A Love Story

He's late. The more things change, she thinks to herself, amused, but doesn't bother to finish the thought. If this goes on too much longer, however, she will definitely not be smiling. He'll know, of course; she wouldn't have thought it possible to grow more comfortable with each other, but then their relationship has always held surprises.

She looks up, hearing the bell on the door jingle, and attempts to glare at him as he slides into the booth. "Sorry I'm –"

"Late," she finishes, and he smiles guiltily.

"Last-minute paperwork," he tells her. "You know how that goes."

"Haven't you learned how to duck it yet?" she asks. She will forgive anything for that smile.

"Hate to break it to ya, Liv, but Cragen's getting old," he says, shaking his head. "Easier to slip past than Arragon."

She rolls her eyes. "He's not senile."

He scans the menu briefly, then glances up to see her watching him. "Not a whole lot of point in giving us menus," he acknowledges. "Just creating extra work for themselves."

"I keep hoping they'll surprise us one day with something new."

"I think the shock would give me a heart attack," he says.

"If the grease doesn't kill you first."

"The usual?" asks the waitress, and disappears again when they nod.

He lays the menu down. "How are you doing?" he asks, an edge of seriousness shadowing his voice. He asks this every time, and every time her answer is the same.

"I'm all right," she says.

"And Aaron?"

"Oh, he's fine. He's such a rookie, though. He's competent, but he's only a couple months is, after all. And he's not – he's not you."

"We couldn't have stayed together, Liv," he says, a trace of guilt still haunting him, and she nods.

"I know. I just have to spell everything out for him," she says, in a show of exasperation. "If I glance over at him, he has no idea what I mean."

Elliot shrugs. "That'll come in time."

"You still doing all right?" she asks, accepting her drink from the returning waitress. They recite their litany comfortably.

"Yeah," he says, nodding contemplatively. "It's easier than Special Victims. There aren't victims in Narcotics, and if there are, we can usually pass 'em off to Homicide."

"You get more stake-outs, though," she smirks.

"True," he says.

She stretches her legs to the other side of the booth. "At least you're not paired with a rookie."

"He's not quite as much fun to flirt with, though," he says, grinning wickedly.

She coughs on the swallow she'd just taken. "Stabler, if you make soda come out my nose, I swear to God I'll –"

"You'll what?" he asks, the picture of innocence.

She looks at the ceiling in exasperation. "Not everything is a come-on. You're not that cute."

"Well, if that's how you feel about it," he says, starting to rise, and she grabs his hand.

"Kidding! Kidding!"

"So I am that cute?" he asks.

"We-ell," she says, drawing the syllables out, "I could be convinced."

He raises an eyebrow. "And here I thought I was doing pretty well. What does it take to convince you?"
She smiles and pretends to lock her lips, tossing the key somewhere behind her back.

"Olivia," he groans, "even the twins don't do that anymore."

"I unlock for food," she says as their plates arrive.

"Good to know," he teases.

Her eyes close as she takes a bite, and he watches in fascination. "That good, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," she says, refusing to divert her attention.

Well, he knows how to solve that problem.

"Elliot!" she cries, slapping lightly at his hand. "Quit it! I'm trying to eat here. Eat your hamburger."

"What about dessert?"

"Everyone knows you have to eat your dinner before you have dessert," she tells him seriously. "Politely," she adds, seeing him take a giant bite and attempt to gulp it down.

"What did I ever do before you were around to keep me in line?" he asks, having swallowed painfully.

"I shudder to think."

"Liv?"

"Hmm?"

"What did I do before you?"

She turns to face him, food forgotten for the moment. "You were married, El," she tells him quietly. "I don't want you to forget that."

"I don't," he says honestly, "it's just that…I can hardly remember a time before you."

She nods slowly, unsurprised by the serious turn in the conversation. "I know. You were my beginning too."

…

They had made a pact that day in the parking lot, outside the drive-through with the horrendous coffee. One kiss was all it could ever be. And the silent agreement was to keep the words unspoken. Air thick and sparks at their fingertips, but they kept things quiet. They kept a lid on what was simmering and threatening to boil over. They aren't so stupid as to assume that the added tension went unnoticed; they and their colleagues make a living out of noticing things. But then there had always been the rumors.

Cragen was standing outside the one-way, months later, when Elliot broke a chair. Slammed it to pieces against the wall. Olivia was in there with him, and for the first time in their history she stiffened when he came near. They got their confession, that much was true, but Elliot had finally crossed the line he'd been threatening to. The damage was irreparable.

He got two weeks paid leave before he was reassigned to Narcotics. "You'll like Narcotics," Fin told him, and Munch overheard the hauntingly familiar words. "There ain't no victims." Elliot nodded mutely, careful not to slam his locker door before he left the squadroom in silence. He knows the acrid sting metal leaves on skin.

