Call It What You Want, a law and order: svu fanfic

A/N: Howdy! Creative blocks suck. I've started two other stories and just had zero traction on them. This finally came out.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Song is "We're Not Friends" by Ingrid Andress

We've been lying to ourselves

Acting like we're something else

How'd we get in this masquerade?

"How about a friendship, how does that sound for now?"

Olivia had been the one to say it, and she knew it was all but a lie the second it left her mouth, but she just hadn't been ready yet to call it anything else, anything more.

She wanted to chastise herself for being so stupid. It had become abundantly clear in the last few months that her gut that she'd always relied on to lead her to the perp, to the truth, was more flawed than she cared to admit. She'd hadn't listened to her mother's drunken rage about Burton. She hadn't been listening to Rollins, Carisi, and Garland warning her that Elliot was nothing but trouble. At what point was she supposed to stop listening to her gut and start listening to the people who could obviously see what was going on in her life better than she could?

She'd never anticipated his invitation to Christmas, nor the fact that Noah would actually want to go. Couldn't have predicted how excited all the Stabler children looked, even Eli, when they walked through the door (later finding out they'd come on the heels of Bell bearing bad news). And surely could never have predicted how easy it felt to have Elliot's arm around her on the couch while Noah dozed in her lap and one of his grandchildren dozed in his as they watched a Christmas movie after dinner.

"That was fun Mom," Noah had said as they were driving back to their apartment. "How come we don't spend more time with them?"

"It's complicated honey," Olivia said, trying to think of exactly why they didn't spend time with the Stablers more. She knew why. Had a laundry list of reasons, in fact. But none that Noah was really old enough to understand.

"Elliot's a police officer too and we both work a lot," she said. "There just isn't always enough time."

"But you guys like each other," Noah said. "Shouldn't we be making time to see them? You told me that when you care about people that's what you do. Like when you get Uncle Fin to take shifts so you can come to my dance recitals? It's what you do for people you love."

Olivia nearly choked on her own spit hearing those words come out of Noah's mouth.

"Well that's why I do it for you sweetheart because I love you," she said.

"Yeah, but don't you love Elliot and his family too?" Noah asked. "I mean they all seem to love you."

"I guess they do," she answered, pulling to their parking space in the garage.

God, even her soon-to-be nine-year-old could tell she and Elliot were more than friends. What the hell were they doing?

There's a secret in your eyes

It's the same one that's in mine

Aren't you tired of being this way?

Elliot was tired of this, collaborating on cases but not being on the same team. They seemed to owe loyalty to different sides now. She was still firmly on the side of the victims, but most other departments outside of SVU didn't particularly care about the collateral damage of victims or fallout unless the bad guys found their way behind bars or into body bags.

So when he'd heard that SVU was out chasing one of Robert Byers looney followers, someone Moldanado and a few other detectives had been following for months because of his online activity, making sure he was anti-terrorism's problem and not theirs, Elliot prayed they wouldn't get roped into it and he'd have to go up against her again, like he did with the Navarro case. Or the trafficking party. Or literally any time he'd seen her while he'd been undercover as Eddie.

He hated looking at her during those times and seeing the look behind her eyes that said "Where's my partner?" Because honestly, even though he felt like he still knew her, like it hadn't been 10 years since they'd been on the same wavelength, he knew she probably saw the same look reflected back at her.

There were times when he'd look at her and it was like the good old days where they were running the streets, like the case with the bootleg Purple Magic. They were in sync again, going after Jade and Uncle K, and her stopping him from walking into the middle of a shooting, and him jumping on top of her to keep her safe at the first sound of gunshots.

But then there were times, like outside the courthouse during the Wheatley trial, where he would look at her and she was different. Not bad different exactly, but she no longer looked like the woman he remembered. She'd go cold. She'd put up walls and boundaries with him the way he used to see her do with other people. They hadn't used to do that with each other, but she'd done it to him now.

And it was exhausting. Wasn't she tired of denying what was between them? As much as he missed Kathy, as dark as losing her made him feel, and as helpless and hopeless as he felt about Wheatley being a free man, still coming after his family, he wasn't afraid of what he felt for Olivia anymore.

