2
A/N: Beyond overwhelmed with the reviews for this set of shorts already. Thank you so very very for giving me the support to explore their reunion in so many ways. This fic is the one that gave me back my love of writing - maybe I love their quiet, human moments more than anything. Thank you to Noah Reid and every perfect song of his for letting my close my eyes and just watch them unfold. This one is set to his song False Alarms, which gave me every perfect lyric and beat. All mistakes are mine, and thank you to my little whip for loving them the same.
(I could get used to having you around)
That's how I fell in love with her
bit by bit
and then all at once
-atticus
Song: False Alarms – Noah Reid
The night creeps in sooner these days.
Fall is getting thicker. It is in the way the late October leaves are so crisp they disintegrate in the wind. It's the in way the gusts are stronger, the chill sinks into the bones of those who walk the city. The streetlights are brighter, because this is their time of year to shine - after the drowsy haze of summer in which they are unnoticeable and before the illuminating magic of Christmas.
They glow in the in-between.
He stands at the edge of the grand, immense hall, remaining three steps above the mass of people who gather and mingle on the event floor below, the hum of conversation a dull white noise. He had ordered a whiskey on the rocks at the bar near the entrance, so he stands here in no hurry, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs, just absorbing.
In truth, he's scanning the room and he isn't even trying to fool himself about who is he looking for.
There are faces he recognizes, over thirty years in the department will make even thousands of people familiar. Some he's worked with; some he's gone up against. Some of have been friends, some foes. In a rank and file life such as this, there are those in this room full of brass who have earned their status and those who have lucked into it by politics or paternity. He used to challenge the system, now he doesn't have enough left in him to fight the inaccuracies.
Seven years under will change a man.
He's lost the extraordinary in too many ways. He doesn't blame the job, he blames himself. There's no way to earn back what he'd cost himself, and he can only build again block by block. That's what he is telling himself every day, in every way.
Elliot's bruised body instantly relaxes at the sight of her.
It's the deep relief he had been seeking. Truthfully, it's only reason he had come here tonight. The nightmares are tattooed onto his bones and he can't close his eyes anymore. Last night he'd realized that he would probably sleep better in a car parked outside of her apartment than his hotel, but he can't tell her that.
Halfway across the room, a hundred people away from him, she is smiling at another man, someone he doesn't recognize. A date, he imagines. Every guest had been invited to bring one, but he will never bring one to these things. He's had too many years to think about why.
To know why.
He's been back three days, and he's been living at the hotel the NYPD had set up for him. He had met his oldest daughter for a coffee this morning, but the rest of his kids aren't ready, so he spends the days in debriefings or with the ADA's.
Since that first night, he hasn't had the guts to do more than text Olivia back a couple of times. She asks him questions about how he's doing, he answers. He will never again disappear on her.
That's why he's here. They'd told him he'd be getting a promotion and that he could come back when he wanted to, but they'd asked him to come tonight to this thing - the Captain's Endowment Association fundraiser. He had known she would be here, and while he knew what it would cost him to show up here tonight, he also knew that the chance to see her in her element would be worth the discomfort of being put on display.
He's standing in the shadows because while his name might not officially be out to everyone in the room, everyone in this room knows.
He's an enigma, a wild card. A loose cannon.
To everyone but her.
She's made her acceptance clear even via her messages. She's given him space to reacclimate, but she makes sure he is eating, sleeping, making it through. She reminds him gently that she is there.
She is here, and because of that he isn't alone.
Her dress is a deep, dark gray. It doesn't reveal too much skin and it falls to her knees, but it's mesmerizingly formed to her shape as if it had been sewn on. Her lush curves are perfectly wrapped, some of the material looks like it tucks up into her cleavage and the dress is cinched at her waist with a thin belt. She's wearing boots that he can't even think about, and he imagines that's where she's armed.
Her hair is swept to one side, falling in tumbles of loose waves. She's all don't-fuck-with-me power and subtle seduction. He's sure there are dozens in this room at minimum whom she could make weak with just a glance.
She's cradling a half-full wine glass, and he assumes it's a cabernet. It's always been her favorite.
The corners of his lips lift before he can help himself. His pulse slows, the rigidity of his shoulders eases. He exhales and takes a long sip of his drink, content to just stand here and watch her for a while. When he'd left, she'd still been all fire and struggle. There had been a restlessness in her that he had instinctively wanted to settle. But here she is now, and she's the calming one. Her movements are slower, fluid, her posture is perfect.
She is stunning.
Magnificent.
His stomach tightens with the deep ache of recognition. His hands itch to touch her. He lies to himself and pretends she'd once been his. He lies more and tells himself she can be again. The deepest lie is that she still is, just like he is still hers.
