She's stunning.

He glances at her when he's sure she's not looking, simply taking in the sheer beauty of her features, body and soul. She's elegant, dominant, and stoic. She's protective, loving, and kind. Under her brave, feisty façade is a softness that's new and endearing, which he attributes solely to motherhood. While she was always incredible with children, these traits have now settled into her bones. They are a part of the fabric of her being, as natural to her as breathing. He always knew she would be a fantastic mom, and he aches at how much he's missed. How he never got to see it, missed all of the firsts, selfishly wishes he was Noah's father. The thoughts consume him regularly; the guilt invades his mind, pushes away the fond memories of the cocoon of Kathy and Eli and Italy: the new life he built to bury the one he left behind.

He never meant for days to become weeks, months, years, a decade. On the first anniversary of his departure from her life, he made a vow that he could never return. It would be unforgivable, unfair, ruinous. He could feel her anger, confusion, and despair across the miles; he felt the same way when she left him for Oregon. At the time, his mind was still a fucking mess after Jenna, and he knew if he talked to her, she would have found a way to try to fix it. To make him see that it wasn't his fault, to make him realize that their partnership could withstand anything, to come back to New York, the job, her. At the time, that was the crux. He wanted her to repair everything, and he wanted her more than God could ever forgive. He wanted her as his partner, his best friend, his lover. He craved her voice, her lips, her body, her heart. She would never reciprocate, not while he was married, and it would have been a train wreck. He figured walking away was best to save them both from the implosion he wouldn't be able to control. It was cowardly, but it was concrete. Definitive. He needed to leave to protect what they had. To enshrine their partnership and keep it holy and sacred. Something he could pray to on his dark days when he felt like Judas and needed to absolve his sins. The sins were mighty, but Saint Olivia at the altar would always be there in spirit to cleanse his soul. He needed that symbolism, needed to worship her as she was, and not what she may have become in the aftermath of Hurricane Elliot.

As one year turned to two, four, eight, the cavernous divide made his insides hollow, the echoes growing louder and the ghosts of the past swirling, resurrected, in the haunted hallways of his mind. Fin's invitation was a blessed relief and a cursed talisman: a link to his fondest memories and his greatest regrets. Ten years later, and his love for her was palpable, the pedestal still glimmering with her radiance and strength. He panicked, Kathy noticed, and they drafted a letter together that was a fitting final goodbye. It made him uncomfortable to write words that weren't his own, but sometimes rocks and hard places were insurmountable obstacles. When everything went to shit the night of Liv's ceremony, he recognized the irony of those empty words; words in a parallel universe meant for Kathy, not Olivia. In a way, Kathy crafted her epitaph, except for that final sentence, a line that he scribbled in fervor and fury in a last-ditch attempt to convey the truth of his heart. When he decided to give her the letter after all; when he was at his lowest and undeserving of an ounce of her friendship, he prayed that she would see through the bullshit and understand his soul. That he never meant to leave her or hurt her, but he was drowning and she was his life vest, and he couldn't keep pulling her under the surface. That if he'd made better choices, they could have found true happiness.

These thoughts routinely break him apart. His proclamation of love during a family intervention and his drug-induced confession about the author of the letter didn't help, and now they are treading on carefully constructed, hallowed ground. She is entirely too gracious, and he is entirely too selfish; she continues to look out for him and his family while he runs away to a months-long dangerous undercover operation. Yet another reminder of the old Olivia and Elliot, fleeing each other when emotions erupt.

He is tired of running.

His glance turns into a gaze as she's deep in conversation with Ayanna: a captain and a sergeant, these two fierce, strong women in his life who will stop at nothing for justice. Ayanna has become a respected colleague and, more importantly, a trusted friend. Olivia is, well, Olivia. There's no definition specific or esteemed enough to describe what she is to him. She's nostalgia: fleeting memories of moments now etched into the lines of his eyes and the scars on his skin; a lifetime of unspoken words and knowing smirks, orange juice and arm's length, tears, heartbreak, and the dull ache of defeat. She's wistfulness: reminders and regret over what could have been, her face a memoir of secrets and truths unspoken. She's the embodiment of love and safety, his refuge and his anchor. She challenges him, infuriates him, rekindles his spirit, and dashes his hopes. She's linear, his straight path through the darkness if only he'd learned sooner to grab hold. He watches her, listens to her, takes in how poised, brilliant, and in command she is, garnering immediate respect from everyone in her presence. He beams with pride and passion but masks it well in this professional company. Internally, he wants to throw his arms around her and never let go.

God, he's missed her. Has she missed him?

He wonders and worries about the Olivia he's returned to. While he's seen the beauty of how motherhood has transformed her, he notices something else unidentifiable under the surface. She was always tough, but now she seems indestructible. As if someone or something grabbed onto her and forced her to face horror, torture, and pain. She appears numb at times, impervious to the terrifying tales that define her career, taunting criminals as if to say, try me, I've been through worse. He sees a look in her eyes that's downright chilling when she's questioning a suspect as if nothing can penetrate her soul. He's afraid that his absence did this to her, but it's a pompous thought. This is more. He gets the feeling that everyone else knows something he doesn't, and he's petrified to ask. Ayanna looks at Olivia with reverence and sympathy; Jet worships her as if she walks on water, and the murmurs from the rest of the team when Olivia enters the room confirm that even a captain's shield doesn't amass this much notoriety. He reminds himself, often, that he crashed back into her world unexpectedly and tumultuously, and he doesn't deserve to know the parts of her that he walked away from.

His disappearance from her life deserves hatred and contempt. Instead, she provides warmth and grace, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold. He gets dollops of her anger and confusion, but underneath he sees love and generosity, a glint of their old partnership and friendship. He has no right to ask for more, but he wants it desperately. She's his oxygen, but he is finding it harder to catch his breath in her presence. He knows they need time to heal the wounds, and he's never been a patient man.

He still prays to God. He prays for Liv to have peace and healing from the hurt he has caused her by reentering her existence after a decade of silence. He prays for time. More time in her world, her life, her orbit, in whatever capacity she's comfortable. He prays for Kathy's forgiveness from the grave, admitting he was always faithful in body but never in spirit. He prays for his children. He prays for Noah, a boy he has never met and yet owns his soul because he belongs to Liv. He prays for himself. He prays for a parallel universe. He prays for a life that he has no right to want but wonders if maybe after all these years of penance and self-persecution, he's earned a reward. Wishful thinking, but maybe wishes come true in parallel universes.

For now, he'll steal glances. He'll watch the curvature of her lips as she imparts wisdom and concern. He'll marvel at her cinnamon eyes as they narrow with worry or dance with delight. He'll catch the cadence of her voice, the gravelly timbre that wasn't there a decade ago that now encompasses his dreams. He'll memorize her epicurean features: her soft cheekbones and smattering of freckles, her full breasts, the sway of her hips, everything about her that is empowering and all woman and all Liv. And he'll wait. For the first time, patiently, appreciatively, reverently, he'll wait. He'll wait and wonder and hope and pray that someday, their stars will finally align.