He'd told her the truth unexpectedly, and while he'd tried to smooth it over, he hadn't taken it back. He didn't have to anymore. He was free to love her, in any way he wanted, and admit as much. He'd tried to tell her again that he'd meant it until her voicemail cut him off. He tried to show her by inviting her to Christmas when words seemed to have failed. He had been so excited when Olivia and Noah actually showed up. He thought they'd been moving in the right direction but then she pulled back, hard.

So on December 26, when he watched the news and saw that Robert Byers had been shot by NYPD's Captain in Washington Square Park to avoid him detonating a bomb and threatening the city on what should have been a peaceful and relaxing extended holiday, nope. Elliot was done. He wasn't just going to hang back anymore. He was tired of walking on eggshells around her.

He picked up his keys, yelled for Eli and Mama and told them he'd be back, and pointed his SUV toward Manhattan.

Call it what you want

But it won't change a thing

"Oh for the love of God," Olivia muttered as she got off the elevator on her floor and rounded the corner.

Mrs. Rollins had been kind enough to keep Jessie, Billie, and Noah another night so both Amanda and Olivia could have time to relax and unwind from the last three days. Byers was dead, everyone else was in custody and she'd spent hours answering to IAB and McGrath and all she wanted was to take a hot shower, eat some of that leftover ham and mashed potatoes she and Noah had to abandon three days ago because she got called into work (and the apple pie. Definitely the apple pie), and try to forget that she'd ended a man's life with a bullet to the brain hours earlier.

She did not account for picking up the pieces of another Stabler crisis and yet it looked like she was going to be doing just that.

She paused before she got too close, studying Elliot from afar. He was wearing jeans and a henley, something he seemed to be accustomed to now, whether from living in Italy or his stint as Eddie Wagner she wasn't completely sure. His bald head was leaning back against the wall by her door, legs stretched out across the carpeted floor because she had an end unit and he wouldn't be disturbing anyone. His green army jacket lay in his lap, and to his right, there was some kind of white bag full of she wasn't sure what because she was too far away to tell without her glasses. She thought about turning back around and going just about anywhere else just so she didn't have to clean up another mess tonight, but the low rumble in her stomach made the decision forward. Food outweighed fear right now.

"Go home, Elliot," she muttered as she approached the door, pulling out her keys.

"Not a chance, Captain," he said, not opening his eyes.

"I can't deal with anything else today, especially anything that isn't urgent," she said, flicking the lock and holding onto the door frame as he stood, stretched, and gathered his things.

"You can't deal with General Tso shrimp and extra egg rolls?" he asked, holding up the bag.

"What?" she asked, genuinely perplexed that he seemed to be here for a social call, the day after Christmas, after what felt like the longest 72 hours of her life. Well… maybe not the longest 72 hours after those four days with Lewis. But they'd felt long nonetheless.

"I saw the news," he said, nudging her through the door and shutting it behind him, turning all the locks and bolts before hanging his coat on the hook and kicking off his shoes on the entryway mat, like they belonged there. "And I know after a hard case, especially after one where she had to use her gun, my friend Olivia tends to get caught up in her head and neglects to do things like feed herself. Where's Noah? Does somebody have him for the night or does he need picked up?"

Olivia stood open-mouthed next to the armchair she'd been thinking about getting rid of after the night he showed up here drugged out of his mind but she just hadn't been able to do it yet. She didn't know what to say. This felt like a trick. In the old days, they may have gone for a drink, late-night pancakes at the diner. Elliot may have even driven her home and waited until she blinked her lights before he finally made his way back to Queens to be with his family. He didn't do things like bring food to her apartment and ask her if her kid was taken care of.

"Liv, where's Noah?" Elliot asked again, calm, gentle, like he didn't want to startle her.

"He's with Amanda's girls at her mother's place," Olivia said, finally shucking off her coat and leaning back against the chair to remove her boots. Her ankle was killing her but she somehow hadn't realized it until now. "Amanda's going to bring him home early afternoon tomorrow when she picks up the girls."

"Okay, good," Elliot said, making his way to her kitchen and unpacking the bag on the breakfast bar. "You go get a shower, get changed. I'll heat up the Chinese. It'll be ready when you come out."

She continued to watch him bustle around her kitchen, somehow knowing exactly where she kept the plates and cups even though he'd only been here twice, once after she broke her ankle and the night he was drugged, both times not even making it beyond the living room and yet he knew just where everything would be. Like it was still 1999 and he was comfortable enough to invade her space and steal her orange juice.

