Prompt #17: Elliot takes Olivia on a starlight picnic on Valentine's Day
And the Stars Gazed Back
•••
"A philosopher once asked, 'Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?' Pointless, really... 'Do the stars gaze back?' Now, that's a question." — Neil Gaiman
•••
If the stars could speak, they would have many stories to tell about Elliot and Olivia.
They had watched the two of them since they were children, catching the wishes of a young boy and girl who had poked their heads out of windows on cold nights. The stars remembered them well—the boy with blue eyes and the girl with brown—searching the darkness for pinholes of light. The sounds of older, unsettled voices had reverberated through walls as the children had tried to lose themselves in the shapes of the constellations; their warm breaths had clouded the frigid air as they whispered their requests.
Elliot had dreamed of flying to the moon, imagining himself hurtling through the stratosphere, seeing his house grow small and quiet until, finally, it disappeared. Olivia, on the other hand, had hoped to become it—to magically transform into this glowing sphere—and be the one who could find the strength to illuminate someone else's night. Either way, they had pictured themselves up there, at home in the vast, lonely places, belonging to the emptiness more than the Earth.
The stars had watched them grow and become teenagers; they had seen Elliot looking up after the birth of his first child, leaving them with a prayer as he turned away from the moon, choosing life on the ground instead. They had followed Olivia, too, absorbing her pain as she ran from her home and searched them for sparks, desperate to keep her fire from fading.
Olivia and Elliot had found themselves, a number of years later, shaking hands in a police precinct in Manhattan, and the stars had felt themselves shift and settle, aligning as they do when soulmates first meet. The soulmates had called themselves partners; the stars had guarded them on the many nights they shared, watching them knock on doors and drag gloved hands through bloodied, fallen leaves. They had tracked their shadows as they raced under the streetlights; they had seen them listen and protect and console, finding their shared purpose in helping those who also knew what it was to cry into the darkness.
The stars had noticed how the partners had moved around each other, rarely making contact but always in orbit. They were deeply linked—dependent, at times on the existence of the other—but intensely aware of the space between them, a necessary boundary. It was as if they knew that if their energies were to collide, to combine in some frenetic, blazing union, they would rattle the world as they knew it. They would break down all the walls they had worked so hard to construct; they would find themselves in a new universe entirely.
But despite the boundaries, Olivia and Elliot were, it seemed, at the mercy of a gravitational pull, one that was stronger than any distance they could encounter or create.
The pull had a way of lingering in the background, dormant and manageable, residing in the comfort of coffee runs and shared meals.
It never gave them fair warning.
It would make its presence known in the most unexpected places—a bus terminal, a warehouse, the basement of a church. It found them in moments of terror and tenderness, pulsing through them as they covered wounds and cradled heads…as they clutched each other in the hallway of a hospital…as they sat on steps and she let her knee touch his, holding a flower in her cup.
Sometimes, they ran from it, finding their stars in distant corners of the sky. In Oregon and Rome, they fought it and quieted it, trying to will the waters' ebb. A fruitless effort, as it is for all soulmates. Their tide would always return.
•••
On the day before Valentine's, their planets finally collided.
It had started with a message from Elliot. Olivia had just dropped Noah off at Amanda's for a little holiday sleepover, his bag packed with conversation hearts and a Tupperware of red velvet whoopie pies that she had somehow managed to make. She had heard her phone pinging with texts as they had said their goodbyes—work, she had assumed, another night of relaxation postponed. But at the car door, when she pulled it out of her pocket, she had stopped in her tracks.
Closing in on Wheatley.
Power plant. Going in now.
And thirty seconds later.
I love you.
Olivia had felt her stomach drop and her body shake, knowing that something had happened in those two minutes, something that would make those three words surge through him in desperation, the fear that he would never have another breath to utter them. She had felt the few, long minutes passing in her bones, but before she could sink into a complete spiral, her phone had sounded again, Elliot's name appearing; she had pressed the button, steadying herself as she prepared to hear Ayanna on the other side, delivering the bad news.
"Liv…I'm okay, I'm okay..."
His voice.
"Elliot…" she had gasped, exhaling his name with the same disbelief she had felt nearly a year before, watching him walk into her life again on a rainy night, a ghost rising from the dead.
