Author's Note: Happy 2022 to all of my readers! I hadn't written a word of fic (in any fandom!) since 2014, until Elliot came back in April, and now I've written over 200k about these two. I wanted to get this up before midnight my time, but...that didn't end up happening, obviously.
I hope everyone has a safe, happy and healthy 2022.
Title and the lyrics at the end borrowed from the song of the same name by The Zombies. Light mentions of COVID, but more implied/background.
Happy New Year, Liv. Hope you and Noah have a good one.
Olivia grimaces and lets the screen go dark on her phone; the time in the corner says 9:24. Before last night, she'd thought tonight was going to be a quiet night at home with Noah, curled up on their couch together watching whatever New Year's celebrations are still happening.
And then she'd gotten a call from McGrath, telling her that the department order for all cops not currently quarantining or testing positive extended to everyone at SVU as well, and he expected all of them to work their normal schedules as a show of good faith to the city. And overtime was approved, but only at their regular pay. Of course.
McGrath would put Ebenezer Scrooge to shame, she thinks, mindlessly clicking at an email on her screen. Too bad he doesn't have a Jacob Marley and three other spirits to scare him straight tonight.
The text from Elliot, though, reminds her that there's more to tonight than paperwork and late nights at work. She's waiting to hear back from Velasco and Fin, waiting to hear if they've made any progress on busting the guy pimping out barely-legal girls to underground parties, the kind that look the other way on the city's vaccine requirements, while she catches up with paperwork so that maybe she won't have a pile of it greeting her in the new year.
It's been a long year, a rough year, but her and her squad – her family, really – have made it to the other side, more or less intact. She sees a Christmas photo card from Garland and his family that she has laying on her desk, and she smiles at their infectious grins; she remembers Kat texting her a few days before, wishing her a happy holiday season. She'd rather have them back than have Velasco and McGrath hanging around, but she's always been one to bounce back from disappointments.
She presses the power button on her phone again, illuminating the text message. Her and Elliot have really been trying to make this friendship between them work, and she thinks it's sweet that he's sending the message early – she's sure he had to work, at least at some point today, and it's quite possible that he's exhausted and turning in early. Or thinks she might, anyway.
Taking a moment to dash off a quick text, she looks at it and smiles.
Thanks, El. Happy New Year to you and your family too. Working late, Noah's with Lucy, but I'll tell him you thought of him tonight.
She tries to refocus her attention on the paperwork, but it isn't long before she hears her phone ring and Elliot's name appear on her screen. "Hey, Captain," he says, and she can almost see him mock-saluting her despite not being on a video call.
"Hey, yourself," she says. "You caught me at a good time, actually, only just finished verifying Rollins's DD5s for the month." She'd let Amanda go as soon as she could justify it – she knows her friend well enough to know that the constant peeking at her phone all day, with accompanying happy smiles, wasn't solely because of Jesse and Billie.
It's Carisi, she knows; she knows, because there's only one person that Amanda has ever looked at with a smile like that. When they choose to disclose, and Olivia hopes it's soon, both for her sanity and their happiness, she'll pretend like it's a huge surprise.
But it's not, not really. Not when she's seen how they've interacted ever since they met.
Which could also be said for another pair of people she knows all too well.
"Paperwork on New Year's Eve? Really?"
"Blame McGrath." She grumbles, as she scribbles her favorite pen against a piece of scratch paper, trying to get the ink to start back again, so she can start on the next stack of paperwork she's been procrastinating on during the holiday criminal rush. Of course. Of all times. "Hey, at least I delegated and sent Fin and Velasco to make the arrest."
"You want company?" he asks. "Bell let us all go early. Only so much we can do tonight with the list of names we've been checking out, at least, when over half of them are out of the country until after the first of the year."
She laughs. "I know busy work and paperwork has never been your scene, El, and I'm afraid that's about all I'm good for tonight." With any luck, maybe she'd have an interrogation she could go observe shortly, maybe they'd be able to formulate some leads to find the missing women whose disappearances had led them to this case to begin with.
"I was hoping to spend time with you. Friends can visit each other at work, right?" He sounds hopeful, and her heart aches, because if she can't be with Noah tonight, she'd love to spend it with Elliot. They'd spent many of them together in the years they were partners, catching the odd case or making a dent in their paperwork. Besides her mother, she thinks she's spent the most New Year's Eves with Elliot, though she'd invariably insist that he make it home before midnight so he could at least see the new year in with Kathy and the kids, and not be stuck at work with her.