"I have leftovers, you know," she said, unzipping the grey hoodie covering her body (though not their grey hoodie. She'd never wear that to work now because something could happen to it. That was reserved for the laziest days at home) leaving her in a black turtleneck and her work pants. "We were going to have a big Christmas Eve meal until McGrath called."

"I'm sure you and Noah had the best Christmas planned," Elliot said. "And you're probably going to try to pick right back up where you left off when he gets home tomorrow. So let me feed you tonight. Let me take care of you tonight. You do it enough for everybody else, especially me and my family. It's your turn to have someone look out for you."

"Because that's what friends do?" she asked, arching her eyebrow.

"Something like that," he said, popping one of the plates in the microwave before marching toward her. "Now go, shower, change, use up all the hot water, drown yourself in girly body wash or whatever the heck the stuff is that Kathleen insists is essential but I think just leaves sticky flower residue on the walls."

He turned her body so she was positioned towards the hallway and gave her a pat on the lower back that was just inches away from being her ass instead.

"Hey El," she called before she went.

"Yeah?" he asked, checking the plate and adding more time to the microwave.

"If the food is cold, how long were you sitting out there waiting for me?" Olivia asked.

"Not long," he said, not looking her in the eye. "Hour or two at the most."

"Two hours?" she said, appalled that he just sat there that long, food in hand, not even knowing if she was coming home. It wasn't like he texted her to ask or anything.

"Shower, now," he said pointing down the hallway.

Because this was something friends did, right?

Call it what you want

But at the end of the day

She looked a little better after her shower, hair wet and curly, face clean, and dressed in an oversized sweater and yoga pants. Definitely better than she had when she got off the elevator. She thought his eyes had been closed, thought he'd been asleep when she saw him, but the second he heard movement he'd cracked them just enough to see her and register her discomfort, not joy, to see him there waiting for her.

Not like the day he returned from Quantico when he'd heard about Sonia Paxton's murder. How he told one of the assholes there to get him home as fast as possible because he wasn't about to play games with the TSA and flight delays when shit was going down and she needed him.

It was then, right before it all went to hell, that he felt like they were the closest they had ever been. He would have done anything for her, including shoot a sixteen-year-old unstable victim who was one miscalculated step away from taking her life. Even now, years later, after more than one round of therapy and inquisitions from IAB, he wasn't sure if that's exactly what was going to happen, but in that split second it's what his mind told him was going to go down and he reacted.

And even to this day, he knows he'd do it again if he had to.

He couldn't tell her why he'd done it. She'd have blamed him and then blamed herself twice as hard. It was like Gitano all over again, but worse because they were closer, because unlike then he pulled the trigger even when she didn't.

He couldn't tell her he was leaving because then he'd have to tell her why. It would ruin his marriage and their partnership, and maybe even their careers, hers especially. Because no matter who was really at fault, in male-dominated fields the woman always got the short end of the deal. Always.

At the end of the day, they would never be just partners. Just friends. They could slap any nonchalant label they wanted on their relationship, but it was always going to be much, much more.

We're a kiss at 2am that tastes like wine

The Chinese food had been good. The company had been better. Despite her initial thoughts, Elliot really was just there to be with her, to take care of her. He'd finally started asking her about what he missed when he was gone. He took it more slowly this time, sticking to safer topics like how she rose through the ranks, how Cragen and Munch retired, and if she still kept in touch with them. The cases she'd worked with the happiest endings, which led her to tell him about Noah's adoption.

But as the night wore on and she was fighting sleep, she was afraid for it to end. She didn't want to go to sleep with the images of her shooting Byers behind her eyes. They'd inevitably lead to images of Lewis putting the gun to his head, pulling the trigger, and the warm feeling of blood splattering across her face.

"You okay," Elliot asked, reaching across the couch, gently touching her wrist. "Looked like you went somewhere else for a minute."

"Just know it's getting closer to bedtime," she said, glancing up at the clock that read 1:50 a.m. "It's always hard to sleep after a case like this, you know?"

"I do," he said. "You keep replaying it over and over when you close your eyes. Even if you're exhausted."

"Exactly," she said.

"Got something that might help," he said, turning to face her and lifting up his long legs so they were crossed on the cushion. He motioned her towards him.

"Come over here, sit with your back to me," he said.

It felt like a trick but she complied. He hadn't led her wrong this evening, yet.

