AN: Thank you so much for your kind words regarding this fic!
I wasn't sure how an EO AU that stole another TV show's concept was going to go down, but I'm glad you're on board.
Banner Gratitude: Thank you so much to Micayla for providing the new banner, I was blown away by your exceptional skills in record time!
Beta Gratitude: Thank you again to JessR for your beta'ing magic! I am so lucky I have you on this ride to help me find my way.
Again, not sure how many chapters I will be writing of this fic, but I hope this next part suffices. X
She stands in the quartered off terminal sector, watching all the families reuniting - couples, friends, parents, children.
She hears the sobs, the disbelief, the relief.
Estranged husbands are touching their wives faces in shock; mothers are grasping their teenagers in tears, presumably having left them as small children.
She watches on like a fly on the wall.
She still cannot believe this is happening.
This has to be some sort of misunderstanding. If this was truly her reality, it would mean she was about to come face-to-face with a version of Elliot Stabler who just lived ten years of his life without her. She cannot even fathom the extent of what that would mean for them.
She wonders if he has a new partner, a new job title - a new wife. She can't even be certain he's still a cop. Maybe he's retired, maybe he made captain, maybe he works for the Feds now. There is so much unknown, so much time, space and distance that has been packed between them that she's not even sure it will be possible to unravel it all.
She lets out a shaky breath. It's been a while since she's felt her chest tightening like this and she knows it's the oncoming of anxiety. She can feel it building in the pit of her chest and she already feels light-headed and faint.
She needs to sit down.
Her eyes are glued to the entrance, watching as loved ones continue to enter in droves, their voices carrying loudly as they shriek across the room towards their counterparts.
She looks down at her wristwatch.
1:11am.
If he was coming from Queens he shouldn't be too much longer. But maybe he's moved suburbs, cities, states…countries.
She can't be sure of anything anymore.
She feels a hand on her elbow, moving her slowly and she turns, confused by the contact at first before her eyes look up and lock onto startling blue.
She gasps when she sees him.
He is glaringly different, yet strikingly familiar. He's bulkier, broader - there are additional lines on his face, far less hair on his head and a wealth of grief in his eyes. He is sporting a salt and pepper goatee and it rattles her that she can't see all of his face anymore.
He is staring at her just as ghost-like as his eyes run intently over her unchanged appearance.
"Elliot," she whispers breathily, as if she needs verbal confirmation that it's actually him, then she counts down the fleeting beats before he steps forward.
He draws her in - an arm slinking around the back of her shoulders, sandwiching their bodies intimately together until they're pretzeled into one solid, unforgiving embrace.
She closes her eyes against the firm wall of his chest, relief spilling through her as she breathes in his familiar scent. He is warm, large and unyieldingly strong and she can't escape the feeling that she is hugging both a stranger and her best friend.
She feels his hand rake through the back of her ponytail, tugging her face forward until it's buried into the crux of his neck. Her breathing stills when she realizes her breasts have no option but to meld into the warmth of his chest.
His physical form is so visceral, so tangible, so ever-present, so much so that she feels unsteady on her feet.
She must be dreaming.
A few beats pass before he is burrowing his face into her neck and she feels a bout of nerves flood through her as his beard tickles her flesh.
He has never touched her like this.
Ever.
His fingers brush the exposed flesh beneath her raised leather jacket before they curl into her bare skin, then she hears him let out a gasp - then a sob.
Her heart aches at what he must have endured.
Missing for ten years.
Presumed dead.
She wants to tell him it's okay - that she's here now, that they will work through this. That nothing has to change between them - they can still be them; they can pick up where they left off. But she's still reeling over the petty fight they had last week and how minuscule it all seems in comparison.
She feels him burrow deeper into her personal space and she succumbs to it, smoothing her hand over the back of his shoulders, the action feeling so foreign yet familiar. She can sense pain all over him; she can feel it culminating in the depth of his chest and she knows from the way he is holding his breath that he is desperately trying to choke back any further emotion.
Then she feels it, the salty residue starting to trickle down her neck as his fingers fist the lip of her leather jacket into a tight ball.
He is crying.
It is clear now; the torment in his eyes was all for her.
He had been grieving her for a decade.
He never moved on.
He closes the apartment door behind her, bolting it firmly shut as she steps through the threshold. Her eyes scan the expanse of the living room. It looks like a reconverted warehouse with floor-to-ceiling windows. There are plants peppered around with a wide courtyard. It's like a greenhouse with a modern twist.
She turns back towards him, doing a double take when she sees the nuances of his face and his startlingly full facial hair. He is staring at her strangely too, as if he's convinced he has lost his mind.
Maybe they both have.
She has so many questions for him - an extraordinary amount; she just doesn't know where to start.
"When did you..." she begins, her eyes motioning to the enormity of his surroundings. "When did you move in here?"
His eyes are still locked onto hers and he doesn't answer.
"And where's Kathy?" Her voice cracks slightly. "The kids?"
He still isn't answering any of her questions and she has to steady her breath from the intense way he is staring at her.
