A/N: Thank you to my girl, the HumanWhip, for discussing every minute of this with me. And thank you for each and every review, I wish you knew what it means to me that you love the small moments as much as I do. I promise this is going somewhere.


(i could see for miles)

"Brushing a girl's hair
behind her ear
once a day
will solve more problems
than all those
therapists
and drugs."

- Atticus

Song: Holocene, Bon Iver


The late afternoon sun shines in through the windows to his left, and the light illuminates the dust particles that float lazily through the thick, stagnant air. It isn't yet cold enough outside to justify the turning on of the heaters at One Police Plaza, yet the air conditioning has long since been shut off for the season.

The air hangs heavy and immobile as he sits upright on the bench at the end of the nearly empty hall on the third floor, holding his hat in his hand. He stares straight ahead at the wall in front of him, his eyes unseeing.

Instead his mind is twisting and turning, tossing around a hundred fragmented memories of being in this building, usually on the wrong end of the brass. The sheer number of times he had been called in for choices that had been deemed questionable. The number of times they both had been put to the test by teams from IAB who had tried to change their stories or split their recollection of events.

The number of times they had tried to take his badge or hers.

Now the entire department walks around him with kid gloves. The top brass gives him side glances of appreciation when he moves around the precincts, the others give him wide berth, as if he has to be half out of his mind to stay under for so long.

Elliot preferred the anonymity of his past.

He sits still, waiting to be called in to room 3146c. They are commending him today and formally awarding him his captaincy, and he feels distinctly uncomfortable in the new uniform he had been provided for the occasion.

He doesn't want the commendations. They couldn't include him in the general ceremonial promotion that others would receive tonight because his name has been largely redacted from most public documents, and no one wants a trace of his history to leak to the media for reasons of safety. So they had set up this private award ceremony instead.

Elliot hadn't told anyone.

He doesn't feel like he deserves any awards. He lost some of the kids, and the nightmares vividly remind him of their faces. He had destroyed his family, abandoned his son.

He had walked away from Olivia.

There's nothing to be celebrated here. Seven years away and they think he's done some good, but they have no idea what he's seen, or what he had left behind.

Elliot bows his head, twisting the hat in his hands.

He'd had his hair freshly cut, and he had shaved. His white shirt is stiff, and the jacket is crisp. His shoes are new, the gold insignia on his hat gleams. Sounds echo through the hallway, and it's inexplicable that he is chafing to the point of panic in the formal confines of this uniform.

He's playing the part of someone he is not. A few more minutes and they will call him into that room. He will stand and face a table of five or six Deputy Chiefs and the Bureau Chief who will say he is acting on behalf of the Commissioner. They will recite accomplishments that he doesn't recognize and they will give him the double gold bars. They will tell him he's done a remarkable job.

They have no idea the pain he has caused those he loves in the process.

He knows he will stand there and accept their words and the promotion, and when he leaves he will shake off the accolades. The truth is that at some point over the last several years, he hadn't been a member of the NYPD any longer. At some point the nightmare he had been living in had simply become the life he had chosen.

"Captain Stabler?"

Elliot looks up and sees the young male officer peek out from behind the double doors. He nods and clears his throat. "Yes?"

The officer smiles. "Just another five minutes or so. Was asked to confirm you were here. I'll let the panel know. Did you want to wait in the room?"

He shakes his head. "I'm good here for now." He lets the numbness have him as the doors slowly close and click shut, leaving him alone in the hallway again.

Only he isn't alone. He vaguely realizes that there are multiple sets of footsteps coming closer than any others have in the last twenty minutes, so he turns his head to the right to assess the company.

His stomach clenches so hard that it nearly takes his breath away. He can't even stand in response, he's so deeply stunned that he is frozen in place.

When his visitor is five feet from him, Elliot finally manages to find the strength to stand. He sees the two women in the back, but it is his youngest son who captures all of his attention.

Eli is a tall kid for his age, and with his stiff posture and his chin lifted, he stands taller than Elliot's shoulders already. He's wearing a dress shirt and dress pants, and unlike the early morning last week at the football orientation, his hair is now perfectly combed. His clear blue eyes are wary but curious, taking in all of the colors on the left side of Elliot's uniform.

Behind Eli, Kathy stands with her one hand reassuringly on their son's shoulder.

Next to her, Olivia's eyes catch his. Her lips lift just a little bit, and he obviously knows who is responsible for this. He hadn't even told her about today, so he doesn't know how she has managed this.