"It's over. I'm okay. I'm here."
"And Wheatley?"
"Gone. They were ready for us…all of his guys. Bomb threats…lots of crossfire," Elliot muttered, still catching his breath.
It had occurred to Olivia that all of this wasn't exactly the norm…a text in the middle of a major operation, a phone call right after. She had imagined what must have been going through his mind, flashes of all their close calls, the prospect of no more tomorrows. The idea that he could leave her with another unspoken goodbye.
"I was afraid that…I needed you to know…in case… That's why I…"
"I know."
Her voice had seemed to soothe him, and she heard him release a lengthy sigh before continuing.
"Angela got to him first. Ran out in the middle of everything, lodged a knife in his back. She's in custody. He bled out."
Olivia had been trying to keep tabs on Elliot's somewhat rogue investigation but had only been privy to dribs and drabs of information. He had kept her at an arm's length since his Christmas party; it had been terrible timing—the news of Wheatley's release coming right before her arrival at his apartment. They had made the best of it, Elliot whispering the update in Olivia's ear before bending down to greet Noah, seeing himself in the blue eyes of the boy looking up at him, wondering what could have been.
Bernie had taken Noah and her great-grandchildren on a tour of the garden, making a story of every weed and crack in the earth, while the rest of the Stablers had done their best to make Olivia feel welcome. She had seen it, though, as Elliot had poured her a glass of champagne—that look in his eyes. The hollow gaze of a man falling backward, no landing in sight. He had motioned for her to step into his bedroom that night, seemingly unaware of the raised eyebrows and questioning glances his children and mother were passing around the room.
He had taken her hands, something they had apparently started to do as friends "for now," and his eyes had found their intensity.
"Liv," he had said softly, but with urgency. "I don't want to throw off our balance again."
"What do you mean?" she had asked, gliding her thumb over his fingers.
"I just…" he had started. "Wheatley, Liv. Out there, doing whatever the hell he wants. Nothing good can come of this."
"It's out of your control, El."
"But is it?"
They had felt the weight of the question land between them as Elliot pulled Olivia's hands close to his heart, touching his forehead to hers. She had remembered their years together as partners—the way he would persist, relentlessly, through the longest of nights, hell-bent on finding some semblance of justice, even when it meant losing himself in the process. There was no doubt he would see this through to the end, working through the tangled web, intent on finding a way to pull Wheatley's strings.
"I don't want to push you away, Liv," he had continued. "But I also don't want to pull you under."
"You won't."
"I'm not steady yet, Liv. And I can't keep relying on you to keep me grounded."
"El—
"Please," he had interrupted, shifting to rest his lips in her hair. "Give me time. Let me finish this so I can…"
His breath had caught in his throat as he had swallowed the words, "…love you."
"I want you to be able to lean on me completely, Liv. As a friend or…"
"I know."
And so, Olivia had given him time, a few months a mere drop in the bucket after ten years, after twenty-three. She had resisted the urge to push and to ask; she had let him tell her as much or as little as he wanted. Olivia had wondered if he was devolving, at times, but she had heard something in his voice, a hint of stability amidst the mayhem. Kathy had once told her that Elliot could never move on until he was on solid ground. But this time, it seemed, Elliot was committed to finding his own footing, to becoming the rock he had rested upon.
There, leaning on her car, the day before Valentine's, Olivia had listened to the sound of him breathing over the phone, slow and steady and alive. She had known, of course, that there were statements to be made, paperwork to be completed, children to hold in a moment of closure. A part of her had wished they could keep their emotions at bay and fall into talk of the day's operations, a Captain and a Detective wading through the details, finding safety in the debrief. Still, she had felt it rising—the unshakable pull of her soul toward his— and only three words had managed to grace her lips.
"Come home, El."
•••
Olivia heard a knock at the door at exactly 10:02 pm. She had tried to busy herself for six hours, jumping from task to task while he tended to his obligations—plucking a few stray hairs near her eyebrow before cleaning the grout in the bathroom, playing archived Wordles, testing out new combinations of throw pillows on her couch. Somehow, she had forgotten to make herself dinner, her mind lost in the rehearsal of her anticipated encounter with Elliot. She found herself running through every conversation they had yet to have—words about leaving and terror and finding a little boy in a dresser drawer, a letter, a party, this thing they called friendship.