"Yeah. Yeah, friends can visit each other at work," she says, in a hurried rush that comes out in almost one breath. She has to say it fast, or she won't be able to say it at all; each one of their cautious steps forward removes another brick from the barricades she's erected around her heart, and it's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time to realize what's happening between them. "I'll be here."
"Great." His latent hope has turned to a burst of giddy excitement, and another brick suddenly vanishes. "See you soon, Liv."
"See you soon."
She ends the call, rests her chin on her hand; her fingers splay across her lips, and she lets out a loud sigh that, if anyone was standing in the squad room outside, they would have likely heard.
It's a night to cast away the old, bring in the new; it's a blank slate, waiting to be written on, and she's been handed a marker.
It's a new beginning.
Elliot strides into her office a short time later. "Sorry, traffic was kind of crazy," he says, as if that's news to her. She'd be more surprised – with this being the city that never truly sleeps, after all, especially not on one of the biggest party days of the entire calendar – if the traffic was manageable outside. He sets a bottle of prosecco and two crystal champagne flutes on the corner of her desk, next to Garland's card. "I didn't want to fight with anyone at the liquor stores, not tonight, so I brought these from home. This is the really good stuff."
His smile is endearing, as he looks at her; she can't help but return the smile, as she sets aside the stack of paperwork. Their time apart has changed them both, she knows, but when he looks at her even now, sometimes she swears it's the same expression she saw from across their desks all those years ago. "Yeah, well, if you say it is," she says, teasing him slightly. "Then I guess I'll have to believe you."
His eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs, and God, it's good to see his laugh again. There's been too much sadness and grief, and she wants to laugh, and smile, like she sometimes used to. Before things got so damn complicated. "You don't have to take my word for it, you know," he says. "We can have a toast, right here, in your office. That's why I brought it."
"No, not in here." Before he can say anything as a form of protest, she continues, "let's go to the roof. Our place." Besides the personal significance to them both, something not truly possible in a squad room – or an office – that have been remodeled a few times over the years, if Fin and Velasco do return, they won't be interrupted. Not that she's sure they'll have anything to interrupt, but be it good or bad, she wants this to be between her and Elliot.
A light of understanding crosses his face. "Of course," he says, and as she bundles on her peacoat, a scarlet-fringed scarf peeking out from under the dark woolen material, he takes her hand in his and leads her toward the roof access stairs; his other hand holds the bottle and the glasses. She flicks the lamp light off, closing the door, and to the best of anyone's knowledge other than their own, she's ducked out early.
She may as well have, honestly.
There's a light fog once they reach the roof, enough to obscure the lights from the buildings that surround the precinct and shroud them in a veil of secrecy, not enough to hide them from each other. But in a way, they've never been able to hide from each other. If a decade – and an ocean – apart couldn't do it, then nothing on this Earth would be able to.
He pops the cork with a clearly-practiced twist, and she remembers how he used to have to fumble with the corkscrew for the celebratory champagne they'd bring in on occasion, for the big cases – until Munch compromised, somewhat, by bringing in his Manischweitz, with the screw tops, saving them all a little embarrassment. Pouring them each a glass, he clinks his against hers. "To partners," he says.
"To partners." And she remembers the last time they said that, at a wedding that wasn't really a wedding after all, the night she found out that he was staying and they'd be able to begin to truly repair their friendship. There were other things that happened that night, things she'd rather forget, but she prefers to remember the joy that bubbled inside her as she realized that he wasn't leaving her to go back to Rome, that he was staying. "And friends."
"And friends." He smirks. "For now." Clink.
She tips back her glass and takes a sip, before declaring, "this really is the good stuff," and he smirks, again, because she's admitted he's right, and that's always been something she's loathe to do, but his time in Italy has taught him a thing or two about wine, obviously; maybe champagne is overrated for New Year's, anyway, when prosecco does the job as well.
It could be a lot colder out on the roof tonight; she remembers this night in many years past when the rooftop would have been covered in a blanket of snow, with more snowflakes cascading down in a silent whirlwind from the sky. She feels warm though, and she's not sure if it's the thrill of the night or the company she's with, or maybe it's the first edges of the prosecco making their way into her bloodstream, but she likes the warmth, feeling it bloom over the edges of her fingertips as she holds the flute delicately between her fingers.
It's easier being out here with him than she thought it might be, staring into the foggy night sky, as she hears the occasional reveler somewhere in the distance. The celebrations are muted, this year; no one seems to be particularly enthusiastic, except to see the old year gone. Normally, the streets below would be a cacophony of drunken party-goers streaming through, but not as much. Not this year.