Possessive ideas run through his head and she might kill him for every one of them.
Then again, she might not. From what he gathers, she's single. Somehow that information has been a salve.
He doesn't need to know what she is saying to feel the effects of her small laugh. He doesn't even tense as he watches her tap the forearm of the man she is with, drawing him deeper into what she's saying.
He can tell she isn't in love with the man. He's tall, dark and handsome and yet she's going through the motions. She doesn't outwardly wear her haunts though, so she's at least doing better than he is.
Then again, he's only been back a couple days. The scars on his skin are still raw. His wrist is still swollen, his leg still holds two dozen stitches.
He doesn't feel any of it when she's in his sights.
He can't hear her from this far away, but he can tell she is telling a funny story. There is a small group of semi-familiar faces around her, and Olivia looks at each one of them to make sure they are following along. As if anyone could ever take their eyes off her.
She commands the room. The center of attention.
His face feels like it's cracking, and he realizes its because he might actually be smiling a little bit.
He hasn't done that very often over the last decade.
Since.
"She's different already, you know."
The slow, female drawl comes from behind him. He looks over his left shoulder and straightens, pulling his weight off the wall. Detective First Grade Amanda Rollins. He had done enough looking into Olivia's squad to know who was under her command. He remembers that the woman had been promoted this year, but her rank still doesn't reach the level of those invited. He'd met her briefly only once in passing at the elevators a few nights ago.
"Detective Amanda Rollins, I believe we crossed paths when you made your big debut." The younger woman grins wryly. "If you're wondering why I'm here, it's because I'm Olivia's date for the evening."
Elliot raises one eyebrow and clears his throat. "Guess a lot changes in nine years," he cracks.
Amanda laughs. "Not that much." She juts her chin towards the gathering across the room. "Chief Garland made it clear he was bringing Goodwin. He's a defense attorney who has been after her for months, and I'm just her wing woman. I'm supposed to pull her out of here with some excuse in exactly forty-five minutes."
He grunts softly in approval then, immediately grateful for the normality of Olivia's friendship with her. "What's your plan?"
Amanda cocks her head, conspiratorial mischief glinting in her light blue eyes. "Probably the good old fake food poisoning excuse. Too many years of bad dates. I've gotten good at that one."
He likes her. She's got an edge to her that he imagines makes her a great cop. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and he recognizes the fault and the fantastic in that. "Sticking to what you know. Makes for a good undercover tactic too."
"It was either that or say that Billie is sick and is asking for her." Amanda shrugs and looks up at him. She must register his confusion. "Billie is my daughter. Olivia is her godmother, so I could probably pull that one off too."
He takes a deep breath and lets it out, once again turning to watch Olivia. His shoulder pushes up against the wall to take some weight off his still-healing leg because he doesn't expect he's going to vacate this spot any time soon. She is now a mother, a godmother. Family is everything, he'd once told her. She'd gone and built herself one and become the stabilizing core of it.
The knowledge settles deep in his gut, and he thinks that maybe his nightmares tonight won't be so vivid.
The silence stretches on, but it doesn't deter Amanda. She sips on her cocktail and remains to his left.
"How?" he finally asks.
"Excuse me?"
He realizes then that he's coming at her out of thin air. He doesn't do casual conversation with anyone much these days and he's still rough with the rhythm of it. He clears his throat. "How is she different?"
It makes Amanda smile softly. "Over the last few days? She smiles more. It's like she's coming back from somewhere. I guess you might know something about that, too." She starts to descend down the stairs before she pauses, turning to face him again. She has a faraway look on her face as her voice lowers to give him some advice. "Undercover for all that time? I know someone like that. He doesn't want to come out. Not even for his daughter and he's missing out. He doesn't realize that if he just found a way to live with himself, he might realize he had more than he expected."
And with that, the detective turns again and takes the stairs downward, descending into the crowd and slowly navigating her way across the room.
Towards Olivia.
He remains where he is, filling up the cold places within him just by watching the one person who has pulled him through all of the darkness, for all of these years. His tether.
His lifeline.
His salvation, carefully wrapped in a killer gray dress.
-o0o-
She can see Amanda making her way towards their little group, but that is not the prick of awareness she'd felt.
Her back had suddenly covered in goose bumps a moment ago. The feeling had crept up her neck, then slid down into her fingertips. It had made her toes curl in her ridiculous boots.
He's here.
A smile starts to play at the corner of her lips before she can stop it. She doesn't want to smile. She doesn't want anyone asking her questions or prying into what she's thinking about it. Truth is, she's not thinking about anything at all that she can articulate. It's just an inexplicable feeling that fills her.