But when she opened the door and saw him there, ready to keep her company as he had many years before, she quickly realized that she didn't want to talk.
"Olivia…"
"Shh…"
"Is Noah asleep?"
"He's at Amanda's."
"Olivia," he repeated in a hush, leaning toward her; she watched his chest rise and fall and felt herself moving closer until his body was an inch away, his warmth calming her every nerve.
In the silence, she could see the change. The way his shoulders had relaxed, ever so slightly…the way his neck had softened and his hands had loosened their grip. The way his eyes had brightened, a piercing blue, brimming with something she could have sworn resembled hope.
She thought about what he had said in his text, the words he had chosen in the face of his life's uncertainty. She imagined, for a moment, that they were standing together at the end of the world, an asteroid careening toward the planet; she considered the idea of nothingness, a space devoid of possibility, a final gasp of air before a snap and then—
She couldn't fathom it. The blank, soundless landscape of existence, cut short. Olivia had pictured it too many times, the unbearable vision of his death or her own. The notion that one would have to live without the other, holding onto the bittersweet traces of a love that had never fully bloomed.
Olivia reached her hand up to his face and decided how she would want to use her last breath on Earth; she closed her eyes and kissed his mouth, but instead of an ending, she felt the world begin again.
•••
They didn't plan for it to happen.
All they knew, though, was that the force between them was suddenly inescapable. They felt it rush from their centers through arms that clutched and hands that grasped. It moved through lips and tongues as their kiss deepened; it made their chests heave and press against each other, as if they were seeking a way for their hearts to touch. They found themselves locked inside of it, incapable of taking space from one another as they clumsily made their way to Olivia's bedroom, kicking off their shoes and searching for buttons and zippers. They only paused for a moment as Olivia sat down at the edge of the bed, motioning for Elliot to join her.
"El…are you…is this okay?"
"I'm steady, Liv," he replied, thinking back to their conversation before Christmas. "And I'm…" he continued, lacing their fingers together as a shy smile formed. "I'm more than okay." He paused, squeezing her hand, a gentle reassurance. "But only if you are… I mean that. We don't have to—"
"I want to," she interrupted, breaking into a smirk. "Believe me." She let the moment linger before taking a breath and turning to face him fully. "But before we…" she continued, her tone growing serious. "Elliot…my body's been…through things. And I know you're going to have questions. But I just need…"
"Olivia," he began, pressing a slow kiss to her cheek. "Whatever it is… Whatever you need."
"I need you to not freak out…or hold back. I just…I don't want to talk about the villains in our stories tonight…yours or mine. Another day, yes. But right now," she said, finding his eyes. "I need…"
"Tell me, Liv…"
"I just need to feel you. Everywhere. As close as you can possibly be."
Touching his lips to hers, he replied softly, "I need that, too."
This time, when they felt the pull, they had no reason to run away, holding onto each other as they leaped into it instead. They found that they were seamless, the way they molded and fit, never breaking contact as they learned each other's surfaces, the uncharted realm of their bodies' terrains. He lost himself in her gaze, the mystery of her galaxy, as she pulled him close and he moved inside of her for the first time. This must be what it feels like, they thought, to land on the moon. Overwhelming, wondrous, and life-changing. Everything, they soon realized, was a discovery—her nails tracing the muscles of his back, his mouth tasting the sweetness of her skin. The friction and the fullness, the rhythm and the heat, the way they seemed to thrive in the chaos. The sounds they made as they soared past the edge, finally understanding what it meant to see stars.
Still, as they laid together after, reluctant to part, they felt themselves settle, grounded in each other's arms, closer to Earth than they had ever been.
•••
Olivia found herself draped over him a few hours later, strands of hair still stuck to her flushed cheeks, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her hip.
"What time is it?" she whispered, burying her face in his neck.
"A little before two," he replied, sliding his hands up to her waist, brushing against the curve of her breast.
"Hm..." she started, a grin forming as she turned to meet his eyes.
"What?"
"I didn't expect to wake up today with a Valentine," she continued, placing a delicate kiss over his heart.