Slowly, he brushed her damp hair around to rest on her right shoulder, and she felt his cool hands on the expanse of her exposed neck and shoulder blades, gently massaging the tense muscles.

"The trick is getting so relaxed that your brain doesn't even realize there's anything else to think about except being blissed out," he said.

Olivia had enjoyed spa trips before, but those masseuses had absolutely nothing on Elliot's hands. She was practically melting into his touch. She felt herself becoming more boneless the more he pushed on a few particularly sore spots above her rib cage. He maneuvered so his legs were on either side of her, locking her in on the couch. She let out a contented sigh and leaned back against his chest and looked up at him.

"I think I found your next career move," she said. "Policing stops working for you then you can open a spa."

"Well that all depends," he said, tilting his own head down to look at her. "Are you going to be one of my repeat customers?"

"If you could make me feel this relaxed after every tough case, absolutely," she said, raising a hand to cup his cheek.

He smiled down at her.

"Then consider the Stabler Spa open for business," he said.

Then he did something she hadn't expected. He dipped his head just a little further and captured her lips with his own. He tasted like peppermint, Chinese food, and wine, somehow just like she always expected he might.

We're a ride home in the dark

With our fingers intertwined

Elliot knew his mouth acted before his brain could stop it and by the time the alarm bells were sounding he'd already had Liv's lips covered for a good 10 seconds. He went to pull back but one of her hands was still cupping his cheek and when she felt him start to lean away she wound the other up to the back of his head and neck and kept him in place.

Holy shit. They were really kissing On her couch with her between his legs. At 2 a.m. In an empty apartment. While she was vulnerable after she shot a man in the head not even 24 hours ago.

When she finally pulled back he was almost afraid to look at her.

"Olivia, I'm so sorry," he said. "That wasn't right after the day you had."

"Oh come off it El," she said. "It's been a long time since anybody has wanted to kiss me, and last I checked you promised to make sure I wouldn't be thinking about the shooting when I closed my eyes tonight. Mission accomplished."

He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. She wasn't mad? But she'd been the one who'd slapped the "friends for now" label on them just a few weeks ago? All he knew is he'd wanted to kiss her since he'd been back. Ok, hell he'd wanted to kiss her for 23 years. Definitely, since the night they'd gone to Jersey to look for Eli and she'd slid her hand into his on the center console of the car and held it until they found the right street corner, and again when they'd gotten back in the car to go to the police station.

"I don't have to be sorry?" he asked, tentatively.

"No," she said, sitting up and turning to face him

You and me keep on tryna pretend

But you and me, yeah we gotta admit

We're an extra set of clothes on the bedroom floor

Olivia had had a lot of first kisses in her life, but none quite like that. And none that she had really, truly hoped would be her last first kiss ever.

The line of friends that she was trying so hard to still hold was getting blurrier by the minute, and she wasn't sure if she even wanted to keep it at all. But something in the back of her mind said they still weren't fully ready to cross into anything more. Kathy hadn't even been gone a year. As far as she knew he still didn't know anything about Lewis.

"Well, maybe I should let you get to bed," Elliot said. "You want to be fully ready for Christmas 2.0 tomorrow, right?"

She did. But she also wasn't ready to let Elliot go. Like if she let him walk back through that door again tonight he might take off, disappear again into thin air for another 10 years.

"Would you mind staying?" she asked. "You know, just… because… in case…"

She couldn't find the right words. She was terrible at asking for help Especially horrible at being vulnerable when it came to Elliot.

"Anything you need Liv," he said. "You got an extra pillow and blanket for the couch?"

"Yeah, sure," she said. "I got some old sweats you can wear too. Follow me."

She held out her hand and he took it, and she led him to her bedroom. Not exactly how she pictured that for the first time, but he'd been in her bedroom before, at her old place. The night they tried to catch Dean Porter being the total slime that he was. He was standing awkwardly, back to her closet while he watched her rifle through drawers looking for a pair of pants.

"Are these mine?" he asked, confused when she handed him the navy blue sweats with the Marine Corps logo on the hip.

"Of course not," she said. "I know a ton of Marines who wear a men's XL and like to leave their shit laying around everywhere."

She cracked a smile and he cracked one back.

"You can change in here," she said, and he was already sliding off his shirt. "I'm going to change in the bathroom."

"You're not wearing that to bed?" he asked.

She picked at the hem of her sweater, holding it up.

