References and spoilers: Nothing explicit. This was inspired by a spoiler for SVU 23x06 (The Five Hundredth Episode) and is contemporaneous with SVU 23x05 and OC 2x05, but the only thing directly mentioned is from OC 2x04, and even that isn't overt.
A/N: I think a lot about Jealous Elliot, and I've been thinking a lot lately about whether E/O could really ever happen. When I saw a couple spoilers for SVU500, I saw a way to revive Jealous Elliot and dovetail it with the inherent problems I see in an E/O relationship (and then address those problems). In my mind, Olivia's date is Burton Lowe, but he could really be anyone. All feedback is welcome and appreciated - thanks for reading!
And here, the obligatory disclaimer: These characters are so not mine.
"Jealous Is the Lonely Heart"
They were working another case together, so he had been in her office that afternoon to debrief, but she was in a hurry to get home. Elliot assumed it was to relieve the sitter, so when he notices the case notes she had said she was taking home to review before her testimony on Monday still sitting on her desk after she's gone, he doesn't think twice about grabbing them and delivering them to her in person. She's breathless when she answers the door, but she doesn't seem upset that he's there. "Hey," she says, stepping aside to let him in as she returns to the kitchen.
"You left these," he says, holding up the files. She barely glances up at them.
"Thanks, yeah, just set them anywhere."
Elliot strolls through the living room, looking around. The place is tidy. Maybe too tidy. She's moving briskly around the kitchen, clearing out the sink and unloading the dishwasher. "Everything okay?" he asks, ambling up to the pass-through window to watch her. "Where's Noah?"
"Oh yeah, everything's fine. Noah's overnighting with a friend."
Elliot nods. "So, what's…?" He lifts his chin in her direction in an unspoken question.
She glances at the clock on the stove, and Elliot definitely notices. "You know, I'm sorry, but now isn't really a good time," she says. "Can we catch up Monday at work?"
"You got somewhere to be?" he laughs. She doesn't respond, doesn't even look at him. "You goin' out?" he presses. She glances up, and he has his answer. He turns away from the kitchen that she is hurrying to clean up, surveys the too-tidy living room, and considers the fact that Noah is away for the night. Not only is she going out, but she's definitely planning to entertain someone here later. His blood runs cold at the thought. "With who?" he asks.
She shakes her head, and again he knows. He knows! He shakes his head in disdain and disappointment. "Don't give me that, Elliot," she warns him.
"I don't like you seeing him."
"I don't remember asking your opinion."
"I don't like him."
"Big surprise."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. You object to every man I've ever tried to date!"
"What's your point?"
"What's yours?"
He shrugs. "They're no good for you."
"And you're the expert."
He considers this, and then: "Yeah."
"You've been gone a long time, Elliot. Things change."
He watches her as she continues to move around the kitchen. "Not everything," he murmurs.
She straightens immediately and locks eyes with him. They stare each other down for a moment until she finally breaks and says, "You should go," before turning away to finish unloading the dishwasher. He saunters over to the kitchen doorway while her back is turned.
"You should cancel," he counters.
"Not happening," she retorts.
"Come on," he coos, "something came up at work. Happens all the time. He wouldn't have to know you're with me."
"Well I'm not 'with you,' so…" she rejoins sharply.
"Aren't you?" he asks.
She turns toward his voice and finds him leaning against the entryway, peering exaggeratedly around the corner and behind himself, clearly trying to illustrate that they are the only two there. She sighs, almost at her breaking point with him. "Elliot, please don't make this any harder than it is," she asks quietly, thumbing the foot of a wine glass that she has yet to put away.
"So you admit that going out with him is… difficult," he concludes.
His snappy delivery does it—makes it harder than it was, pushes her past the breaking point—and she erupts. "What is it?—what, a game? Is it fun for you?! You don't want me, but no one else can have me, either? Why? Why do you do this? What's the point?! I don't—I don't understand!"
His face has fallen, and that playful spark in his eye is nowhere to be seen as he takes her in, on the verge of tears in her own kitchen. He never meant to do that. Would never. He wonders if there's anything he can say that can fix this, but he's also hung up on one little detail: "When did I say I didn't want you?"
She gasps and makes a slicing motion with her hand, "No. Enough. I'm not doing this anymore. Please leave."
"Not doing what?" he asks softly, alarmed and bewildered.
"I'm not… falling for your… ploys—"
"My pl—?!" he sputters as she continues over him.
"You strung me along for twelve years. Everything on your terms. And then you disappeared. Cut all ties, dropped out of my life completely. Again: Your terms. You can't imagine how much that hurt. I never got over it. And suddenly you're back. And you're trying to pick back up like nothing's changed, pulling the exact same stunts you always have. Some would call it pathological. Others wouldn't be so kind. All this 'parallel universe' bullshit? Don't talk to me about what could have been when you were the one making all the choices."
He stands there dumbfounded for a moment. "I… I'm sorry," he finally says.
"You think I want an apology?" she spits in return.
"No!—but you deserve one. You're right. I haven't been upfront with you. And that needs to change."
"Not falling for it, Elliot."
"I'm serious. Hear me out?"
She glances again at the clock on the stove. "Two minutes."
