Author's Note: I have various EO holiday prompts written down and saved, how many of them I actually write will come down to my inspiration and how my real life goes this holiday season...
Olivia has lived enough winters to think of herself as no longer affected when the first snow of the season comes along. Really, it's an annoyance more than anything – especially this year, when she's still somewhat recovering from the aftermath of her summertime ankle injury, and she's viewing the impending icy sludge and so-called "winter wonderland" with a renewed sense of trepidation.
But, as long as she chooses to live in a state where Jack Frost's chilly reach extends, it's a part of life.
Still, she's walking out of the courthouse after giving emotionally-charged testimony in one of those cases that should have never gotten this complicated in the first place, and all she can think about is being back in her office with a warm cup of coffee and out from this bitter, cold wind.
She pulls her peacoat tighter around her and continues to walk; her red scarf catches on an errant gust of wind, dancing merrily. Despite the chill in the air, it feels nice to be outside.
Soon, it will be Christmas – she's beginning to see the first signs of the festive season peeking out, like the bouquet of poinsettias that'd been on the reception desk at the courthouse, and across the plaza, she sees someone carrying what appears to be a load of pine into one of the nearby buildings.
Noah's old enough not to believe in Santa anymore, but young enough that he still entertains the notion, for her sake, and he's made it very clear to both Santa and Olivia that what he really wants for Christmas this year is a scooter, identical to the one all his friends have, although "if Santa thinks I've been really nice this year, maybe he'll get me a drone?" Or he's also talked about ice skates, because he's watched past figure skating routines on YouTube and the dancer in him is intrigued.
She's considering all of it, especially with everything that's gone on.
This year has thrown them both for a series of loops, and Noah doesn't know the half of it, not when she's still holding him and Elliot back from formally meeting. Because, to allow the two to meet, to shake hands and have conversations and get to know each other, is to acknowledge that whatever is going on between her and Elliot is something more than illusion.
That he's really back, and he's staying, and she's still barely convinced herself of that notion, and he's been back in some capacity since March.
"Hey, Liv," she hears a familiar voice say, and she realizes that Elliot is walking toward her, a bright blue scarf peeking out of his own peacoat. "I was meeting with Counselor Carisi about the trial," he continues. "Saw you walking out of the courthouse, thought I'd say hi."
"Have they set a trial date yet?" Because of course, the capacity that he's back in is widower, and she knows the trial for Kathy's murderer is coming soon, likely sometime before Christmas. Not that Richard Wheatley and his legal team haven't been using every trick in the book to push the trial out further, using every motion and challenge to delay the inevitable.
He fidgets with his left hand, stretching out his fingers and retracting, making a series of loose fists. "Looks like right after Thanksgiving, barring any last-minute delays," he says, finally, after an interminable pause. "Liv, if he gets off –"
"Counselor Carisi is one of the very best I know," Olivia says. And he is, because she's watched him transition from a brash, young detective who meant well but didn't always follow through with those good intentions, into a rising star in the New York legal system. "He's going to do everything he can to get a conviction."
He looks at her, and she sees his previously passive expression transition to that of a glimmer of a smile. "You always have so much faith in your friends," he says. "Counselor Carisi, the rest of your squad – uh, I don't know how you do it, Liv."
She can hear the unspoken word in there. Me. And she's not sure if he's left himself out because he's not sure if she considers him a friend anymore, or because he doesn't want to presume anything, but either assumption would be wrong: he's still a dear friend, and while her faith in him has wavered over the years of silence, it's still intact.
"I like to think I surround myself with good people," she says, looking at him with the look she's perfected over her time in charge, the one that tells people she means business and not to be fooled by the long hair or her smile, and continues with, "yourself included." Because Elliot and Carisi have things in common – besides both being good Catholic boys with large families, so different from her own experience, they're both men with big hearts and the best of intentions who sometimes fumble on the execution.
And she's pretty sure they both think they could make the best spaghetti.
His smile reaches his eyes now, as he looks at her, and shit, if this doesn't feel like that moment in the task force headquarters this past spring, the one where she told him he was looking better. Except, now, they're outside the courthouse, off to the side; no one is paying attention to them, and they may as well be as anonymous as they're going to be. "You really think so, huh?"
"I never doubted it." Because whether or not Elliot is a good person has never been in doubt, not for her. She might want to have a few words with him regarding choices they've made over the years, but he's a good person and her friend and he's here with her now, and that's so much more than she could say even a year ago at this time.
He reaches out his gloved hand for hers, and she takes it, gladly, folding her hand into his, around his. "I never doubted you either," he says, his voice rough and dry with emotion laid bare. "Never, not for a second."
"You really saw me becoming a captain one day?"
"I could see you running all of NYPD one day from your throne atop the Puzzle Palace." He laughs, his eyes, only moments before laden with the thoughts of the trial, now seeming somewhat lighter. It's something she's noticed since he came back, that he seems to relax more when she's around. There's an ease, she thinks, that was never there before. And maybe it's come with age, or grief, or many sleepless nights spent ruminating on the mistakes and choices of the past, but there's a newly-present softness to him, too. "Look, Liv. It's snowing."
She gazes up at the sky, and she sees the first snowflakes of the season gently trickle downward. One lands on the bulge of fabric from his scarf being folded into his coat, and she sees the tender tendrils of ice stand out in sharp relief against the blue, and he squeezes her hand with his own.
When she was younger, there was an elderly Korean lady who lived down the hall from her and her mother, who always reminded her to "make a wish, dear, whatever your heart most desires," at the first signs of snow each year. She'd talk of meeting her husband, long since deceased, at a winter festival in Hyesan, many years before, and sharing their first tentative kisses under those early snowflakes, by the light of a distant moon. She always saw the romance in the moment, where others would only see the chill.
Olivia hasn't thought about Mrs. Kim in years, but her words ring in her head, even now. "Make a wish, Elliot," she says, and she closes her eyes. I wish we could all be happy.
She feels him raising their joined hands, and she cracks an eye open to see what he's doing; he's lifting their hands to his lips, and he plants a small, reverent kiss on the back of her palm. Even through the knit of her gloves, she can feel his warmth. "Already got mine," he says, and it's in that fleeting moment, one that's over before it truly begins, that she first sees the romance of it for herself. "Come on, Liv, let me show you where to get the good coffee," he continues, and, not breaking their grasp, he begins to walk with her, further from the courthouse, further from the stresses of their daily lives and the reminders of the things that didn't make them happy.
It's nice, she thinks, to have Elliot back. And she lets him guide her down the sidewalk, as the snowflakes fall faster, swirling around them, and begin to stick to the awnings and overhangs of the buildings around them. It almost feels as though they're in a magical snowglobe of a moment, the two of them, and as long as his hand is firmly ensconced in hers and the snow continues to fall around them, she can continue to live suspended in it.
There really is something special about the first snow of the season.