A/N:
I can't get away from this quiet little fic. There's something incredibly soothing about writing it, and I'm madly in love with them. I listen to Apollo by Noah Reid, and the words are just there. Brynn, thank you for encouraging the sweetness, Amy thank you for motivating me and Molly, thank you for crying happy tears with me over all the things I want to see unfold in this story.
"That was her magic—
she could still see
the sunset
even on those
darkest days."
-atticus
Song: Jacob's Dream – Noah Reid
She's heard people say that Central Park exhales its greatest glory into the depths of summer.
Only she would have to disagree. She's watched the magic of its baby blossoms emerge in the spring; she's watched it delight her son in the frigid, twinkling days that countdown to the holidays.
For her though, its beauty is best exposed on autumn days like today – when the winds are calm and the sun is brilliantly highlighting the cavalcade of colors around her. The deep red of the black cherry trees, the dark orange tupelos, the crisp yellow American elms. She's at the south end now, but she knows that deeper into the park she would find her favorites – the nearly purple sassafras and the red sweet gums that are so bright they seem stained from finger paints.
Olivia takes a deep breath and shoves her hands into her navy coat, spotting him a few yards ahead. He's sitting alone at a bench tucked off the path from the John Lennon memorial and he's hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees.
Even from here she can see the labored rise and fall of Elliot's back as he tries to calm down. He brushes angrily at his eyes while his head remains bent.
Everything within her constricts. Ever since he returned her protective instincts have been so fierce that she is having trouble concentrating at work. She worries about him every minute of the day, even while she is trying to give him some space to reacclimate.
He had finally called her twenty minutes ago and she happened to be nearby at lunch with Carisi. Are you free, he'd asked. By the sound of his voice, she knew he was well aware she wasn't, but he was crumbling and calling her anyway. She hadn't needed an excuse to walk out the door, the look on Carisi's face had told her to go and to go now.
To say they've all been concerned about him is an understatement. It's one of the longest undercovers the department has ever seen. Apparently, the NYPD had tried to pull him out a few years ago, and with over twenty teenaged girls still unaccounted for, he had refused.
She knows he went in to atone for the things he couldn't reconcile about Jenna. She also knows he stayed because he'd never sleep again if he had left children out there to die.
He has always protected others to the point of self-destruction.
As the victim's stories unfold to all of them, her whole unit is becoming more aware of just how deep Elliot's assignment had taken him. She knows much of his time was spent away from the city, but in the week since he's been back she hasn't yet asked him directly for any details. Then again, she's only seen him once since the night of his return.
They had gone for drinks after the Captain's Endowment Fund event, and there had been little conversation that night. He'd cradled his glass and every few minutes he would look over at her to make sure she was still there. After a few seconds he would exhale, then he would wordlessly go back to staring at his drink.
Just sitting next to him had been enough.
From her own experience, she'd figured he would talk when he was ready. If that time ever comes.
Seeing Elliot now makes her stop, because she has to get herself together. She can't cry for him in front of him. He had come home and that is healing things deep within her, but he's still in the middle of the inferno that has taken his life from him.
Olivia fills her lungs with the cool air and pushes on, taking the last thirty steps. When she's a few feet away Elliot just simply turns his head to his right and looks at her. But the movement isn't to watch her, it's to let her see him.
She has to press her lips closed so that she doesn't make a sound. The agony she sees sears her; it ignites every protective instinct she's ever had.
He's been crying for a while. His eyes are red, his expression lost.
She tries to absorb the blow of seeing him like this. Logically she knew these days would come, she just didn't know how completely his pain would cut her off at the knees.
Olivia closes the distance because she won't let him do this alone. If he can give seven years of his life to strangers, the least she can do is give herself freely to him. The years have demolished the walls they used to hold so high.
Every minute with him now is the reconstruction. Only this time around, she's determined to build the protective walls around them instead of between them, and she will make sure they are all safe.
Elliot barely blinks or moves as she comes to sit down to his right. Despite his desolation, his body gives off a heat that she wants to burrow into. She waits a few moments, watching the tourists walking down the far path towards the Imagine inlay at the memorial site.
"What happened?" There is no accusation in her voice. It's an invitation to talk. She knows he might decline it. Like the other night, he might just need the company and the quiet.
Against the scope of their life together, she is not in any hurry.
