Chapter Three: Fine Dining

"Wow! You look great!" Kathy commented when Elliot presented himself at the dinner table, clean-shaven and dressed to the nines.

"What, this old rag?" he joked. "My personal stylist picked it out for me."

"Well, she has great taste," Kathy replied, and they laughed together.

For a moment, it felt really good, but then when the laughter died, the silence quickly became awkward.

"I, uh, I haven't signed the divorce papers yet," he said uncomfortably, unable to keep from scratching the side of his neck in a nervous gesture he knew she knew well. "I haven't had time to read them."

She shook her head. "That's not why I'm here," she told him. "Open the wine, then sit down and eat your salad."

Willing to play along a little longer, he went around the table and held Kathy's chair for her. Then he opened the wine and took his seat. He poured himself a little of the dry red, tasted it, and declaring it good, filled first her glass and then his own.

"So, what are you doing here?" Elliot asked as casually as he could.

"Like I said, I want to talk to you."

"About what?" He took a bite of his salad, both to prevent himself from babbling and to force Kathy to say something to fill the silence.

"Just . . . things," she said. "I wanted to see how you're doing, make sure you're ok."

"This salad is great," he complimented, neither willing to assuage her guilt by saying he was fine nor to give her the satisfaction of admitting he missed her and had been miserable without her. "Where did you get such good tomatoes this time of year?" He took a mouthful of wine.

"A little produce shop that opened up this summer about a block from Mom's," she replied. "How's the arm?"

He nearly choked trying not to spray his wine all over the table in surprise. He swallowed, coughed lightly, took a breath.

"It aches," he said. "Especially when it rains. How do you know about that? I told Liv not to call you."

"She didn't have to, El," Kathy explained. "It was in the papers. Three children gunned down by a sniper on the playground of a Manhattan elementary school. It had SVU written all over it, and as a high profile case, Don Cragen would have wanted his best people working it. That means you.

"When the courthouse shooting made the news, I figured you wouldn't let anyone call me if you were hurt, so, I went to the closest hospital, told them I had been notified that my husband was one of the wounded officers, gave them my name, and they directed me to your room."

He narrowed his eyes at her, pressed his lips into a thin line. "Why didn't you visit?"

"I did. You were sleeping and you looked like you needed the rest. Why didn't you call me?"

"Because you're divorcing me, Kath," he said.

"I still care about you," she told him sincerely.

He pushed his tongue into his cheek, thought about what he wanted to say, leaned back in his chair, and sighed. "Physical therapy was a bitch," he admitted. "Now I can tell when there's a change in the weather coming the day before the guy on channel nine knows."

They were quiet for a minute, each of them studying the other, taking stock of the situation, until finally, he spoke.

"Look, I don't know what you want from me, Kath. I couldn't figure it out when we were together, and . . . I sure as hell don't know what I'm doing now," he said shaking his head regretfully. "I'd just gotten the divorce papers in the mail. I thought you wanted me out of your life."

His voice faded to a whisper on the last few words, and he cleared his throat and sniffed slightly. His gaze drifted to a spot on the tablecloth and he sat still.

After a minute or so of silence, Kathy reached out and placed her hand over his.

"That's what I thought, too," she said. "You're a hard man to love, Elliot, because you keep . . . so much inside."

She began to struggle with her emotions, but she had things she needed to tell him, and if she stopped now, she might not be able to finish.

"You won't let me help you . . . won't let me comfort you . . . You won't even tell me what's wrong. When you hurt, I hurt, Elliot, and Honey, . . . you were hurting all the time."

She had begun to tear up now, and her voice was choked. She needed to stop for a moment to compose herself.

"Kathy, my job . . . " Elliot tried to explain himself in the silence.

"I don't want to hear about your job!" she snapped.

Not knowing what else to say, he fell silent, went back to staring at the tablecloth, and waited for her to continue. It took a minute or so, but eventually she dabbed the tears from the corners of her eyes and began again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know it's not just an excuse. I know there are good reasons you don't want to talk about your job with me, not the least of which is the nature of the crimes you deal with, but really, the things that bother me most have nothing to do with your work."

She stopped again, and when the silence became oppressive, Elliot asked, gently this time, "Why are you here, Kath?"