Olivia lets Garland and Goodwin, Dodds and the captain from the 1-9 keep talking. She turns her to her left, and she lifts her gaze.
She finds him instantly and he locks eyes with her.
Her skin warms, her throat closes. Her eyes water a little bit and she realizes what this is.
Relief.
Elliot is on the top step, lounging there as if he outwardly doesn't have a care in the world. She knows the truth though, he's on edge and uncomfortable in this place. It hasn't been long enough for him to feel at ease in a room full of civility, and she will never forget the bleak horror that lived in his eyes when she'd last seen him a few days ago.
Tonight he looks different though.
Gone is the leather jacket and worn t-shirt. Gone is the scruff and the bandage from his wrist. He's now wearing a charcoal suit and a white shirt, unbuttoned at his neck. He stands out because he isn't wearing a tie, but that's just him. Even if the department had provided clothes, he will do whatever he wants.
He's lurking, and she knows by the look on his face that if it weren't for her, he would bolt.
She exhales, nearly dizzy with the powerful realization. He's here for her.
Everyone in this room knows somehow or another what he's been through. What he has sacrificed. Most are a little afraid of him, because they've read the reports out of curiosity and men don't ever conform again after living that kind of life for so long. He hasn't broken though. He didn't reemerge already a drunk or an addict. He didn't burn down half of the city or disintegrate like a meteor upon reentry. Her unit is working on the case fallout now too, so she knows through channels that he's been rock solid in every debrief.
He's got new vices that live under his skin though, she's sure of it. Then again, so does she.
Elliot smiles softly at her. For her.
She does the same. Hi.
Maybe she will say that to him forever, just to remind herself that he's here and alive and breathing somewhere inside the walls he wears.
He had shaved, his face is clean except for a trim goatee. His jawline is visible and her fingers tingle with need. He looks so much like he used to that she can't breathe for a moment. Someone nearby might be talking to her; she vaguely hears her name.
But all she sees is him.
Her pulse picks up pace, and it's not with anxiety or fear. It's not even adrenaline. It's just the pure respite from endless pain. The sheer recognition that he is home.
Come here, he mouths.
She can't stop looking at him, even as she rolls her eyes at the audacity of his summons. His mouth lifts and he starts to grin at the old, familiar gesture. What bubbles up inside of her could take her one of two directions – she could cry, hard. It could all just shatter outside of her. Or she could end up laughing to the point where she just might not ever stop.
He's back.
She's strong enough to choose the joy.
After he had shown up in her office, she had taken the time to settle into the knowledge that he was in her orbit again. She hadn't called him or tried to see him, she's sure that will happen in time. He hadn't reached out to her either - unless she texted him first - which she did sparingly even though he had left her his new number. But she hadn't really expected him to. He has to find an apartment, find his way back to his children, find himself. She had heard he'd be promoted to Captain, and that had been the focus of her texts to him last night.
Copycat, she'd sent.
You think you're the only one they'll gift a captaincy to, Benson?
Gift? I earned mine, Stabler. You go on vacation for seven years and get rewarded?
Vacation sounds good. Come with me. You wanted to go to the Bahamas. Let's go.
His command and outright brashness had made her sink deeper into her pillows, the weight of her blankets the most comforting of cocoons. Her breathing had been so blissfully even at that moment. It had been easy to get air, and she realized how much lighter she felt with oxygen seeping into all the crevices of her. It had been midnight, and she had stared at her ceiling for long minutes before she had responded, trying to keep it light.
There would be time for the rest of it later. For now, they both needed a safe space to just be.
Already went. Went to Paris, too. You'll have to make me a better offer.
I'd go anywhere with you.
She had frozen then, surprised at the open emotion in his response. She had closed her eyes tightly and kept her mouth shut so she wouldn't make a sound and wake her son. He was far bolder than she remembered. When she had been able to move again, she had sent him the only words she could manage.
Just stay in one place. So I know where you are.
I'm here. For good.
That had been the last of it. Until the here and now.
Amanda reaches her and taps her on the shoulder. "Go," she says quietly. "Pretty sure he's going to stand there and stalk you all night until you do."
Olivia nods and doesn't even say her goodbyes. She excuses herself quickly and then she starts her way through the maze, working her way step-by-step across the room. She doesn't make eye contact with anyone on the floor, lest they slow her.
She keeps her eyes on Elliot. He might look like he's lazily watching her, but she can see the intent focus in his eyes even from here.
The blue darkens as she gets closer and it makes her shiver just a little. She feels lightheaded as she takes the first two steps right in front of him. She stops then, and her heart is thrumming - it makes her feel like she's going to lose her voice.