Elliot looks past her, towards the glimpses of street that are still visible from their spot. Then his gaze trails upwards, over the treetops, until his wet eyes squint against the light reflecting off the skyscrapers. "There was an orientation for JV football this morning. Kathy texted me that I couldn't take Eli to breakfast because there was this…orientation. My son…he…." Elliot's voice cracks. "He's apparently a pretty good QB, you know?"
Olivia closes her eyes, and his stark pain washes over her. He's lost nearly all of his child's life thus far and the magnitude of that permeates through her blood, into every aching extremity. If she could build it all back with her bare hands for him, she would.
"Have you seen him yet, El?" She keeps her voice gentle, pacing every word carefully.
He shakes his head and it falls forward again. "So I think, I'll go. Maybe I can just stay in the back, you know? Watch. See him, Liv. I just needed to know…" Instead of breaking, Elliot swallows thickly and tries to lift his head. He won't look at her. "And there he was. My boy. Sitting in the second row with Kathy and Dan."
She thinks she knows, but despite the churn in her gut, she asks the question. "Dan?"
It makes Elliot turn towards again, but he doesn't sit up straight. A sad smile barely lifts his lips. "Kathy remarried four years ago. Go figure an attorney is raising my kid," he says quietly. "I knew she'd remarried when the last name on the bank account I deposited into changed. I thought maybe there would be someone else there with my kid today but seeing it….seeing it," he drops his face into his hands. He laughs once then, so harshly and hollowly that it makes his back shudder. "I couldn't leave. I couldn't fucking move."
Olivia knows her eyes are wet, there's nothing she can do about it. Just imagining Elliot watching a child he barely he knows anymore is enough to shatter her heart.
He might reject her hugging him right now, but she can't hold back from touching him.
She puts her hand on his back, smoothing it up over the leather of his jacket until her palm is almost on his shoulder. She squeezes a little to remind him she's there, and she ignores the hundred other ways she imagines wrapping herself around him. She keeps her voice low. "How long did you stay?"
His head falls further, until he's just staring at the ground beneath his feet. "Until it was over. I never meant that." He shakes his head fast now, as if willing away the memory. "I never meant to stay. I wanted Eli to have the chance to decide when and if, if he wanted to see me. Ever again." He blows out a hard breath. "But I couldn't leave, he's so grown up and he's quiet. I got that just watching him, he's a quiet kid. Solid. The other kids would talk to him and he's not…he's not boisterous or…"
It's impossible to keep herself from him. She turns on the bench, tucking her left leg beneath her and now she's got one hand on his back and one on his knee.
Olivia just lets him talk. She prays he won't stop. She stares deeper into the park, but she can't make out the red from the orange from the yellow anymore. Everything is blurring.
"So he sees me." Elliot breaks then, he lets out a harsh sob and the muscles in his back contract under her hand. He pushes his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. "What kind of fucking person surprises their kid in a public place like that after seven years?"
She squeezes her eyes shut and the she can feel the dampness on her cheeks. The ache is excruciating. Her throat is sore from how she's containing all sound, her skin hurts from holding herself together. If this is how she feels, she can't even comprehend the depth of Elliot's pain.
"He comes over, and he's watching me. Just watching me. He looks me right in the eyes, like he's gonna say something. My son."
Elliot's breathing seems to even out, and nearly a full minute passes before he swipes his hand over his face and sits up straight again. Her hands fall away and he looks straight ahead, squinting at the memory as if it's a distant thing. "Only he says nothing. He just steps around me and leaves. Kathy looked disappointed in me for showing up like that, and I can't blame her. I don't. Even her husband, he…they just left. Without a word. As a family."
All their years spent together as partners seem innocent compared to this. The cases, the victims, the losses. The psychological damage of that was nothing compared to this. They had lived wholly unaware that this moment had been where they were headed. Together they had fought the demons for over a decade, and it had been manageable because of the other.
Separately they had both lived through excruciating hell.
The man she'd known back then would have cut himself to pieces before he would have walked away from his child, yet here they are. The repercussions of his devout commitment to justice could kill him, even now.
"Trust him, El," she reassures gently, making a circular motion on his back. "Give him time. You didn't abandon your family. You made a sacrifice, and they did, too. But when they see – when they understand exactly what you've done? You were a prisoner of a different kind of war, and you couldn't have come home any easier than if you had been held against your will. What you did was bigger than any one of us. So give him time."
He tucks his chin against his shoulder to look at her. "My older kids will come around. But what if Eli doesn't? What if I've lost him?"