She took a deep, shaky breath, sat up a little straighter, and said, "When I thought you'd been shot, and then when I saw you there in the hospital, so pale . . ." Her voice was shaking again already, and she paused for another breath.

"A year apart hasn't changed how much I love you," she said, "and there's no reason to think a divorce would either."

That got Elliot's attention, and his head snapped up. He watched her expectantly, as she prepared to make an important statement.

"I want you to throw the papers away and forget that you ever saw them," she said. "I want us to try again."

Very slowly, a grin spread across his handsome face, his blue eyes started to twinkle, and to her amusement and his embarrassment, he blushed.

"You mean that?" he asked in a tone that suggested he couldn't believe his ears.

She sniffled and nodded. "Yes."

"You really mean that?" The delight and amazement were plain in his voice.

She giggled, thrilled that he was so happy. "Yes, I really mean that."

"Oh, Baby," he said, standing up. He moved around the table, pulled her chair out for her, took her hands in his, helped her to a standing position, and engulfed her in an enormous hug. Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he inhaled her scent, kissed her on the neck, behind the ear, passionately on the mouth, tasting her lips again for the first time in too long.

Holding her at arm's length, he looked at her with tears of joy in his eyes and a grin he couldn't suppress, and said, "I'm ready to really work on it now, Kath. I have made a lot of changes for the better, and . . . and . . . well, you won't regret it."

He swept her into his arms again, lifting her off her feet this time, and spun her around, laughing in delight.

"Elliot, stop!" she gasped, laughing along with him. "Put me down!"

He stopped spinning and nuzzled her neck.

"The steaks are getting cold," she advised him.

"To hell with the steaks," he said and began to move out of the room, carrying her like a groom would his new bride.

"Elliot, I spent a fortune on them," she told him, "and I put a lot of time into planning this dinner. Let's not let it go to waste. Take it slow. We'll have a nice meal, and then, well, whatever happens, happens, ok?"

He knew now was not the time to tell her that, with the sudden realization that he was getting a second chance, his body had skipped dinner and dessert and was going straight for the after dinner entertainment. He also knew enough about the differences between men and women to realize that she wouldn't be into it if he didn't give her the time she needed.

Reluctantly, he put her down. "All right, dinner first," he agreed, "but if you're thinking 'and a movie' well, it had better be one hell of a good movie."

"Actually, a movie is not what I had in mind," she told him in a sultry voice that caused a certain warmth to spread through him and made his knees go weak.

They talked through dinner, mostly about the kids and a little about work, more hers than his, though there had been a couple of funny things that had happened that he had felt comfortable sharing. He had been pleased to hear that Maureen, always his little overachiever, had made Dean's List again with a 4.0 GPA and that Kathleen, who had barely scraped by in algebra, was passing trigonometry with a high C and had been voted captain of her soccer team. Dickie and Lizzie, now in middle school, were playing organized sports for the first time, and were struggling a bit with managing their studies and practice, but Kathy was sure they would figure it out.

As they chatted their way through the main course and finished off the wine, they warmed to each other's company. By the time they were ready for the tiramisu, Elliot had moved to sit beside Kathy and they were waxing nostalgic about the early years of their marriage.

Money had been tight in the beginning, because for a while, both of them had been out of work, and later, even with both of them working all the overtime they could manage, they'd had to borrow from her parents a couple of times just to keep the lights on and the water running. They had each done without a lot in the first few years to make sure their girls, for at the time they had only Maureen and Kathleen, never had to. Nothing had been easy for them, except for loving each other and the kids, but they had been so focused on supporting one another, so totally committed to raising happy, healthy children and providing them with a stable, loving home, that neither of them had noticed how hard they were working.

Then the twins had come along, Kathleen and Maureen had grown up a little, Elliot and Kathy had advanced in their careers. With more responsibilities at work and home, they had struggled for a while to make time for each other. Sometimes, their jobs had come before family, especially for Elliot after he made detective and was expected to put in however many hours were needed to close a case. Eventually, although they both continued doing their best for the children, they had lost their connection to each other and become two strangers who happened to live in the same house.

"You know, if we're going to do this, we have to do it right," Elliot said with a sigh. "For the kids' sake, we either have to be together or not. If we do some half-assed on-again, off-again thing, we'll mess them up for life."