His son is here, and after all of the avoided calls and texts he has sent his child, this is the last thing he could have ever imagined.

"Hi Eli," he starts, because he doesn't know where the hell to begin.

His son barely meets his gaze. "Hey."

Elliot looks at Olivia again because he's a fish out of water here. He doesn't know if he's going to say or do the right thing. He's shaking with the need to wrap his arms around his child, but he can tell that Eli wouldn't welcome that just by the way his son holds himself.

Olivia's smile spreads just a little bit in encouragement. She winks at Elliot, and he can't take all of it at once.

Hope, he thinks, is a painful, delicate thing.

"Thanks for," he can't find volume for his words. He's choking from the weight on his chest. "Thanks for coming."

His son stares at him for a second longer, and then he nods. "Yeah. You're welcome."

His child doesn't know him, and it makes him want to scream at the heavens. That Eli is facing a stranger right now guts him. His eyes start to burn and he looks back to Olivia for help.

She must see his panic because she steps forward and reassuringly rubs his son's arm a little. "Eli, how about you and I go in and get some seats and I can explain who some of the people are in there?"

His son jerks at her contact, but then relaxes and nods as he turns his gaze to face her. "Okay."

Elliot's eyes follow them as Olivia leads Eli into the room to his left.

As soon as the door closes behind them, he lets out a harsh breath and spins, trying to get oxygen into his burning lungs again. He swipes his hand over his face and wills himself to hold it together.

"You should know Olivia came by the house last night," Kathy says softly behind him. "She asked to talk to Eli for a few minutes and I told him who she was. He went out on the porch with her and twenty minutes later, he came in and said he'd come today. I don't know what she said to him, but he made the choice to be here himself."

Elliot is shaking, and his eyes are watering. He has to get his shit together, because he cannot fall apart in front of the upper echelons of the NYPD. Most of all, he can't fall apart in front of his son.

Eli is here.

When he turns back and faces his ex-wife, he notices how long her hair has become and the new fine lines next to her eyes. He hopes to God that means her husband makes her smile enough to help her earn them, because he sure as hell hadn't given her much to laugh about in the last decade.

Her blue eyes are soft and assessing. "He wants to know you, Elliot. Even if he doesn't act like it right now. He's a very…careful kid. But he's smart, and he's calm like Liz. Just have some faith in him."

He scrubs his hand hard over his face. He's going to lose it right before this ceremony and then even his kid is going to know he is a fucking mess. "I got all the faith in the world in him, Kathy. It's me I've got no faith in."

His ex-wife smiles at him then and laughs a little, even if it sounds sad. "I'm glad you have her, Elliot. She's got faith in you, maybe she can help you find yours."

With that, Kathy gives him one last look and she too, heads into the room.

When he's alone again in the hall, he drops his head back and looks up at the ceiling.

I don't know what she said to him, but he made the choice to be here himself.

As the moments pass the concrete in his chest starts to dissolve, and his breaths start to even out.

Olivia.

Right before the doors are opened again, and he is asked to enter, he finds himself actually expelling a small huff of air and shaking his head.

Will wonders never cease crosses his mind, and he is referring solely and completely to her.

Olivia Benson will be the death of him and everything that saves him all at once.

-o0o-

"…Forty-six recovered minors, nineteen recovered adults. Lieutenant Stabler served over twenty-two hundred days undercover, resulting in thirty-four arrests to date, including the apprehension of two suspects on the FBI's Most Wanted list. His service closed eleven missing persons cases, and seized assets totaling over twenty million dollars."

Olivia sits next to Eli, who is flanked on the other side by his mother. Her throat is locked, and her fingers twist in her lap as she watches Elliot, who stands in front of the rows of benches, facing them.

His jaw flexes as he grits his teeth, and she might be the only one in the room who notices the slight movement. He won't look at any of them, instead his back is rigid as if he has detached from being the center of this scene. His gaze is trained over their heads, but she can see the fierce way he is trying to withhold the growing sheen in his eyes.

They are reading through all of his accomplishments, and if she knows him at all, she knows he is simultaneously counting all of the losses.

"During the course of this case, Lieutenant Stabler was gravely injured on two separate occasions, and was offered the opportunity to end the undercover in order to recover yet declined."

Next to her, Eli flinches and Kathy gasps slightly. Olivia is aware that they have none of the details of the case – she doesn't even have all of it yet – but that is why it was imperative she made sure they were sitting here. While his older kids had been given enough of their father growing up to know who Elliot is even now, his youngest needed to hear this. Eli had to see how the world viewed his father, and to begin to understand the impact the father-son joint sacrifice had made in saving the lives of others.