She stills. She can't make him any promises about what his son will or won't do. Her ordeal had been days long compared to his years, but she still knows about staring at the nothingness on the other side of trauma and loss.
She also knows that rebuilding is a choice she had to make every single day. She had to choose to wake up, to find purpose, to actively seek a single thing each and every day that brought her hope.
Olivia reaches into her coat pocket, and she pulls out a talisman that she had found in her purse a few weeks ago. She's kept it with her ever since.
A paper origami dragon.
She straightens some of the crooked folds on the small purple paper that forms the basic shape and she sets it lightly on Elliot's denim-covered thigh. It sits there precariously perched, as if with its bent wings it could take off and soar into the depths of the park.
As if the freedom to fly alone would give it life.
Elliot sits up, careful not to dislodge the small animal from his leg. He looks at it and then at her curiously, silently.
Olivia smiles a little bit. "Noah loves origami. It's a careful art and he loves the precision of it. Truthfully, I love doing it with him. It's calming for both of us and it beats his Xbox any day of the week."
As she watches his face, some of the light comes back into his eyes. "He made this?"
She nods, and her throat almost closes as she thinks of her son's small fingers making this little spirit animal, his head bent over the coffee table as she'd made him dinner a few weeks ago. "He slipped this into my purse when I wasn't looking. Everything has a meaning when it comes to origami. Purple is the color of nobility and dragons symbolize strength. When I asked him about it, he said it would watch over me."
Elliot's eyes redden again. "He's so lucky, Liv," he says gruffly. "He won the mom sweepstakes with you."
Everything within her calms, absorbing his simple words. Elliot had always been her biggest champion; he'd reminded her countless times all those years ago that she would make a great mother one day. The fact that he is here now, and she can tell him about her son, it makes her exhale in a way she hasn't in longer than she can remember.
She knows he is thinking about Eli too, and how he believes he's failed his son. He has to know that there is only so long his son will be able to stay away from his father. One day, with enough love and patience, fractured lives heal.
"The thing is," Olivia continues, starting to unfold all the edges of the small dragon as it lays on his leg. "No matter what you think you've built, you can always find a new start. You can smooth out all the rough edges and," the tucked edges come open, and she deftly starts to flatten out the paper. When the small square piece covers his upper thigh – worn creases visible and starting to tear in places - she meets his eyes again. "And then you can build what you need," she murmurs.
The blue of his eyes is so familiar to her, and even though the haunts are new, she can see their combined history in the sky of him. From far, his eyes are cerulean, but up close there are nearly hidden streaks of hazel and green.
He looks at her endlessly. As if he believes her, as if he's losing himself to her conviction.
That's fine. She has enough for the both of them.
Her heart feels bigger around him. More capable. Now that he's home, the pavement beneath her feet feels more solid. Her strides are longer.
His mouth is so close to hers, and time is no longer the enemy.
He must notice her staring at his lips, because he crooks the corner of them up just a little bit. He's caught her, and his amusement starts to permeate the air around them.
She smiles unexpectedly in response and flushes, ducking her head. Olivia knows he is watching her intently as she starts to refold the paper that rests nearly in his lap. First a cross-fold, then another. She presses out the paper again and folds it in half, creating the fold guidelines. She tucks one corner in, then another and another and the last one. It forms a small square before she begins working on her edges and points, recalling the steps as best she can from memory. She makes a few missteps, but she notices in time and corrects them.
She keeps working.
He keeps watching.
As the minutes pass, the sun finds them. The shimmer starts to push through the leaves, and it warms her back as she works. The ground is dotted with shadows and bursts of majestic bright shapes.
Around them, the light wind slows and matches their breaths.
Elliot is leaning back on the park bench now. She knows his tension has passed, and every now and then she catches the scent of his soap and it makes her shiver with heat just a little bit.
When she's done, she sits up proudly, and her new creation now rests where the dragon had once been.
He tries to say something but his voice is so rough he has to clear his throat and try again. "A paper crane."
She looks at him surprised. The shapes aren't as obvious as they could be, especially with her rudimentary recollection of how to make this one. "Yeah, how did you know?"
"Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes. When Liz was little, it was her favorite book. Read it to her every chance I could." His volume is stronger now as he talks about his daughter. "When she went to the 9-11 memorial, she sent me a picture of the installation of paper cranes they have hanging there."
Olivia's left-hand rests on the back of the bench, her fingers lightly brushing his shoulder. She picks up the crane with the other hand and examines it. "It's a symbol of hope and faith."