They've been talking, making light conversation about their ongoing cases – she fills him in on the guy Fin and Velasco are after, tonight, and he lets her in on the list of individuals they've been tracking: a prominent Wall Street broker with known ties to organized crime has been hosting informal get-togethers at his Midtown penthouse, and they've managed to obtain the carefully-vetted guest lists. "Especially the ones that have been to his parties multiple times, we're trying to figure out what their overall connection is," he says, and she wonders if maybe, their cases might dovetail together eventually.
And maybe they'll be seeing more of each other in the early days of this new year, and she doesn't think that's such a bad idea at all. Especially if they can bring justice to people who are desperate for it.
The conversation gradually shifts to their children; his are all at Maureen's house, apparently, having a quiet night together for the siblings, after the rough year they've had, and Noah is at Lucy's, and he's never been very good about staying up until the ball drops, anyway. "I'm so glad you have him, Liv," he says, his voice hoarse with untold emotion, and she smiles, because so is she, and he was the first person to truly believe she could do it.
It hits differently, hearing it from him, and she squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn't cry from the raw burst of emotion that courses through her at that moment.
"You got any resolutions this year?" he asks, pouring them each a fresh glass, as they lean against each other, shoulders brushing together.
She thinks for a moment. "I've never really been one for resolutions," she says, "because my mother would always swear this would finally be the year she'd quit drinking for good, and she'd make a big show of pouring her vodka down the sink, but by the end of the first week, there were always brand-new bottles to replace it. Every year."
"Sounds like my dad, except with his beer, and it was usually Ma doing all the pouring," he says, and she winces at the similarities in their childhoods. "He'd yell at her, maybe throw a few things, we wouldn't see him for a while, and then a fresh six-pack would magically appear the next morning, next to the milk for our cereal that was already beginning to curdle."
"Sounds familiar," she says, and not for the first time, she's glad she never had the dubious pleasure of meeting Joseph Stabler in the flesh. "But, as far as resolutions go, I guess – maybe spend more time at home? Noah's growing up so fast, and I feel like I miss so much of it because I'm always here. Or at least, spend less time at work, maybe. More time with the people that matter." She hopes he picks up on the slight implication, the one that suggests there's a place for him in her life. That their version of for now will continue.
If he notices, he doesn't say anything, because his brows are knitted together in tight furrows, and she wonders what kind of thoughts are crossing through his mind right now. "Yeah," he says, and it's distant, almost hollow, in his acknowledgement, though he's looking right at her, his blue eyes fixed on her brown. "Yeah, I – " He pauses, massages the back of his neck with the palm of his hand, as if he's trying to grasp for the words that seem to be eluding him.
"El?" She knows that she hasn't called him by his old nickname very often since his return, because for a long time, it still hurt too damn much to think of him in the ways she always had. But that feeling is dissolving, and she feels more bricks being lifted from inside her. "You okay?"
"Yeah." He nods, absent-mindedly, before he sucks in a deep breath and stares at her; those eyes of his, always piercing and unyielding, pull her into their gaze. "Um. My resolution is to be the man you deserve me to be. Whether that's as your friend, or –" And he leaves the sentence hanging, and she definitely is picking up on his own implication. "Whatever we are or will be, Olivia, I want to be the guy you always thought I was."
"I never wanted you to be anyone but yourself, El," she says, her voice soft and low, as she looks at him, both of their eyes full of hope. "Whatever made you happy, that's what I wanted. And I always thought –" she knows that the last of the bricks have been taken away, and her heart is fully exposed to him now, and maybe, too, her resolution should be to open up more, at least with Elliot. "I always thought I could be that person that made you happy." Self-consciously, she bites the corner of her lip, offering him a tentative smile.
"I wanted to be the person to make you happy, too," he says, and long-held regret and longing chokes his words as he tries to speak. "And it wasn't fair, not to you, not to –" and he doesn't have to say her name for Olivia to know who else he's talking about, and she's not sure she could stand to hear it, not right now, not when everything is being laid bare on this rooftop tonight. "And I fucked up, badly, and I know I've hurt you even worse, and the fact you've even forgiven me, even the slightest bit, is more than I deserve."
She nods in mute acknowledgement, as he reaches out his palm to brush against the side of her cheek, reddened slightly by the cool mist that punctuates the air. She turns, slightly, leaning into the touch, the warmth of his hand against her skin, and she closes her eyes to savor the moment, much like he had when she'd done a similar motion at his gate all those weeks before.