"Is that what we are? Valentines...for now?"
"Jesus, El," she responded, playfully squeezing his bicep before rolling on top of him, peppering his collar bone with delicate nips and pecks.
"Because," he replied, "I'm happy to let you reevaluate my Valentine status a year from now…when it's up for renewal."
This, she thought, was the man she had missed. Her friend, her partner, with his stupid little jokes and quips. She hadn't seen much of this version of him in the past year, and certainly not in the last decade, but there he was, lying under her in her bed—naked, happy, and full of light.
"Or…" he said, weaving his fingers through her hair, "maybe…we can make it a life-time appointment."
"Maybe we can…" she replied with a knowing look.
Reaching up to trace her mouth with his thumb, he looked at her and whispered, earnestly, "My Forever Valentine."
How is this real…she thought to herself, kissing him deeply. As she relished in the sensation of his warm lips against her own, she soaked in the truth that they had woken up in a new space entirely, one that was both remarkable and familiar, unlocking hidden rooms in the home they had always known.
"God, Elliot..." she said with an unexpected laugh, resting her head on his chest. "We're gonna turn into those people, aren't we?"
"What people?"
"Those people who pick out the corniest greeting cards and screw up traffic in the supermarket because they can't stop kissing in the produce section… I don't know...those people who call each other 'baby' and...feed each other at restaurants."
"Wouldn't be the worst thing, though, would it? Baby…"
"We'll see," she smirked, knowing this man was going to make her softer than she'd ever admit.
"Speaking of food...you hungry? Because your stomach was sounding like a freight train in your sleep."
"You're an asshole, you know that?"
"Oh, I'm very aware," he chuckled, running his knuckles down her side. "But, I can also be the asshole who gets food ready while you take a nice, hot, relaxing shower."
"You don't want to join me?"
The second the question left her mouth, her stomach churned with an especially heinous noise.
"On second thought, food would be perfect."
•••
Olivia could hear him rummaging.
"Making yourself at home, are we?" she shouted from the shower.
"Got any candles, Liv?" he responded loudly over the sharp clang of plates and silverware.
She didn't know what the hell he was getting into, but she assumed his intentions were good…
"Bottom of the linen closet."
So slow but so fast—Olivia considered the journey as she let the water trickle down her body, remembering his every touch. She had waded through the past twenty-three years…twenty-three years of longing, repressing, aching, denying, suffering…forgiving…only to find herself here, rinsing off their shared sweat, listening to the sound of his heavy footsteps as he searched her apartment for candles. After more than two decades, her universe had changed overnight, and to her surprise, it wasn't jarring or confusing, another complication to add to her list of things she didn't tell her therapist. It was safe. Easy. Right.
As she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, she heard him moving again, approaching, until she saw his head poking around the bathroom door.
"Left you a note on the bed. See you soon."
"What are you doing, El?"
"Trust me," he added, grinning from ear to ear as he slipped away, plodding through her bedroom to the living room and out the front door, closing it with a click.
She made her way to the bed and, there it was, in red crayon on pink construction paper in the shape of a heart:
MEET ME ON THE ROOF.
LOVE, EL
Olivia shook her head, biting her lip to hold back a smile, and started to dress. She figured she wouldn't waste time drying her hair; she brushed through the tangles and threw it up in a clip before tossing on some yoga pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It wasn't the coldest of nights, considering that it was February, but she knew she needed at least one extra layer, and reaching into her drawer, she found the perfect choice.
When she finally made her way up to the roof of her building and opened the door, she found him there waiting, two glasses of champagne in hand. She walked toward him slowly, taking in the assortment of her extra blankets and pillows that he had carefully arranged. Candles burned in the center, lights flickering next to a tray of sliced salami and cheese, some butterfly crackers, leftover whoopie pies, and strawberries that Elliot had cut into hearts.
Music played quietly on his phone in the background; she took the glass from his hand and kissed his cheek, grateful and awestruck.
"What's all this?"
Clinking their glasses together, he replied, "Our first date…" He paused. "To partners."
"To partners," she echoed, recalling a spring night on the waterfront, the way she had felt it, a glimpse of what could be.
"You warm enough?"