He backs up to give her space, and she ascends the final step, coming to stand in front of him, leaving her back to the hall below.
"Half this room just had a cardiac episode watching you move in that dress, Olivia," he rumbles, and the look on his face is half-amused, half-pained.
She arches one eyebrow, her skin heating and coming awake. "And the other half?"
He shrugs. "They want me."
Olivia responds with a bark of laughter. "You really are a cocky bastard."
The wolfish smile spreads across his face at the same moment that his left hand unexpectedly slides around her waist. Touching like this isn't something they had ever done in the past, but she won't stop him now even if it would mean saving the world.
He knocks her breath away and she's suddenly someone brand new. She is all woman; there's no badge, no history. She feels more feminine than she's ever felt in her life.
"Everyone is watching," she says softly under her breath. His face is so close to hers that she can only focus on his mouth at eye-level.
"Let 'em look," he retorts.
He's a good deal rougher-around-the-edges than she remembers, and while she worries about the cause, the effect makes her even more hyperaware of him. She is still holding her wine glass, and he's still holding his whiskey and she's grateful for both of their drinks because otherwise she's afraid of where her instincts would have led her.
"You're not staying here tonight, are you?" she asks.
He makes a gruff sound and shakes his head. His eyes fall shut. "Came to see you. I'm a headcase to everyone in that room."
That's when she makes an effort to tilt her head back and look up at him. His hand is still on her lower back, and she's grateful for it because she feels unsteady on her heels. She doesn't care who is watching, she only cares about him.
Her free palm settles on his cheek. Let people talk. She needs this, everything inside of her demands it. She fights the urge to grab him, to curl into his heat.
"Elliot, look at me." He opens his eyes, and they swirl with pain, and now there's a new thing lurking in them. Need. Maybe it's sexual, maybe it's a need for acceptance. Absolution. "I know what it's like to be the freak show. No one expected me to come through either. But use that, okay? You use it and that's the edge you need to get ahead of their expectations. They don't know us. I heard you'll get a new unit. Prove them all wrong."
"Everyone they're gonna assign to me will have a jacket half-an-inch thick. They are all going to be borderline psychopaths." He twists his lips wryly. "Guess they think it takes one to know one."
Against her, she can feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest. God, she wants to touch more of his skin. She wants him to touch her. They are so trussed up in their outfits and it's not what she wants.
But she can't push it. There's a time and a place, and after all these years, it will unfold as it should, however that may be.
"You're not even close, Elliot," she tells him on a hard whisper. "You're…you're a goddamned legend for what you did and don't you ever tell yourself otherwise."
"And you? Did you tell yourself that, too?" Elliot chews on his lower lip. "Jesus Christ, Olivia. What you went through. If I had been able to-"
She moves her fingertips until they cover his mouth. "Stop." Olivia presses up against him harder, and the entire NYPD will be discussing this in the morning but she hasn't cared about what people think in years and years. They've both earned a life beyond scrutiny when it comes to this job. "You want to do something for me? Then get me out of here."
He's watching her mouth. He's entirely focused on it. She is watching him watch her, and her pulse is already careening out of control.
"Olivia," he nearly groans.
He's the sun, and she's flush up against the searing surface. "A drink, Elliot. Let's go for a drink." It's desperation at this point.
He nods.
When he lets go of her, it's only to get their drinks out of their hands and onto a nearby table. And then he's got a hold of her hand. "Do you have a coat?"
She shakes her head. She bites her lip. The anticipation of every minute with him is a drug.
"A purse?" His eyebrows lift.
She laughs and it feels like something cracking open inside of her. It's a pressure valve that has finally been released after far too long. "I have what I need tucked in my bra or my boots, Elliot."
His chuckle is low and rough, unpracticed. Insinuating. "Yes, you do."
Her face flushes, but she has had just enough wine to let the rhythm of their inappropriate, teasing banter come back. It's slipping through them, weaving them back together. There is a new element to their dynamic now too and it's a heady thing to be the recipient of his intensity. His startling flirtation.
She wants it, she realizes. Where there could have been anger – where there still might be at some point in time – there is none right now. They are both just soaking each other in, as if there is some lifeforce coming back from within.
Elliot's fingers push down in between hers then and he grips her, hard. She easily matches his intrinsically familiar pace as they head for the door. It's the tale as old as time and the start of a brand new story all at once.
As they step out into the fall night, the streetlights bathe them in a protective cascade of unstoppable light.
So this, she thinks. This is the illumination.
And for one perfect moment in time, they are bright again.
-o0o-
