"I don't know about grief?" Even with all the things he doesn't know, he's got plenty of material from their decade-plus together to know how ridiculous a statement it is. "That's a bit rich, Elliot."

She watches him wince, then backpeddle. "I mean, I know you lost Simon, but let's face it, you saw him, like, twice a decade. And your mom, that was twenty years ago, and anyway it's not the same thing as a spouse. I lost my father the year I turned thirty, and trust me, losing him was nothing like losing Kathy."

"I didn't say it was," she replies tersely. It's all she can do to restrain herself. It's the impact of all those years of listening to him tell her she couldn't possibly relate to her own cases. Because she was a pathetic, childless singleton.

And it still doesn't occur to him that maybe she's had a few more life experiences under her belt in the last ten years.

Across the room, behind the bar talking to the manager, is the restaurant's owner and namesake, Vanessa. Olivia's been heartened to see the place thrive again, ever since the incident last year. She tries to come here as often as she can. Vanessa, when she's here, always gives Olivia dessert on the house. Their chocolate baklava tart is to die for, and easily responsible for several of the pounds she's put on in recent years. Maybe they should've stayed closed, she muses wryly.

Olivia nods towards Vanessa. "You see that woman? She's the owner here."

Elliot turns to see who she's looking at. "Yeah …"

"She said something similar to me, last year. That I didn't know about loss."

Immediately, she sees that he's on edge. She can still read him like a book: he knows he's screwed up, and he has to make amends. "I'm sorry, Liv. I didn't mean to imply – "

She lets her anger show. "Everyone thinks they're the only ones with problems."

"Liv, look – "

"But that's the thing, Elliot. You did mean to imply it. Because that's what you think. That you're the only one with problems."

"I don't think that. It's just that …"

She's tired of this shit. "What, Elliot? It's just that what?"

"It's just that you seem … happy."

She takes in a sharp breath. It's not what she thought he'd say, and she's disconcerted. All at one, she feels armor being shed. For all the authority she's exuded since his return, for all the promotions she's earned, the respect she's gained, the departmental politics she's successfully navigated, she's back to being just his partner. His equal on paper, sure, but in practice someone she always worried he didn't quite see as such.

"Do I?" Ever since her session with Lindstrom a few months ago, during which she confessed her strange sense of melancholy, and his bombshell response, she's pondered the question, wondering if happiness for her is really just the absence of grief.

"It's struck me," he continues, his bright eyes – the same ocean blue she fell for that first day back in 1999 – gleaming. "Since I first saw you again. Maybe for the first time since I've known you, Liv. You're happy."

Are you happy? she asks herself. For all the shit she's been through these past ten years, the stress, the violence, the heartache, last year's lawsuit – which, considering the trauma she's experienced, upset her profoundly – she thinks he might be right after all. "I have a son."

"You have a son," he agrees.

"He's the reason I get up in the morning."

He smiles. That million-watt, intensely empathetic smile that she can't resist. This is the Elliot she knows. Amanda, Carisi, Rafa: they only see the bully. The rough edges, the impulsive rage, the Biblical sense of vengeance. But she knows him. He's not a bully. Bullies prey on the weak, the vulnerable. Bullies are insecure. Elliot, for all his faults, is deeply secure with himself, with his masculinity. And he'd lie down in traffic to protect the innocent, the vulnerable.

To protect her.

My old partner, he'd know what to do …

No. No. She will not go there. Not right now, with him looking at her like this, so full of admiration, of kindness, of respect, of love.

Of … longing. Of … lust?

She doesn't know where this thing with him is going. And she can't tell him about Lewis until she does.

"I know," he's saying, responding to her comment about Noah. "I can see that he's the light of your life. And I couldn't be happier for you." He cocks his head, reaches out across the table to grasp her hand. "You know that, right?"

His hand is warm, rough, callused. It devours hers. "I know." She does know. She trusts that about him. However coldly he's treated her since his return, she knows that he cares about her.

Feeling uncomfortable, she takes her hand back, not unkindly. Why does he have this hold over her? Why does she keep forgiving him, when, time after time in the past year, he's either used her or ignored her or ghosted her? And never mind the last ten years, when she would've done anything to see him. To hear from him, to hear his voice, just to know that he still cared.