"I don't know…could be warmer," she responded coyly; he draped his jacket over her shoulders and took her hand, guiding her to sit down on the blanket before cozying up behind her, wrapping her in his arms.
They looked up together into the clear night, letting their eyes relax, the city lights fading into the periphery.
"I used to think about the stars a lot, Liv… Remember the whole thing with Dick Finley? Me wanting to be an astronaut?"
"How could I forget..."
"I spent so much time looking up there. Wanting to escape. It was like…the world was too much, you know?"
"I do."
"I never really stopped feeling that way. My whole childhood…couldn't deal with my parents…I'd escape to the moon. My marriage…always on the rocks…I'd escape into the job. And when the job got to be too much…"
"You escaped me," she interjected, calmly but pointedly.
"Olivia…" he started slowly, and she could feel a tear sliding from his cheek onto the nape of her neck. "I'm not…trying to make excuses here… And it blows my mind that you're even with me right now, like this, after everything I did…or didn't do. But you've gotta know…I wasn't trying to escape you. It was the opposite."
"The opposite…" she repeated, her own eyes growing wet.
"I think I realized…that I wanted to escape…with you."
"With me." She let his words land.
"After Jenna…" he said with a stuttered breath. "All I wanted to do was run away. But when I pictured it…I wasn't alone. I was with you, Liv. It was like…all I wanted to do was block everything out and collapse into you and never leave. And I think I was so afraid of turning everything upside down—my marriage, my family…our relationship—I ended up doing the reverse. And I'll never quite understand that…how I could do that to you…to us. But I—"
"Elliot…" she began.
"Olivia…what I'm trying to say is…I know this might be a strange way of putting this, but… I don't want to be an astronaut anymore. I don't want to fly or run or think that I'd be better in some far-off place. Because everything I could want or need or dream of is right here…resting against my heart."
She shut her eyes, sinking into his touch as he held her closely.
"I don't deserve your patience or your faith, Olivia…but I promise. I'm here to stay. I'm yours."
Olivia thought, for a moment, about all of the monologues her mind had written over the past decade, the ways she had prepared so many times to tell him off completely, put him in his place, make him feel even a fraction of the pain she had known in his absence. But here, in his arms, she felt the last of her grievances melting away and could only utter…
"I believe you."
She had spent the last year wandering through the twilight zone, the hazy line that surrounded the Earth, separating day and night. At times, she had seen the new morning rising and had turned away, retreating into the midnights that had raised her, afraid that her eyes would not be able to adjust to the sun. But she felt a decision rising to the surface, a strong one, a deep realization that she was tired of walking the line between past and future. And as much as she was confident in his change, tempted to spare his feelings, she knew that this, more than anything, was a decision she would make for herself, for her own sake.
She would choose to believe that life, for once, could exceed her expectations. She would choose to chase the brightness. And she would choose what she deserved—slow mornings and laughter and passion and trust…a family, blended and healing…and Elliot, this Elliot, rising from the ashes, steady and committed and hers.
"El…you know what I want?" she began, twisting around to face him, wiping his tears as she took his face in her hands.
"What?" he asked, mesmerized by her intensity.
"I want…to stop…fucking around. Wasting time. I know there are things that we need to talk about and we will. But I'm tired, El…I'm tired of tragedies and near misses and wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. And I don't want obstacles or questions or any more back and forth. I just want…us… Together. Happy."
She touched his forehead with her own, her thumbs stroking his cheeks as they began to melt into each other.
"This is how we begin, Elliot," she said softly. "Just like this."
"Just like this," he repeated, turning his face to kiss her palm.
"You know what else I want?" she continued, shifting toward a lightened mood. "I want you to feed me those little strawberries you cut up and kiss the hell out of me and take me dancing on my roof."
"Copy that, Captain," he smirked as he picked up a plump, strawberry heart from the plate beside him and brought it to her mouth, the juice trickling down his hand. She chewed slowly, a hint of mischief growing in her eyes.
"Let me clean that up," Olivia said quietly before wrapping her lips around his fingertip, noticing the way the sweetness of the fruit mixed with the saltiness of his skin, a delicious combination.
When she was done, she added, "Your turn."