His fingers tangle with hers as he reaches for the tiny, battered purple crane. She lets him have it, and he turns it over, learning all of its edges. "All these hidden talents, Liv. Best accuracy rate I've ever seen with a Glock and now maker of mystical creatures. It's quite a resumé."
Her laughter is delicate, still fragile in her chest. She gives in to the need and lets her fingers brush the back of his neck. The touch startles him and he turns his head to face her. Those eyes of his darken, and she recognizes the same want in him that is fanning out under her own skin right now.
"I can cook Chinese now, too," she teases lightly. "I figured I should be upfront about that. It's a big development."
His huff of disbelieving laughter makes her toes curl. The self-recriminations in him have been quelled for the moment. He cocks his head in mock deep thought as he watches the tourists straight ahead once again. "I'm not sure I trust you on that."
She leans over and her hand cups the back of his head as she quickly presses her lips against his temple, to hell with what they used to do. She's trembling just from that contact, but not doing it required too much restraint. He's her best friend – still – and besides, he'd kissed her forehead the night he had come home. Maybe it's a new thing, maybe it's just a start.
Besides, it felt good, Like she finally had a place to put every protective need that is exploding within her.
Olivia starts to get up, and she watches as he clutches the crane tighter.
It's his talisman now.
He lifts his eyes to her, silent thank you's emanating from his stare.
She shrugs playfully, because come hell or high water she will make sure he doesn't live on the brink. There is a life on the other side of hell, and no one knows that better than she does. "Don't believe me, then you should probably be at my place tonight at six-thirty. My skills with a wok are not so easily dismissed. Noah will even let you eat all the snap peas off of his plate, because he thinks they look like slugs."
Elliot's grin is slow to build, but when it does, it mesmerizes her. He is visibly uncomfortable because of the unfamiliarity of it yet he fights his way through, anyway. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
She has to get back to work; her phone has buzzed four times already in her pocket. As she starts to leave, Olivia turns around so that she is walking backwards. "I like a good cabernet," she calls out.
"I haven't forgotten. Any particular year?" he retorts.
She stops, before she is too far away for him to hear her. "2011. Might as well start there."
Even from here she can see him still, immediately registering the significance of the date. The last time they had been together, before life had veered in unimaginable directions. The last time things had felt truly right. He watches her as he nods once, and then he smiles before bowing his head to look at the crane in his fingers again. "2011 it is."
She doesn't want to take her eyes off of him, but eventually she shoves her hands into her coat pockets and turns, trying not to count the hours.
And as she walks back into the crowded street, the city doesn't swallow her whole anymore.
She's too strong to let anything make her disappear again.
Even the great city of Manhattan doesn't stand a chance now that he is back.
-o0o-
The last of the dishes done, she wipes her hands on the dishtowel and turns off the lights in the kitchen.
As she makes her way to the living room, she straightens the cushions, her breath catching when she sees the brightly colored papers strewn haphazardly all over the coffee table. Elliot had arrived with an overpriced bottle of Cabernet for her, and a book and box of authentic origami paper for Noah. While she had cooked, Elliot had sat on the couch, his thick fingers trying to mimic her son's movements as they discussed paper dragons and sharks, swords and starfish as if they had been friends forever. Noah had been suitably patient, tasking Elliot with the simplest of shapes while his smaller, experienced hands made the precise folds. They had even made a bookmark for his new book. Her son had flourished under Elliot's rapt attention, and as she had watched, Elliot had let himself get lost in the conversation.
Olivia leaves the papers be, no need to clean up anything about those moments just yet.
She makes her way to the front hall, and as she shuts the lights and double locks the doors, she recalls the moment Elliot had knocked on the door. She had explained to Noah who Elliot was ahead of time, and they had made a deal that he would be on his best behavior. When Noah ran to the front door to open it, Olivia had stayed back in the kitchen to watch.
She will never forget the image for as long as she lives.
Her son had immediately formally stuck out his hand and straightened his back, trying to make himself taller. Hi, I'm Noah. You're Elliot. Your picture is on our bookshelf and it's very nice to meet you.
Olivia had stilled, just watching every moment of her son's initial interaction with the first man to have ever believed in her ability to be a good mother. Noah had taken his role as man of the house very seriously, and Elliot hadn't treated him like a child. The two shook hands like men, and when her son had realized what his gift was, a bond had been immediately forged.