"Having you in my life, that's what made me happy," she says, opening her eyes slowly to look at him again, forcing her breaths to be even and slow. "If it couldn't be as my lover, then having you as my friend was enough. I wasn't foolish enough to dare to ask for anything more."
"You were never foolish. I wanted to be your friend and your lover," he admits, and as he swallows, his Adam's apple bobs slowly in his throat. "And I was selfish, and I tried to have it all and ended up with nothing."
She feels herself begin to involuntarily quiver and shake, a little, after hearing his stark admission. "Elliot." She wants to warn him, tell him not to say things he doesn't mean, not in the heat of the moment. Except, from the way he's looking at her, with sheer adoration and devotion gleaming in his eyes, this isn't an impromptu confession. It's him admitting secrets that never thought they'd ever be confessed.
"Olivia."
She doesn't have words for him, not now; all she can do is stare, hearing him say words she never thought he'd say.
His phone chimes, and he looks down. "It's 11:58," he says. "How about we see the year off in style?"
"I'd like that, yeah," she says, and she tentatively clinks her glass against his again. "To realizing our resolutions."
"To better days ahead," he replies, grinning as he takes a large gulp of the prosecco. "For both of us."
In the distance, she can hear someone shouting the countdown – they set down their glasses, and she feels his breath, warm and inviting, moving closer to her as the digits grow smaller. "3 – 2 – " and she wonders which one of them will make the first move. "- 1, Happy New Year!"
Her heartbeat is pulsing through her ears, as he wraps his arm around the small of her back, pulling her into an embrace, before she pushes herself up a bit and he surges downward toward her, and their lips meet somewhere in the middle.
The scratch of a day or two of unshaven stubble caresses her jaw and cheek, as his mouth opens against hers, and there's as much giving as there is taking, and she'll never admit to the faint whimpers that feeling his tongue inside her mouth is eliciting. His hand tangles in her hair, pulling her against him, melding their bodies into one unit; it's indistinguishable where one of them begins and the other ends, especially in the shroud of the fog that surrounds them, with the merry sounds of revelers making their presence finally known down below echoing all around.
She can barely hear them, though; it's nothing compared to the groans he makes when she draws his lower lip between her teeth and nips at it, before running her tongue over the spot she's marked. And she's smiling into the kiss, she can tell, and she can feel his smile against hers, and it's only natural that once they finally got here, that their kisses would be accompanied by the broadest and happiest of grins.
Her hand slips under his coat, under his shirt, and she feels the broad planes of muscle that she's only been able to observe from afar until now. And there's a growing indication against her thigh, as their breathless kisses grow in fervor, that he is very excited about their turn of events tonight.
Truth be told, she can feel the first hints of her own arousal coiling inside her, and if he doesn't do something to help her release it, she may have to take matters into her own hands when she gets home.
As they slow the pace of their kisses to leisurely pecks, she rests her forehead against his and closes her eyes. "Wow." It's all she can manage.
He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear that he'd pulled loose from her ponytail during their kisses, and his satisfied grin is all the answer she needs. "Yeah. Wow," he says, echoing her. "Happy New Year, Olivia."
"Happy New Year, Elliot," she replies, and with a look of utter contentment, she looks at him. She doesn't want this night to end, not when tonight's all about beginnings, and they've taken the biggest step of them all, right here. "Take me home?"
"Nowhere else I'd rather go," he says, as they pass the bottle back and forth to finish off the last dredges of it, before he scoops up the glasses, and she takes the bottle to be recycled later, and with their free hands, they knit their fingers together and walk down the stairs, side-by-side, their light laughter filling the air between them.
No one's in the squad room when Olivia peeks her head in, and the lights are still on, which makes her think that either Fin and Velasco are still out at the scene, or they're in interrogation with their suspect, and frankly, right now, she doesn't care, not when Elliot's arm is looped around her waist and his breath is warm against her ear as he plants a row of small, discreet kisses along her jawline.
A part of her wants to forget about going home; after all, she has a private office that's right there and she can lock the door, draw the blinds and if they're quiet – which isn't something she'd guarantee, really, especially because she knows she can be vocal – no one would ever know they're in there.
"Let's go home."
And whether it's her home or his they go to tonight, home is where they're together; that much, she knows, as they leave the precinct in a giddy haze and walk out into the chilly night air, with their whole future outstretched before them.
She might not know what it's going to bring, but if they're together for it? She thinks it'll work out quite nicely, indeed.
Now we're there and we've only just begun
This will be our year
Took a long time to come
-fini-