The moment she had said it…

Kiss me, El…

…her mind had cycled like a kaleidoscope through a thousand versions of what it could be. Soft and sweet. Passionate. Hungry. Heavy. Aching. Tender. Warm.

But in a blink, his mouth finds hers and she realizes it's everything, all at once.

It's a deluge of colors and shapes and sounds—their eyes, flickers of blue and brown, their bodies, twisting, seeking, consuming as they sculpt themselves into a single form. It's a symphony discovering itself, a revelation of whispers and contented sighs, his hand nestling in her hair. It's the brush of fingers grasping at fabric and sweeping over skin, the unwavering moan that rises from deep inside her, the peal of desire coming out of hiding. It's the slow beat of their footsteps as they stumble over to the wall, Olivia's back against the bricks as she pulls his body close and their lips and tongues reach their crescendo. It's his adoration and her blessing, his apology and her forgiveness, their chaos and their peace playing in counterpoint.

It's the pause, the look, the soft descent, the breathless understanding that life has changed.

They can't speak, not quite yet.

They lean against each other, relieved, their bodies vibrating with heat against the cool air. Elliot's hands drift to her hips and the hem of a sweater that used to be his, the soft, blue cashmere that now belongs to them.

She catches his eye, smirking as she slowly slides her palm into the pocket of his sweatpants.

"Keys…" she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He feels her loop a finger around the small carabiner, barely brushing his groin as she slips it out. Every nerve in his body wakes. She lingers for just a few seconds, keys dangling, clinking at his side, before she takes his hand and leads him to the patio door.

He stands behind her as she unlocks it, wrapping his arms around her, his lips exploring her neck. As soon as they step into the apartment, she laces her hands with his, guiding them under the sweater. His pulse points rest against her, feeling the fabric of the burgundy dress she's been wearing since their date at the Seaport, and through it, the rise and fall of her breath low in her belly, suddenly a little shaky. It hits them at the same time, the dizzying change of it all, and they freeze, hearts beating wildly, two passengers in flight adjusting to a new altitude.

The door closes behind them.

Finally, he feels her exhale and he follows, swaying ever-so-slightly as he holds her. They both close their eyes and they start to relax into the embrace. Decades of tension slowly unravel and they let themselves absorb it—the moment, each other, the wonderful strangeness of calm.

Olivia turns to face him, leaning in for another kiss when she hears the sound of the gate opening and footsteps on the patio.

"You expecting someone?" Instincts kick in and they fall away, on alert.

Elliot presses his new smartwatch, an early birthday gift from his kids that he still doesn't understand quite how to navigate.

A missed call.

"Shit, I—"

But before he can finish, there's a man walking up to the glass behind him dressed in a bright yellow shirt reading Hunters Point Appliance.

Olivia steps back and Elliot opens the door.

"Sorry t' interrupt," the man begins. "Tried to call, I'm Mike from Hunters Point. Got your fridge delivery. Went through the building first but nobody answered. Elliot Stabler, right?"

"Yes…oh, I uh," Elliot replies, confused, "sorry, thought you were coming between 3 and 5 this afternoon."

"I just go where they tell me, when they tell me, sir. But I've got a fridge in my truck with your name on it, so…"

"Of course, right, thank you. Appreciate it," he responds quickly, shifting his attention to Olivia. "Sorry, Liv, I…"

"It's fine, it happens," she offers with a touch to his hand. "I can go if you—"

"No, please stay…I mean, unless you want to go but…sorry, my fridge went over the weekend and I—"

"El…"

"Still under warranty though," he rambles. "Don't make these things like they used to… Anyway, I didn't think they were…didn't mean to mess up our, uh… Sorry if I—"

"Elliot." Olivia places her hand on his shoulder and feels him decompress immediately. "No need to apologize… I'll stay. I'll just, uh…"

She pauses, noticing the change in Elliot's expression, the glint in his eye as he reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She smiles, leaning into his touch.