Pieces of her suddenly fit together for the first time, and she'd been humbled by the meandering way of the universe and things like faith and hope and love.
For lives that had been separated for nine years, the night had been stunningly easy and normal. Dinner, ice cream, a shower for Noah. There had been no talk of the past, no discussions about work. Elliot's natural ease with children had reemerged, and it grew stronger with every moment that passed. He asked Noah about school, about his hobbies, his friends. She had locked eyes with Elliot a few times, and it was unspoken.
Tonight would not include anything outside of the bubble they had created.
It had been comfortable to the point of causing her to ache, as if the deepest fibers of her were whispering to life.
She walks softly now towards her son's bedroom. It's after ten, and she's exhausted, but as she stops in the doorway, her breath hitches. She had figured they were both asleep because their voices had quieted half an hour ago, but the picture they make brands her.
Her fingers grip the door frame. Her pulse slows.
They're both on Noah's bed, and the book Elliot had brought for her son is open and laying on his lap. Noah's head is turned towards Elliot and the small lamp by the end table bathes both of them in a soft, soothing light.
For a few seconds, she turns her forehead into the door frame and tries to absorb the sudden heaviness in her chest. It's so weighted with want, with need, with a sense of finally belonging where she is. Tonight, the apartment felt more like a home than it ever had. All of the strands of her life were being slowly sewn together.
Elliot's big frame is now thankfully at rest for a few hours at least, his ankles are crossed and his chin tucked into his neck. An image of him out there on an assignment for years – wholly alone – kicks hard at her gut and her eyes well as she thinks about how many nights he must have slept in godforsaken places, half on alert and never able to truly relax.
He's sleeping peacefully tonight. They both are. Soon she will be, too.
Holding back tears, she tiptoes into the room and shuts off the light. She pulls up the blanket at the foot of the bed over Elliot, and smooths the covers over her son, careful not to wake either one. She picks up the book Elliot had brought, Sadako and Thousand Paper Cranes – and she closes it, setting it on the table. She wants to touch both of them, to smooth her fingertips over their faces and tell them how she feels, but she doesn't want anything to startle this perfect, perfect little moment.
She shaking as she makes her way out and towards her bedroom. She's not going be able to contain everything that is simmering within her, so she hurries into her bathroom and closes the door, sliding down against the wood and drawing her legs up to her chest.
It all bursts out of her then.
As she drops her forehead to her knees she finally fully cries. It's not over regret or loss. There's no anger - not at him or at life or even at those who have taken so much from all three of them.
This is the pain of living again. Because as much as she has tried, there has been a shell around her since Elliot had left all those years ago. This is the ache of breaking the cocoon, it's the ache of shedding the layers and letting the belief back in.
He is back, and he's here, and they are all going to find a way to be okay.
She believes that with everything she knows.
She knows unequivocally tonight that she is in love with Elliot. The years have not dulled that love, it has not lay dormant. It has existed all along. She may have buried it to protect it, but it has always been there. If anything, the years have made her love for him stronger because the passage of time has eradicated the anger and frustration. Their boundaries used to be landmines, now all she sees are their tethers.
She's tried with others; it will never work because it simply can't.
No one else is Elliot Stabler.
The way he looks at her, she knows that she too is his person.
So tonight she cries because true, fulfilled contentment, when unfamiliar, can be the most painful experience of all. And that is what this is, she is content. All the way into her bones.
He is home.
Home.
Her knees are wet with her tears as she tells herself that there will be a fight ahead; for herself, for her own joy, her own happiness. For theirs. It may be the greatest fight of her life, but she will endlessly fight for all of them because for the first time in her life, she is stronger than she ever imagined.
She is strong enough for this battle. She will battle on Elliot's behalf when he isn't able to do it for himself, and she will battle for both of their sons. She believes there is time ahead to build the thousand cranes that will make the things she still wishes for come true.
As a child, her mother had been fascinated with Greek mythology. Olivia had spent hours reading the thick books on the nights her mother spent out in the city. For a girl who had never been strong on religion, the fallible Greek deities had made sense to her. One God had stood out to her above all others. Apollo. The God of sun and light and healing. She had wanted to be him in every tale. He was a stalwart against evil, and he protected those who needed the shade of his reach.
As her soft sobs start to ease, Olivia wills air back into her chest. She can do this.
Their journey won't be easy, but for the two halves of her heart who are under her roof tonight, she vows to be their Apollo.
-o0o-