"You're right," Kathy agreed, "that's why I told them and Mom that I was going to the movies with one of my girlfriends, and when the weather turned bad, I called and told her I was staying the night because it wasn't safe to drive. I figured we could keep this under wraps for a while, make sure we can actually do it. That way, if it doesn't work, no one will ever know and no one will ever be blamed. Maybe we could date for a while like we did when we were kids, to sort of get to know the people we've become."

"One problem with that," Elliot said, seriously.

Kathy frowned. "What?"

"I sold the Camaro twenty years ago," he teased.

She gave him a wry smile. "Ha, ha. Seriously, what do you think?"

He considered her suggestion for a moment and decided it sounded like fun, and fun was something their marriage had been lacking for a long time. "No pressure," he thought aloud, "just time together."

"Right," Kathy confirmed, "time to get back together."

"I think that sounds like a good idea." He spooned the last of his dessert from the dish and generously offered it to her.

She giggled and opened wide. "Mmmmm," she sighed as he pulled the spoon from her lips. She looked at him for a moment, and the way he was watching her, she knew he was still deeply in love.

The last of the heavenly dessert had already melted in her mouth, but the taste still lingered. Reaching up with one hand, she gently pulled him toward her for a kiss.

As his lips met hers, Elliot pushed his tongue into her mouth, savoring the bittersweet taste of the tiramisu along with the distinctive taste of her. She moved closer, and he felt her knee rub against his inner thigh. His body responded and he was helpless to prevent it. He was certain that she knew what she was doing to him. He moved forward in his seat, placed his hands under her thighs, and as she wrapped one hand around his neck and rubbed the other across his chest, he lifted her, turned, and boosted her up onto the table. This time, her knee rubbed against his fly.

"Mmmmmmmmm," he moaned into her mouth, deepening the kiss, as he pushed her back and threaded his fingers through her hair. Her hand traveled down his chest, clutched at his belt, pulled him closer, and her foot, mysteriously shoeless now, rubbed the back of his leg. She arched her body against him, and his hand began stroking her thigh, slowly making its way up under her skirt.

Suddenly, her hand was on his chest again, pushing him away this time. "Mmmm, El," she sighed, breaking the kiss, and then immediately gave him another little peck on the lips. "Wait. Slow down," she admonished him even as she stole kisses between her own words.

If he hadn't been a gentleman, he might have ignored her, knowing that, whatever she had in mind, her body craved it as much as his did. "But, Kathy . . . " He couldn't keep the yearning out of his voice.

"Shhh, it's all right," she whispered breathlessly. "We'll get there . . . in due time . . . but tonight, I have a plan."

"Whatever . . . happened . . . to spontaneity?" he asked between kisses.

She giggled, straightened her arms to keep him at bay, and said sternly, "We'll have to schedule that another night."

For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was his heavy breathing as he labored to bring it under control. Then, once he had gained some semblance of restraint, he asked, "So now what?"

"Help me clear the table," she said.

He gave her a mischievous wink and a grin and asked, "What do you think I was trying to do?"

He was rewarded with a giggle, and she said, "Shame on you!"

Once the candles were out and the dishes were in the sink, she took him by the hand and led him to the living room without a word between them. Tapping a button, she started the stereo, and when she turned to him, he knew just what to do. Holding her close but touching her lightly, he moved with her in time to the slow music.

"I've missed your touch," she confessed, "your smell, the sound of your voice, even your stubble against my cheek first thing in the morning."

"I know how you feel," he replied. "I still haven't slept through the night without you. I turn over and you're not there, and I wake up feeling cold and wondering where you've gone."

His voice cracked and rose in register as he spoke, and the pain she heard brought tears to her eyes. It was the first time in years he had willingly let her see him suffering, the first time in so long he had let her see him needing her instead of trying to shelter her from his pain.

"Can we really do this, El?" she asked nervously. "Can we take this risk? What if it doesn't work?"

"It will work, Sweetheart," he whispered, desperately wanting to encourage her. "I know it will because now we both know how miserable we will be if it doesn't."

She nodded, finding an odd sort of strength in his words, and as the last song ended, she took his hand again and led him upstairs.