Olivia had been his partner for eight years. This was not going to be their goodbye. She looked neither left nor right as she followed him out the doors.

"Elliot."

He was leaning against the brick wall, his head in his hands. "Let me go," he said, but there was no strength in his words.

She swallowed and walked up to him. "El."

He refused to look at her. "It wasn't supposed to be this way, Liv," he said.

"I know," she whispered, her voice catching. The bricks are rough behind him.

He met her eyes for the first time all day. "I'm sorry." The words didn't carry the weight he'd have liked them to. He was too far down for her to hear the regret crashing down on him, but he hoped she heard the urgency, the desperation. How badly he needed her to understand this.

"I don't want to do this without you," she said, tears beginning to spill over.

"Don't cry," he murmured, and brushed the traces of salt from her skin with his thumb.

She drew in a shaky breath. "I don't mean to."

"I don't want to lose you, Liv," he whispered heavily, and she saw that tears were threatening in his own eyes.

"What are we gonna do?" she asked. She broke the moment his fingers caught hers.

"We're gonna say goodbye," he said, looking into her eyes as he slid his hands around to the back of her neck. Her mouth met his willingly, hesitantly.

"No," she whispered, drawing back. "Don't let this be goodbye."

He murmured hello into her ear as she leaned into him. And he didn't care who was watching when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again. They would not let this be the end.

They began meeting for lunch after that, a little cautiously. Steps awkward and the dance unclear, neither sure of the boundaries, neither wanting to fall. They have held back all this time, but even seeing each other just a few times a month, they began to know. There was nothing they could do to keep from falling.

…

"How are the guys lately?" he asks. They leave a tip on the table and push through the doors. Autumn has set fire to the trees. She rolls her eyes, and he laughs. "Same as usual, I assume."

"Yeah," she says. "Only…Munch has been talking about retiring."

"He won't," says Elliot. "Not yet. He's always saying that. What does Fin think about it?"

"Hates it." They fall into an easy stride on the sidewalk, and both, for now, pretend that they don't remember the years they spent doing this. "Partners get attached, y'know."

He smiles. "I know."

She tips her head back, trying to see the tops of the trees. Futile now, but he wouldn't tell her that.

"Do you ever wonder why it was that case?"

He doesn't have to ask what she means. He always knows. "Sometimes," he answers.

"I bet you think about how you were right," she says, smiling.

"Of course! Too bad she didn't hire a hit man with more common sense."

"Or one less easily bought off," she adds.

"That stupid, it's no wonder he wasn't a productive member of society," he says, and counts it as a victory when he sees the amusement dance in her eyes.

They walk into September holding hands. If it weren't for the steady rhythm against the concrete, she would hardly believe her feet touched the ground. This was the love story she had forgotten to have, a fairy tale closed in dust for too long.

"What's so funny?" he asks, seeing the smile on her face. He's glad to see it now; it had become rare, near the end.

"You," she says.

"Glad I can be a source of entertainment."

She shrugs. "Don't say I'm not resourceful."

"Never would," he answers. "You wanna call a cab?"

"Let's just walk," she says, and he realizes that he will never cease to marvel at the simple things that make Olivia happy. He realizes too that it's contagious. That he could spend the rest of his life like this, walking down the sidewalk through an autumn afternoon.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, and he just shakes his head, the words sounding ridiculous even in his mind. It's a favorite phrase of hers; she employs it at least every other phone call.

"Just…that I'm happy."

"I'm glad," she tells him seriously. "I think Cragen was worried about your transfer too, but it seems to be working out, you're settling in –"

"Not that," he says awkwardly. "Being here."

"Here?"

"With you."

She grins and takes the bait. "How about here?" she asks, taking a giant step forward.

He laughs. "Yep."

"And here?" She feels the first drop of rain on her skin.

"Olivia," he warns, and she smiles devilishly.

She twirls, ballroom style, and curls naturally into his arms. Rain is beginning to drum a sharper pattern on the ground. "What about here?" she asks, her voice low.

He smiles. She can't remember seeing him smile so much in one day before. "Definitely there."

"Hmm," she says, "guess I'll have to stay."

"We're getting wet," he whispers into her ear.

"I don't care," she replies, and it's true: she would rather be standing here with him, drenched to the skin, than dry and warm with anyone else.

He would stand here with her in his arms forever if he believed that was what it would take. She may not have been his first beginning, he wouldn't deny that, but lately he hasn't been sure if clocks haven't stopped and the universe hasn't shifted. If forever hasn't started over again. Some would call it tunnel vision; he prefers to call it enlightenment. He only sees her. "You're beautiful, you know," he says, brushing dripping hair out of her eyes as he leans in to kiss her. She knows no such thing, but as she closes her eyes she thinks she might be willing to take his word for it.

(tbc)