Instead of another strawberry, she found herself going for the whoopie pie, dragging her index finger through the marshmallow filling in the middle.
"Taste?" she asked, teasing him as she painted his mouth with it, grazing his tongue as he licked his lips.
"Mmm..." he hummed. "You made this?"
She nodded.
"It's...very good," he said with a wink.
"Shocking, right?" she responded, thinking of the handful of baking failures she had brought to the precinct in years past...charred edges on chocolate chip cookies...cupcakes made with salt instead of sugar...
But instead of making a dig at her expense, he simply said, "More…Please."
They reached down together and broke the whoopie pie in half, laughing as they slowly brought the pieces toward each other's mouths.
"You better not smash it in my face," she suddenly blurted. "It's bad luck. Every couple I've known who did that is divorced now."
Elliot's eyes grew wide for a moment as he swallowed, hard.
"Oh, shit…" she started, nervously wiping her hand over her chin. "Did you and Kathy…"
"Yup…coconut and fondant right up the nose."
"El, I'm…"
"No, Liv…it's okay. Really, it's okay. Let's just...not smash the cake," he replied, smiling against her fingers as they finally fed each other a bite.
They continued picking their way through his makeshift charcuterie board, wiping crumbs and drinking from the same glass of champagne, even though they had their own. Elliot joked that he already had a plan for their second date—a trip to the supermarket—since his partner still seemed to be having trouble keeping a stocked fridge. For a final treat, they started digging into the extra bag of conversation hearts that Noah had left on the kitchen counter; she dropped a "BE MINE" on his tongue, and he fiddled around and searched the bottom until he found his chosen phrase, "TRUE LOVE."
Instead of bringing it to her lips, he placed it between his own, slipping it into her mouth with a kiss before muttering, "I'm still hungry."
"Yeah?" she asked, removing the clip from her hair as she laid back on the pillow he had placed behind her. "What are you in the mood for?"
And leaning over her, he replied in a low voice. "You."
"Well..." she responded, blushing just a little as he rested his body on hers. "As tempting as that sounds…not sure I'm ready to go bare-assed on my roof in the middle of February."
"Then let's just…make out."
"Since when do a couple of fifty-somethings just…make out."
"Since now."
She kept her eyes open at first—taking in the blur of his face, a centimeter away, as their lips began to skim and graze, a delicate prelude. Olivia remembered the dreams she used to have, waking up in the night to the sound of her own voice uttering his name. She had tried so hard to shake off the reverie, to leave all of her imaginings in the secret corners of her sleep, accepting that she would never know the taste of his mouth, the heat of his body. But this…now…God…the sheer ecstasy of being awake. Feeling him, watching him as he worshipped her lips, choosing her, adoring her, over and over. She finally closed her eyes, warmth rushing through her as their kiss deepened; she slipped her tongue into his mouth, letting it roam and dance, absorbing him completely. Elliot moaned softly and she committed the sound to memory, adding it to her mind's collection of all the little, wonderful things she had discovered over the past several hours—the lightness of his breath near her ear, the thickness of his fingers as they pressed and stroked, the way his hips rolled, sending her into oblivion. All of it, her new reality, sweeter than any dream could hope to be.
As they kissed, Elliot relished in the feeling of Olivia's hands wandering across his back, touching him in every way possible—clutching and smoothing, massaging, tickling. He had spent the last few weeks wondering if he had ruined his chances with her, wishing he could go back in time. He had considered those moments—the tipping points that he, unfortunately, had tipped in the wrong direction—and pictured what he could have done differently. He would have stood at the gate to his patio, her hand on his face, and told her that she was his home. He would have defied orders and checked in with her, racing from his Winnebago to be at her side after her surgery, escaping Eddie Ashes so that Elliot Stabler could carry her to bed. He would have stayed at the intervention. Kept the letter in his pocket. Picked up the phone. Stood at the airport a decade earlier, baggage in hand, and simply turned around.
Elliot knew that he was a lucky man. He was not sure why he, of all the people in this universe, had been granted a second chance. But as he pulled back from their kiss just to look at her, taking in the sight of her breathless smile, he made a promise that he would never let himself get used to this. He would celebrate her, every moment, in wonder and thanksgiving; she would astonish him for the rest of their days.