He takes a breath and his eyes go wide as he tries to think of how to begin and how to say everything he's never said before. "I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you," he finally blurts out. With that out of the way, he continues—a little unsteadily, but readily: "And when we… were younger, I didn't understand it, and it scared me. I felt it, this powerful… pull… and I didn't know what to do with that. Y'know, I had a wife, a family—I loved them, and I didn't know what this thing meant for all of that. I thought I'd lose them if I gave into it. So I… pushed… when it was pulling. And… if I sent you mixed messages—and I know I must've—it's because sometimes I wasn't pushing hard enough, and that pull drew me in." He doesn't know if any of that made sense or was clear, but he glances at the clock and if she's really timing him, he only has about a minute. "Hand to God, I was so obsessed with fighting it that I never stopped to wonder if you felt it, too. I never once suspected that I might be 'stringing you along.' Just like I didn't realize what my leaving would do. And I'm sorry. Yeah, I'm a jealous, possessive prick sometimes—because that's what happens when I can't give into the pull, and I see other people doing what I want to be doing. But I never meant for you to feel unwanted."
She's just standing there with her arms folded, eyes trained on the floor as she listens. The silent seconds stretch out between them. "What about your—" she starts at last, but her voice cracks. She clears her throat and finishes: "Your separation?"
He waits until she glances up at him and shakes his head to tell her he doesn't understand.
"You dated. Right? You dated when you and Kathy…?"
He lifts his head in acknowledgement, but he hesitates before he admits, "Yeah."
"So why…? You nev—" she cuts herself off with a quiet huff, apparently unable to make herself ask the question.
He guesses it anyway and tries his best to answer. "You're… my everything, Olivia," he tells her. "You were even then. And… if I had… tried something and you didn't… if it wasn't… if I had broken what we had, I wouldn't have survived it." He shifts his weight and grows quiet. "I tried to tell you that once, but I know I wasn't very clear."
She scoffs softly.
"I'm sorry. It's the truth," he says.
Suddenly her gaze is somewhere over his head, as if rewatching old memories. "I just—how could you not know? Sometimes when I think about it, it feels like you kept… winding me up just to… watch me spin out."
He instantly straightens and nearly steps toward her. "I would never," he swears.
Her gaze slides down to his and she studies him. "You really didn't know?" she asks.
"Which part?"
She swallows hard and closes her eyes. "How I felt. About you."
He's on high alert as she slowly opens her eyes and meets his gaze. He stares her down, barely breathing. "Say it," he says at last.
She shrugs and blithely tells him, "You were the most important person in my life." It's so easy to repeat it since she's already said it once.
He nods vaguely. "And that's it?" he asks.
She opens her mouth to say something, pauses, and finally says, "You were my everything."
He inhales deeply and asks, "And now?"
She expels a breath. "It's been a long time, Elliot."
He takes that in, nodding as he rolls it around in his head, realizing with endless regret that he could have made different choices all those years ago and has perhaps, as it seems, forever lost his chance. "Right," he croaks. He has learned through the years how to admit defeat, and how to do it graciously, so without further ceremony, he ducks his head and tells her, "I hope you have a nice time tonight."
He's halfway through the living room on his way to the door when he hears, "Is this you 'pushing'?"
He stops short and turns around, thinking she might have come to the kitchen doorway in half-hearted pursuit. Instead, she's still where she was, on the far side of her kitchen. He can see her through the serving hatch. "It's me finally getting out of your way," he explains. They share a brief look, and then he turns again toward the door.
"That's too bad. I'd just gotten used to you being there again."
He smirks, but it's sad, not cocky, as he turns again to face her. "Liv, you deserve… to be able to move forward. And I don't know if you can do that if I'm blocking you every step of the way."
"So don't block me," she says, finally stepping away from the sink and advancing to the kitchen entryway. He's about to remind her that that was his entire point when she continues, "Maybe you should move with me."
All he can do is stare at her.
"Elliot, if I move forward, or anywhere... I'd want you to be there," she confesses. "Beside me," she adds. "With me. That's what I've wanted… for years."
Now he's the one who feels like he's being strung along. "You said things change," he argues.
"And you said some things don't."
Raw, open, and unsure, they can't help but stare each other down. "Cancel tonight," he says at last. "Please."
Wordlessly she steps forward and retrieves her phone from the pass-through countertop. The text she taps out makes no noise, nor does the 'Send' command when she hits it, but he believes her without a doubt when she puts the phone back down and looks up at him. And that's that. At last, after twenty-three years, the only thing in their way anymore is furniture. He takes a hesitant step towards her. She does the same. Another, and another, and they meet near an end table. They watch each other closely.
"We doin' this?" he asks, as if he can hardly believe it himself.
She takes a small breath. "I'm in if you are."
A smile twitches onto his face and fades as he reverently reaches for her, his fingertips skimming her temple as he lightly strokes her hair away from her face. Her eyes fall closed at his touch, and she seems to lean toward him, as if anticipating what should follow. Instead of kissing her, though, he says, "I need to go slow, Liv."
Leaning into his hand but opening her eyes, she instantly replies, "Twenty-some years wasn't slow enough?"
He smiles warmly at the affectionate ribbing and strokes her cheek with his thumb as he explains, "It's that pull. It's stronger than ever, and I'm scared that if I let go completely and just give in… that I'll crash right into you. Break you. Break everything."
She steps into him and wraps her arms around his torso, interlocking her fingers at the small of his back. "Pretty sure I could take it," she assures him.
He smiles again, his eyes dropping to her lips. "If anyone could, it's you. You're the strongest person I know." He rakes his fingers through her hair a little more earnestly. "But I don't want to take any chances."
"Noted," she says. "Slow it is."
His forehead falls to hers, their noses graze and align, eyes close and jaws twitch, and at last there is nothing left in their way at all.
-fin-