Author's Note: A random little angsty oneshot; I'd set this around season 16 or 17 most likely.
Title comes from "Ten Days" by Missy Higgins.
It didn't matter how long Elliot had been out of the country, away from the NYPD, any of that – there were things he'd learned then that he could never forget now.
One of them was Olivia's birthday.
He knew how much she hated her birthday – "Elliot, seriously, my mom looked at it as an annual reminder of everything bad that happened in her life," she'd once told him. For the first few years of their partnership, she'd even told him a fake birthday to throw him off the scent, and it hadn't been until he saw her driver's license one day that he'd realized the ruse. "Seriously, I don't want people making a big fuss over me. It's my birthday, not my coronation. And don't buy me a tiara."
Maybe it was growing up in a big family or having a lot of children, or some combination of both, but the thought of her not caring about the one day a year that should be her special day – that was what made him upset.
Not that he hadn't failed her in recent years, but being off the grid in the world behind the former Iron Curtain, running security details for businessmen of questionable morals and dubious standards, meant that he hadn't had a whole lot of time to think about himself. It'd been a good place to expunge the worst of his demons.
And now, he was back in the city – after so many, too many years away – and he was looking at accepting the NYPD's liaison position in Rome, and he knew that as long as IAB didn't butt their noses into his past too hard, he'd be okay. Rome would mean he could bring the family overseas with him, would mean that they could get back to whatever would resemble normal for their family.
It worked out perfectly that Olivia's actual birthday was coming up, and while he still hadn't gotten the confidence to stride back into his old life – and plus, if he accepted, he'd be on a plane to Rome within the week with Kathy and Eli in tow, and that would mean leaving her again after they'd only just reconnected – he knew he couldn't totally pass the opportunity by.
"Hey, Maureen? Can I borrow your cell phone for a sec? I need to make a call." he asked, as Kathy cleared away the dishes from the dinner table. They'd invited all the kids over for one family dinner while they were all in the States at the same time – not that anyone besides him would even dream of realizing what the day's significance was outside of that, seeing as how it was Olivia's birthday.
"Sure, Dad," she said, punching in the passcode before handing him the phone.
He wandered off to the den and gingerly typed in the ten digits of Olivia's phone number – God, he hoped she'd never had a reason to change it in the years he'd been gone – and on the other end, he heard it softly trilling.
"Hi, you've reached Olivia Benson. I'm not available right now, but if you leave your name, phone number and a brief message, I'll return your call as soon as I can. Have a great day."
Even hearing her voice on a recording was enough to send chills down his spine, and he yearned to reach across the phone network and assure her that he was okay, that he didn't hate her, not at all, furthest thing from it, in reality – but he'd horribly fucked up, yes – and oh, by the way, I hope you have a happy birthday, despite the fact I'm not there for it or for you right now.
He wanted to say the words – really, any words at all would do - more than he could bear, but as the pinging sound of the recording button sounded, he couldn't make any of the words come out of his mouth.
He stared at the phone for thirty seconds or so, not saying a word – not daring to say a word. If he said something, then she'd know. She always did, when it came to him.
Finally, he tapped off the call and stared into space, knowing full well he'd left her a silent voicemail. When had he become such a coward when it came to Olivia Benson?
"Happy birthday, Liv," he said, to an audience of no one, before he went to rejoin his family. "Hope it was a great one."
"Huh, that's odd," Olivia said, as she saw she had both a missed call and a voicemail from a Connecticut phone number. She listened to the voicemail, but there was nothing to it – no words, not even breathing, just seconds of silence that abruptly ended.
It was probably a wrong number.
After all, if the person on the other end had really wanted to talk to her, wouldn't they have at least said something?
It had to be a wrong number.
When she got to her desk the next day, there was a small bouquet of purple hyacinths sitting next to a cheese Danish. "Happy birthday and I'm sorry," the note read, but it was typewritten, so no handwriting to compare it against, and the card was a generic one that could have been for any one of a hundred florists in Manhattan alone, forget about the other four boroughs.
"Did anyone see who left this?" she asked, gesturing to the flowers.
The squad all turned and looked at what she was talking about, before shaking their heads. "Nah, it was here before I got here, Benson," Carisi said, "and I was the first one of us here this morning. Figured you'd had a hot date last night who wanted to give you a little something special to brighten your morning."
"I can assure all of you, I spent my birthday alone," she said. "Which, unless you want to be spending your next birthdays with me instead of your loved ones, I would suggest you drop the subject entirely. That means you, Fin."
"Got it," Fin said, shrugging his shoulders and loping off to find a cup of coffee.
She savored the soft silkiness and flakiness of the Danish before starting her day, and the flowers were beautiful and added a nice pop of color to her desk.
Thank you, whoever you are. As my former partner used to tell me, it's good not to be alone on my "special day."
-fini-