Author's Notes: Listen... I promise to never write something as sweet as this ever again, and I'm sorry for breaking the trust of my readers, who rely on me for very questionable content.
P.S. You don't need to understand the others languages used, as they are explained by context (and probably terribly translated).
The Stabler Letters: Epilogue
12 years later
Her leisurely walk ends at a modern, patterned-glass building that stands starkly beside the colorful stone buildings at the edge of the city. The attendant nods a smile and opens the gate without looking down at the ID she holds out habitually as she enters the grounds. She approaches the familiar metal staircase, and just as she checks the worn, brown leather watch that fits loosely on her wrist, the second-story doors around the building open, and middle-schoolers pour from their classrooms down the staircases.
"Where's Papa?" a blonde with big bright blue eyes calls from the doorway.
"Excuse me?" Olivia laughs in feigned dismay at the smiley nine-year-old who throws her arms around Olivia and receives a kiss on the head as soon as she gets to the bottom of the steps. "He's working with your mom today, remember?" She answers smilingly as the baby-faced girl laces her fingers into Olivia's. Katherine is Olivia's favorite of the Stabler grandchildren, but who can blame her when the other two live on another continent — and when this one is so very much like Olivia's favorite Stabler child. Katherine swings their arms energetically as they walk the stone sidewalks to the bright yellow apartment building, where she loves to sit at the table on the terrace, drawing and painting beautiful pictures of the beach with her Papa while Olivia writes endless words on endless pages.
Hours go by before Olivia and Katherine lift their pencils from their respective papers at the sound of Elliot and Kathleen's voices filling the apartment. Katherine jumps up and runs to the door to hug Elliot as though she doesn't see him nearly every day, while Olivia stays at the table, turning to exchange a warm, wordless greeting to Elliot and Kathleen as Katherine begs her mom to let her stay just a little longer.
"Baby, us four are all traveling to Eli's wedding together in like 12 hours, and we still need to pack," Kathleen says as she zips up her daughter's book bag and swings it over her shoulder, "Plus, you'll get to be with your cousins and everyone else too for a whole week."
"Est ce que tu peux juste faire ça pour moi s'il te plait?" Katherine pleads as Elliot makes his way toward the terrace.
"Si je le fais, je choisirai une grande robe rose pour vous," Elliot hears Kathleen say as he leans down to kiss Olivia's temple, jarring her from her concentration on the page of hand-written words in front of her. She turns to meet his lips' second kiss with her own before he settles into the seat across from her.
"What are they saying?" he asks in a long, loud whisper, gesturing with his thumb toward Kathleen and Katherine.
"Oh they're just complaining and threatening each other," Olivia replies even louder, as she and Elliot watch them, amused at their similarities as they argue playfully.
Elliot interrupts them, exclaiming at high volume, "Sono così belli, ma sono così rumorosi!" trying to show off his Italian language skills to his granddaughter, who gives him a mischievous smile.
"Capisco l'italiano!" Katherine says proudly as she approaches the table to gather her pictures from where they sit next to the woman who has been teaching her Italian for the last nine years. "And we got our beauty from grandmama and our loudness from you," she taunts back maturely as she shuffles her papers into a neat pile while a shared look is exchanged amongst the adults — a look only found in families, where one glance conveys so many things: love and loss and guilt and gratitude and fondness and forgiveness. Nine-year-old Katherine knows in her head who it is that she looks like, who her mother looks like, whose name she has: Kathy is her grandmother. But Olivia is her grandmama.
"Katherine es demasiado inteligente. Tenemos que hablar en español," Olivia shrugs to Elliot, who looks back at her with wide-eyed confusion while Kathleen can't help but smirk as she rolls her eyes at them.
"Si… Si, Español" he fumbles, nodding with feigned understanding as Olivia tries not to crack a smile.
"Estoy aprendiendo Español en la escuela," Katherine joins their Spanish conversation matter-of-factly, not looking up from the colored pencils she is neatly placing into a tin box. Olivia throws her hands in the air, as though she is out of ideas languages that Katherine doesn't know, but a second later, she points at Elliot, pretending to have a mutual realization.
"Ohhhh, ya znayu! Russkiy!" she says in a strong Russian accent, interrupting Katherine from her pencil organization as she looks at her suspiciously. Elliot nods again, opening his mouth for words that eventually come out of his mouth with a poorly-executed accent of his own.
"Russkiy… Si Si" he switches from Russian to the one word he knows in Spanish confidently, crossing his arms over his chest, earning him the reward of his wife's, daughter's, and granddaughter's laughter.
"Teach me that one next," Katherine says as she hugs Olivia goodbye, then rounds the table to hug Elliot.
"Common, smarty-pants, we'll see these two weirdos tomorrow." Kathleen hurries as she takes Katherine's hand, and both mom and daughter say "I love you" in ASL with their free hands before Kathleen pulls the door closed behind them, leaving Elliot and Olivia alone in the early evening light.
They let the welcomed silence linger between them as they both lean back against their chairs and breathe in the salty air for a few minutes, gazing out at the ocean together until Olivia turns to find the one in her husband's eyes watching her instead, looking at her the way he does after a day of working with an anti-trafficking organization has reminded him how awful the world still is: relief. She is his solace.
"You okay?" she whispers. He nods reassuringly and reaches across the small table to her hand that rests beside her discarded pen and papers.
"Working on another book?" he asks, almost admonishingly, as he covers the top of her hand with his palm and slides it up her forearm, gripping her as his mind eases.
"Not yet," she promises as her eyes trail down his tense shoulder and follow his arm to her own. A memory alights — his hand, pressed flat on her desk in the squad room, his sleeve rolled up over his muscular, tattooed forearm, his same sea-blue eyes looking down on her with worry, with love. Her fingers touching his arm the same, small, sedative way they do now: her thumb and pointer give his skin a gentle, momentary squeeze of understanding. That is all he needs now and needed then, and it has always meant what it still means: she is here; she loves him. "I'm just writing a letter," she says, re-reading the last lines she'd written.
"Can't wait to celebrate another promotion with you when we're home for the holidays. I'm so proud of you and everything your team is doing for our city.
Your friend, Olivia Benson Stabler"
"Let's get dinner down the street. We can drop it on the way," he says, and she smiles an agreement as he lifts his relaxed hand from her arm and raises it to her cheek, a gesture to comfort the stirring he still sees in her mind too often. She brings her hand up to hold his there and turns into his palm, letting her lips rest on his skin as she closes her eyes: relief. He is her safe place. Then she gives his hand a quick peck and sends him off to shower. While Elliot readies himself, Olivia folds her letter and slides it into an envelope, then makes her way to Noah's empty bedroom, where her desk had migrated a couple years earlier after Katherine had laid full claim on the guest room. When Noah returns home for the summer next month, she will happily abandon her desk for the terrace, dreading the day he officially moves out and hoping he settles nearby. For now, she sits down and opens the single drawer, gingerly moving aside the beloved items within to retrieve a page of stamps. She places one on her envelope before writing out the return and mailing addresses.
Olivia Benson Stabler
273 Promenade des Anglais
06200 Nice
France
Katriona Tamin
New York Public Service Department
Special Victims Unit142 East 51st Street
New York, New York 10022
She tidies a stack of postcards Noah has sent her over the years, all signed with the three last names that mean the world to him, and she places the nearly-full page of stamps on top of two faded letters tucked inside identical envelopes, worn by thirteen years of reading and remembering.
A/N: 0_0 Someone save me from what I've become.