"Are you still a detective?" She treads carefully, her eyes moving between his. "Do you have a new partner?"
She desperately wants to know the answers to all her questions, but particularly the last one. She already knows she will have to grieve the loss of their partnership at some point but a naive part of her is clinging to the hope that she was never replaced.
His eyes look tired and glossy as he takes a quiet step towards her, his boots firm against the floorboards. He looks broken and wild at the same time.
His eyes move in between hers, still assessing, still analyzing. She can tell he is still in shock that she's even alive, standing in front of him in the flesh, but she needs him to voice something - anything.
"Say something," she whispers, her voice a near tremble because someone has to lead this.
You're scaring me.
But he's not really.
She's just scared.
Period.
He lifts a hand, until he is threading strands of her ponytail through his fingers and she holds her breath as he weaves the tresses, inspecting them as if they weren't real.
She begs him to answer her questions with her eyes - any of them - she just asked a whole plethora of them in rapid fire, but he's barely said a word since he first laid eyes on her.
His eyes flicker with a wealth of sadness and the timing of it all registers. She had just returned from Oregon only to have left a few short weeks later on vacation, their anger having escalated to a level not even Cragen could tolerate.
The next thing she knew she was in Jamaica.
She remembers how hard he took it when she left for Oregon.
And now here she was leaving him again.
This time for ten years.
"I'm so sorry Elliot," her voice trembles as she presses her eyes closed. Her heart is in her throat now, not even able to fathom the situation occurring in reverse. "I can only imagine what you've been through."
He steps forward, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek and nerves ignite immediately at the boldness of his touch. Her eyes slip back open and they've welled up considerably now, mirroring back the emotion found in his.
She has no idea what to expect of this version of her partner. The unforgiving embrace at the airport held a wealth of intimacy she hadn't anticipated, and now they weren't surrounded by hundreds of strangers and airport officials.
They were completely alone.
She clutches the counter behind her as his eyes continue to implore her and the way he is looking at her now feels very different.
She feels the rough pad of his thumb start to stroke her cheek and when his eyes drop down to her mouth she can feel each and every wall they had carefully erected slowly start to obliterate.
She is seconds from moving when he leans forward grasping her mouth with his in one fluid motion, smothering any sounds of shock or protest. Her fingers curl behind the counter as he parts her lips with his and he moves his whole body forward. She makes a sound as the counter digs into her lower back but he doesn't let up. He cups her other cheek instead, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, his coarse beard dragging across her parted lips as his tongue drives deep into her recesses.
Fuck.
She moans from the heat and shock of it all before shoving him back mid kiss, his lips leaving hers with a slick sound.
It was reflex, instinctual.
She is trembling now as she looks up at him. She can feel his saliva on her mouth, her cheeks flushed from where he held her and her chest pounds at what he'd just done.
An eight year partnership and he just...
Only they weren't partners.
18 years.
She looks away nervously and she feels him let up on the space he'd just encroached on.
She can barely make eye contact with him now. All of him is entirely unfamiliar to her. His hands, his lips, his demeanor.
And it scares the absolute shit out of her.
He whispers an apology, the fragile sentiment leaving his lips in a rush.
"Shouldn't have done that..." he confirms regretfully, scrubbing a hand down his face.
Her eyes slowly return to his and that's when she catches his bare fingers.
No ring.
No kids.
No Kathy to be seen.
Relief floods through her at the sight but more questions start to culminate. She wants to ask them all but she is too overwhelmed by the tangibility of that mouth - his beard, those hands, the realization that she seemingly has permission now.
She didn't want to stop that kiss.
But she was petrified.
Of it all.
The man she knew a week ago was married.
The man she knew a week ago was her partner.
The man she knew a week ago was going ten rounds with her, bickering over a wealth of petty shit that now long since didn't matter.
"El," she breathes out shakily. "Do you understand how confusing this is for me? The last thing I remember was fighting over the Brighton case - that was last week for me." Her eyes move slowly between his. "You're still pissed at me for that."
A few beats pass before he steps forward.
"No..." he breathes out shakily. "I'm not."
He's close again.
Too close.
"I'm still grieving you Olivia." The admission exhales across her lips and her heart aches as she watches the torment in his eyes tug at his features.
"Never stopped."
His eyes are glossy and red and her heart thrums when they drop to her mouth once more.
Suddenly she needs air, space - distance.
If he kisses her again she won't be able to stop him this time.
She's not ready for this.
Any of it.
"This can't be real..." she rasps up at him. "None of this is."
She pushes herself off the counter and hastily heads towards the bathroom, only to realize she doesn't know where it is.
"Second door on your right."
He calls out behind her and she quickly pads towards the indicated door, pressing it firmly closed behind her.
She leans up against the frame, taking a few solid breaths.
This has to be a dream.
There is no way she is in Elliot Stabler's apartment, ten years into his future, reeling from the intoxicating aftermath of him ramming his tongue down her throat.
She knows she will go to sleep and wake up and this will all be over.
This has to be a dream.
She just needs sleep.
TBC