to catch up, and they do. His hands go rogue, one latching onto the small of her back, pulling her to him, the other getting lost in the strands of her hair. She responds by circling her other arm around his back, he feels the wool of her coat against him.

It only lasts for another second, and then she pulls away slightly, leaning her forehead against his.

"There," she whispers, eyes still closed. "You didn't do it. I did."

She pulls away and Elliot watches her, in awe. He lets her disentangle from him. She fixes her hair, puts on her coat. How much silence will it take to bury this confession? It's one that encompasses all the others.

There's no forgetting this.

Olivia's eyes find his again. Smiles escape them and mirror each other on their lips.

"Goodnight," she says and starts to turn away, but before she can move, Elliot's hand wraps around her upper arm, keeping her in place. She turns to look at him.

"I'll give you a lift," he says.

After deliberating for a moment, Olivia nods, and with an involuntary smile, Elliot grabs his suit jacket and follows her back into the hall, walking close to the wall behind the dancefloor to stay out of sight.

With mirrored strides, they leave.