"I'd literally sweat to death if I slept in this," she said. "Be right back."

Then she gathered her things and made a beeline for the bathroom.

Where I see you all the time

But still wanna see you more

Elliot had shucked his jeans and socks and had thrown his shirt somewhere but didn't see it as he tried to kick his clothes into a neat pile in the corner. Something felt off about being in her bedroom, her personal space, while she wasn't here.

He noticed the little collection of photos she had in tiny frames on her vanity. The people that must mean the most to her. There was a picture of her and Rollins and Carisi and Fin and who must be Rollins' daughters smiling in a hospital room, the youngest kid just an infant. There were two pictures of Noah, one of them together and what looked like his school photo. There was one of her and Fin making goofy faces at the camera, one of her and Barba and another man he didn't recognize with jet black hair and tan skin that made him cringe a bit. And last but not least, there was a small but recognizable photo that he had tucked away in a box in his closet. From their very first precinct Christmas party. He had his arm around her shoulders, she had her eyes closed and head back, laughing at a joke Munch had made before Melinda had come up and snapped their photo.

He missed those days, back when they saw each other every day, spent more time with each other than anyone else. When things like joking around with Munch and Fin about something stupid were more common than finding themselves at odds with one another.

"Contrary to popular belief, no matter how long you stare at something you can't move it with your mind," she quipped from the doorway and he spun around. What he saw made his jaw almost hit the floor.

Olivia was leaning against the doorframe, hair in a messy bun, sweater, yoga pants, and definitely her bra in her hands. She had on a pair of red plaid sleep shorts and his black henley. No wonder he couldn't find it. The little thief had snagged it on her way out of the room. It was loose everywhere except her chest, which pulled at the buttons, and he had to try not to gulp when he took her in.

She just gave him a smile, walked to her closet, and discarded what was in her hand inside. He noticed as she walked he had some scars on her thighs, wondering where they came from because he didn't remember her having those back when they did undercover work and she wore dresses far shorter than he would have liked her to go out in public wearing because it made every straight, red-blooded male in a 50-mile radius start to drool.

But tonight wasn't the night for those questions.

"I guess I'll um…" Elliot started. "Grab a blanket and head to the couch?"

He knew it came out sounding like a question. He didn't want to be presumptuous, but God he was not going to be able to sleep out there knowing she's in here, dressed like that, in his shirt.

"Or," Olivia said, walking to one side of the bed and pulling back the blankets. "Maybe you could just stay in here?"

"Are you sure, Captain?" he asked.

"Consider it an order, Detective."

He didn't need for her to tell him twice.

You and me keep on tryna pretend

But you and me, mmm

We're not friends

This wasn't how or when Olivia ever expected to share a bed with Elliot Stabler, but just like their first kiss, somehow it felt right. Like everything they'd done, everything they'd gone through, had culminated to this moment.

She was a side sleeper, he was a back sleeper. Their sides of the bed were opposite. His arm fit perfectly around the curve of her shoulders and back. Her head was the perfect size to nestle into the hollow between his chin and shoulders.

She was just about to drift off to his scent of mint and sandalwood when his voice pulled her back once more.

"Hey Liv," he said. "Do friends do this kinda thing? Been a long time since I actually had a good friend. A best friend."

"I don't share my bed with friends, Elliot," she mumbled, his lips grazing his peck as she talked.

"Then what the heck are we?" he said.

"Pretending," she said. "We're pretending we're friends, but I think we both know that's not the case."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he said.

"If I was uncomfortable we wouldn't be here like this right now," she said. "I've been trying to pretend for a long time that you're not the only person who makes me feel comfortable and safe. But you are. You always have been."

"So then, what are we?" he asked.

"We're two people who aren't getting into this tonight," she said. "We are partners, and we're going to get some uninterrupted sleep and just let this be nice without overthinking it. We've already done enough of that in the last 23 years, don't you think. Plus, we're going to have a very hyper eight-year-old here tomorrow who wants to open Christmas presents. We're gonna need all the sleep we can get."

"You mean I can stay for Christmas tomorrow?" he asked.

"You better," she mumbled, slowly drifting from consciousness. "You're the one making breakfast."

She was so relaxed that she drifted off before she could feel the kiss he pressed to her forehead, or the "I love you" he whispered before he drifted off himself.

No, we're not friends

A/N: Maybe this will get the other stuff flowing. Review if you feel like it!