She does know about grief. But she didn't learn it mourning her mother, or Ed, or Simon. She learned it mourning him.

During those four days of unspeakable hell, when the despair started to kick in, when it started to dawn on her that maybe nobody was looking for her, maybe not one single person in her life gave enough of a damn about her to notice she was missing, that maybe she wouldn't be able to get out of this alive; it was then, in a weakened mental state after three and a half days of being drugged and starved and beaten and tortured, that she found herself wondering what she'd done to drive him away, that he'd felt so alienated from her as to be unwilling to pick up a phone a single time in two years, that maybe for all those years of being his partner she'd mistaken his caring for mere professionalism, that maybe he would've treated any partner that way, because that was the job. That maybe there'd been nothing between them after all. And so it was in such a vulnerable mental state, as her tormentor was about to climb on top of her and destroy her, that he inquired about the person she was thinking about, correctly guessing that she was wishing, desperately, to see that person again, whoever he was – past love, present love, great love; Lewis didn't care – but incorrectly inferring from that look that she believed he would come for her. She didn't. What Lewis read as hope was, in fact, deep shame. Shame that she'd lost the single most important person in her life and didn't know why; shame that she wished so longingly not for him to save her, but for him to want to; shame that she was going to die and never find out why he'd left her; shame that she pined so deeply for someone who'd never been hers to begin with.

And then she'd gone ahead and survived and found out that her kidnapping had made national news, and still he hadn't called. And she'd submitted to months and months of therapy and physical rehab and managed to rebuild her life and get promoted and start to feel good about herself again and convince herself that maybe she didn't need him after all.

And then it'd happened again. Chained to a table and committed to being violently raped from behind to save a little girl; knowing that this time she wouldn't be so lucky as to escape the horror of it, feeling his hands on her, first molesting her for warm-up and then at her crotch, unbuckling her belt; knowing it was about to happen, remembering Mrs. Mayer all over again, but knowing that, at least this time, her squad – even if not her beloved partner – was surely looking for her.

And then when it was all over, and again she'd survived, and again it'd made national news, and again he hadn't called, hadn't indicated he knew or cared she was alive, had seemingly fallen off the face of the planet, she'd finally put him to bed. She'd talked it through with Lindstrom, let him guide her through the punishing pain of loss, let him convince her that losing him wasn't her fault. And then she'd made peace with it.

Elliot was gone from her life for good. People lost people they loved all the time. They grieved and they moved on and that was life. If she could survive Lewis, twice, she could survive losing him.

And then a few weeks later she'd found a baby in a bassinet, and a judge who seemed to think the world of her had given her that baby, and she'd slowly learned to trust humanity again. And she'd adopted that baby and thought maybe that this sort of happiness was it. The heretofore elusive it she'd been striving for; the it in which life was supposed to culminate. That maybe life – her life – was just not meant to include Elliot after all.

Strangely, that's when the longing for him had picked back up again.

Because parenthood reminded her of him all over again. Watching Noah turn from baby to toddler, remembering her partner in his role as a father, especially with Eli, the only one of his children she'd known from birth. Remembering Eli's tumultuous delivery in an ambulance, Elliot's sprint down the hallway of the hospital to see his wife and baby, contrasting that with how removed she'd been from Noah's birth.

What she would've given to have had Elliot's support, his friendship, his counsel, in the early years with Noah.

Worrying about his lungs, dealing with ACS, the adoption process, Johnny D, the abuse investigation that nearly ripped out her soul. Sheila …

"I'm sorry I've been so wrapped up in myself. I'm really sorry, Liv."

God dammit if that's all it takes from him.

And yet, despite it all, she knows he's being sincere. "I know. I know that you've been through hell and back."

Jesus, she can't help herself. Maybe Rafa was right. Not about her loving Elliot – she didn't need him to tell her that – but about how unconditional that love is.

"Yeah."

"And I … I care about that. I care about you, Elliot. About your family, about your wellbeing. I always have." She pauses, takes in a breath.

"But?" he prompts.