"Olivia… Make yourself at home."

He moves closer, dropping a kiss to her hair as she snakes her arms around him.

Just then, they hear the sound of fingers tapping on the doorframe as Mike interjects—

"You gonna sign for this or what?"

• • •

Nothing goes to plan.

After Elliot signs, Mike summons his partner, Freddie, from the truck and they get to work removing the existing fridge which promptly starts to leak as soon as they inch it away from the wall. Olivia and Elliot jump in to help with cleanup and knock heads as they bend to wipe up the floor. When they can't help but laugh and he pulls her into a hug, he feels her stomach growl against him and insists on making her breakfast, but having emptied the spoiled food from the fridge Saturday night, all he has to offer is a bowl of dry cereal and an overripe banana. She obliges, slipping her shoes off and curling up on the couch, crunching away on Honey Bunches of Oats as the rest of the topsy-turvy scene unfolds—the old fridge's departure and the new one's entry, the squeeze across the threshold, the careful pivot around the island, and the quick realization…

"There's been a mistake."

"A mistake?" Elliot stares quizzically at Mike and Freddie and the rather cumbersome appliance sitting in the corner of his kitchen, finally noticing the double doors and the ice maker he had never chosen.

"Just reached out to the warehouse," Freddie explains. "They gave us the wrong model. This one's supposed to be headed to Astoria."

"But no worries," Mike adds, "got another truck on the way with the right one. We'll get this one loaded up and they should be here in fifteen."

Elliot glances over at Olivia as she pops another piece of cereal into her mouth, stifling a grin. They share a look—she's here, he thinks, and when all of this is done, the fridge will fit and the floor will be clean and he'll get the chance to kiss her again. All his frustrations dissolve.

"Great," Elliot replies. "Thank you. Sorry for your troubles."

As Freddie and Mike start the business of shimmying the fridge out of the room, Elliot makes his way to the couch. Olivia shifts her feet so he can sit at the end. He plops down and as she stretches her legs over his lap, she's suddenly attuned to the stubble on her calves after three days at the precinct. The tangles in her hair after yesterday's two-minute locker room shower between phone calls with the brass. The wrinkled dress she had tossed back on having forgotten to restock her backup clothes. The ketchup stain from the fries she had never had the chance to finish. The puffiness under her eyes. But as he strokes the soft skin above her ankle, she meets his gaze and he whispers—

"Hey, beautiful."

She opens her mouth but finds herself speechless, three unexpected words rising up and catching in her throat. It's absurd, she tells herself, too soon, even though she's known it, some shape of it, for nearly twenty-five years. She tilts her head away and takes a breath, tears forming, but his voice pulls her back.

"So much for our second date, huh?" he smirks, nodding at the men in the doorway, the slow roll of the dolly onto the patio where they had kissed not an hour before.

Olivia hasn't always given much thought to what she wants, especially with Elliot. It's clear, though, as she looks back at him, that she wants this, all of it. She wants him—his heart and the body that holds it. She wants to share this life, however it unfolds. She wants the sublime and the mundane, midnight's ecstasy and morning's coffee cups. She wants days like this, sitting quietly together, waiting for a delivery to arrive.

"Actually," she replies, scooting herself closer to him, "I think it was perfect."

She rests her head on his shoulder and he can feel her drifting, the exhaustion of the past few days finding a place to land.

"On second thought," he says quietly, "I'd have to agree."

"Fifteen minutes, El," Olivia murmurs through a yawn. Her hand grazes his torso, coming to rest at his hip. Her mind wants to pick up where they left off and kiss him deeply; she imagines the sweater pulled over her head and tossed aside, his hands and lips everywhere, all the things they could do in fifteen minutes.

But her body says otherwise as she shuts her eyes and feels him blanket her with his arms.

"Liv?" he asks.

She barely stirs, on the verge of sleep, but he's pretty sure she's smiling against his chest when he continues, in a hush—

"I love you, too."