"Unzip me, El," she suddenly said, the light of the nearly full moon reflecting in her dark eyes as she gazed up at him.
He happily complied, reaching between them to find the zipper, but as his hands touched the small piece of metal, something moved through him. Unexpected familiarity. A sense of déjà vu. Then he realized—
"Liv," he began. "Is that…my sweatshirt?" he asked, running his fingers along the worn, gray fabric.
"Uh, excuse me," she chuckled, clearing her throat. "Our sweatshirt."
"All this time…you still…"
"I wore it for a while. After you left. And then…I just…didn't. But tonight, well…it's back. Along with everything else."
"It's back," he repeated, gently pulling the hood up over her head, her hair still damp from her shower. "And it's not going anywhere."
Elliot pulled the zipper down completely and the hoodie fell open, giving him room to slide his hands up under her shirt. They came together for another kiss as he cupped her bare breasts.
"No bra, I see?" he quipped.
"Figured it'd be coming off anyway."
His mouth shifted to her neck, his teeth grazing her delicate skin, debating whether or not he could leave a mark.
Reading his mind, she interjected, "Go for it, El. It's turtleneck season."
And with that, she felt him leave one light kiss on his chosen spot, taking a deep breath before he found her neck again, inhaling her slowly. Her pulse vibrated through the tight seal his mouth had made, the drumbeat of her want increasing in tempo as he slid her skin between his lips, pulling gently. She reached her hand around the back of his head and brought him closer, giving him permission to increase his pressure. It was as if she could stay here forever, his breath and her blood separated only by the thinnest of layers. Olivia remembered the scar on her neck, only a few inches from the place his lips currently resided and found herself absentmindedly running her hand along his left shoulder, seeking out the small indent where a bullet had once pierced him. How incredible it was, she thought, to have made it this far—intact and inseparable, life running through them.
Behind them, Elliot's phone played the last few notes of Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon" before shifting to a new song, a familiar throwback.
Many times I tried to tell you
Many time I cried alone
Always I'm surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone
Elliot kissed her neck one last time and Olivia let out a whimper before suddenly muttering—
"Pat Benatar…"
He looked at her quizzically and laughed, "Uh…name's Elliot Stabler. But if Pat Benatar's your thing, then…"
"No…the song," she chuckled, moving out from underneath him. "It's Pat Benatar. Get up."
"I feel like there's a story here…" he replied, amused.
Olivia and Elliot helped each other stand, careful not to knock over the candles still burning on the blanket.
"So…one time when I was in Oregon…" she began, wrapping her arms around his back. "We were camping out at some all-night protest…"
Elliot could see what she wanted, tracing her curves as he moved his hands to her hips, pulling her into a dance.
"Something to do with saving the redwoods, I think," she added as they started to sway back and forth, their bodies touching, perfectly in sync.
"And this guy, Pete, had a radio…and he was flipping around the stations when this song came on."
"We Belong…" Elliot answered. "Came out when Maureen was a baby. 1984. Used to listen to it when I gave her a bottle…"
They rested their heads on each other's shoulders and both let out a small sigh of contentment, relaxing into the movement as if their bodies had never known a life apart.
"So," Olivia continued, "I'm listening to the song, sitting on a bunch of pine needles in the middle of God knows where, dressed like Persephone James…and I just start…crying."
"Why?"
"Because," she said, finding his eyes, "it made me homesick. And not for New York."
She paused, her heart remembering the ache. "I was homesick…for you. For some place we'd never been."
"But," he answered, brushing her cheek, "we're here now, Olivia."
"Yes," she replied, a smile forming on her lips. "Yes, we are."
He leaned in, kissing her gently before settling into a close embrace, their combined breaths warming the cool air. They moved lazily to the rhythm of the song, adrift in the lyrics' meaning as the chorus began to play.
We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder
We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under
Whatever we deny or embrace, for worse or for better
We belong, we belong, we belong together
Olivia and Elliot found themselves looking up at the stars as they held onto each other, a wish come true.
And the stars gazed back, watching them dance to the music of a song, remembered, and a city at rest—the sounds of souls belonging and hearts beating in tandem and Olivia whispering, "I love you," for the first time.