"But … you take that for granted. You take me for granted." She's never been this candid with him, at least not about her own feelings, and it occurs to her for the first time that this sense of empowerment stems from her status as a Captain. No matter how many promotions she's received, she'll never see herself as his superior, but in this moment, knowing that on paper she is, it's refreshing to be able to speak her mind.

He looks her dead in the eye. "But I don't."

"But you do. You say you want to hear about what's been going on with me, but then you interrogate me about my dating life."

He furrows his brows. "What are you talking about?"

"Just before Christmas. When Eli disappeared."

His eyes widen. "You're still thinking about that?" He laughs. "Liv, come on. It was just a little … banter." He cocks his head, looks at her in sadness. "We used to have that, didn't we?"

"We did," she answers, her tone measured. "We did, that's true. But don't pretend it wasn't a deflection, in that context."

He straightens his back, laces his fingers together. "I guess … maybe I was a little jealous."

"Jealous?" She's incredulous. "Of what? Of whom? You know that I'm not seeing anyone. And anyway, you and I have always just been friends."

He clears his throat. "Liv, you, uh, have a son …"

She blinks, startled. So that's what he's fixated on. The unconventional way in which she came to be Noah's mother has become such a mundane fixture of her history that she forgets, sometimes, that it would be natural for him to assume that she had – or has – a sexual relationship with Noah's father.

And now it strikes her, hard: this man used to know everything about her. He knew about her lonely childhood, her drunken mother, her rapist father, her hapless half-brother, her boyfriends, her lovers, her random dates. Her sometimes-insomnia, that she used to love coffee, then gave it up for tea, then went back to coffee.

And he knew how she longed for a child.

And yet now, more than a full year after having reconnected with her, he still doesn't know that Noah was adopted.

"Noah's father isn't in the picture, Elliot."

He lets a moment pass. She sees he's struggling, and she lets him. "Can I ask … was it, uh, Cassidy?"

She almost snorts out her tea (she's found a happy equilibrium between both drinks now), so absurd is the thought. And yet from his perspective, it's an entirely reasonable question. "Um, no. No. It's not Brian." She inhales, exhales. The Johnny D saga is thankfully behind her, but she's too exhausted to get into it. "Noah's father was not a very nice guy, let's just leave it at that."

To his credit, he knows when to move on. "Fair enough."

Across the room, Vanessa makes eye contact, makes her way to their table. "Hello, hello!" she greets affably, giving Elliot a knowing grin.

"Vanessa," Olivia says. For all the hell Vanessa's been through – put Olivia through that awful day – she's not worse for the wear. Her restaurant is thriving, and so is her son, who's back in college. Her bills are paid, and the probation is due to end in a few weeks. Olivia wonders how screwed up she is that she's been rooting for the woman who held her hostage at gunpoint.

All smiles, Vanessa gives Elliot googly-eyes, then addresses Olivia. "Well I see you certainly have a type."

"Excuse me?" Olivia asks.

Vanessa stands her ground. "Oh come on, you're gonna tell me you don't have a thing for blue eyes?"

Elliot watches as Olivia turns beet-red. She clears her throat. "Um, Vanessa, this is Elliot, my old … partner."

In his head, he struggles to remember Brian Cassidy's eye color. Grey? Green? Blue? Yes, blue, he thinks, but can't be sure. Who remembers a guy's eye color? Women do, apparently. But it's his understanding that that's been over for a while. Who else did she mention? Some guy named Ed? He makes a mental note: find out who Ed is. Was. The guy's dead, she said. Never mind, then.

Vanessa nods slowly, a smile playing on her lips. "Partner," she says, making air quotes. "Right, right…" She shoots Elliot a look. "You're a lucky guy." She stands behind Olivia's chair, thrusts both hands on her shoulders, squeezing. "This one, here, is a keeper."

Elliot, amused, plays along. It's a rare thing to see Olivia embarrassed, and it's sort of adorable. "Is she, now?"

Still clutching Olivia's shoulders from behind, Vanessa looks straight at him, and Elliot's startled to see tears in her eyes. "This woman here, she saved my life. And so whoever you are, Mr. Blue Eyes, you be good to her."