"His single-minded focus on the pursuit of justice brought the case to close, at which time he was forced to engage a suspect in hand-to-hand combat to defend his life, resulting in multiple stab wounds."

From the reports Olivia had access to, she knows Elliot had been shot once, beaten another time and cut badly on the final apprehension, but those are stories she hasn't been ready to hear, let alone process.

She will eventually ask the questions, at a time when she is ready for the answers.

For now, simply having him back is enough.

"Throughout, Lieutenant Stabler maintained the honor, dignity and compassion that exemplifies the values of the NYPD and served the entire nation as he worked cooperatively and cohesively alongside multiple federal agencies."

Olivia can't take her eyes off of him.

Elliot stands stiff, the medallions glimmering in their rightful place on his chest.

Her pride outweighs every ache. Her relief outweighs every moment he was absent. This is the man she had both admired and relied on as a friend and a partner. Their wins had been quiet, their losses noisy as hell. But through it all, he had stood next to her, in front of her, beside her. Their fights had been equal, their solidarity unbreakable.

She won't let him stand alone now. Like hell he will come back from the brink without her by his side.

The years he has been gone fall away.

"As a result, we are pleased to officially promote Lieutenant Stabler to the rank of Captain."

Elliot locks eyes with her now. There's something to be said for the fact that they are both now where they are at. Equal in rank, in life, in too many experiences. One journey that had started together, split, and then found its way home.

In pain and in promise.

She smiles a little at him, and she can see him come back from wherever he had mentally gone. She tilts her head towards Eli, and it forces Elliot to meet his son's gaze. She knows the second he connects with his son by the way Eli sits up a little straighter.

"The department will additionally award Captain Stabler all overtime accruals within a period of thirty days. We are honored to bestow Captain Stabler with the opportunity to lead his own task force, focused on the dismantling of organized crime syndicates within Manhattan and are pleased to announce his acceptance of the appointment."

"He's staying?" Eli whispers wondrously to no one in particular.

Olivia leans into him, never taking her eyes off of Elliot. "He's staying," she assures quietly.

She lets that bit of information sink in for his son, even if she herself has not absorbed the impact of his acceptance.

It must resonate, because when the ceremony wraps, she steps out of the way and watches as his child make his way of his own accord to his father. It is obvious that Eli is struggling with his words, unaware of how similar he is to Elliot in looks, in his deep introspection and in the heavy weight of his emotions.

He is all Stabler good looks and intensity.

"You really did all that stuff they said?" Eli finally questions quietly, tentatively looking up at his father.

Elliot stills, wholly focused on his son. "I guess I did."

No one else in the room dares to come up to them and interrupt. The powerful moment isn't lost on anyone.

Eli nods, his gaze skittering to the right. "That's pretty cool." He pauses, then glances back at Elliot. "Mom said you played football in high school. Strong safety?"

"Yeah, I did," Elliot's voice isn't coming across strong, so he clears his throat. "Why do you think your mom dated me in the first place?"

The lighter moment makes Eli smile a little. "Maybe we could, you know…" He shifts uncomfortably. "Toss the ball around sometime?"

That's all she needed to hear. Satisfied that roots were taking hold with his son, Olivia slips out into the hallway give him some privacy with the family he'd spent more than half his life with.

But this time she doesn't leave entirely. She takes the spot on the bench where Elliot had been sitting less than an hour before.

There, she waits for him.

-o0o-

West 71st street is unusually narrow between West End Avenue and Riverside Highway.

It is a charming splay of space that has been preserved by its decree as a protected historical district, having once been a rare city cul de sac that boasted a view of the New Jersey Hills across the Hudson to the west.

In the midst of the towering new constructions to the east, it remains one of the untouched little nooks of Manhattan. Flanked by grand pre-war rowhouse residences converted into multi-unit apartment buildings, the quiet street is dotted with yellowing trees and wrought iron gates. Regal staircases lead up to the front doors of the immaculately kept Renaissance-styled brownstones, their facades a multi-colored row of proud, stalwart soldiers crowned with cornices and oriels. Terracotta brick stands tall next to crème plaster, shades of gray and black stone. The raised basements have become ground-floor apartments, and elevated stoops lead to the main front doors.

The falling leaves swirl around her toes as she stands in front of a clay-colored, four-story building. He had asked her to drive him somewhere after the ceremony, and with Noah away for the night at Lucy's, she hadn't hesitated despite the fact that he refused to tell her exactly where they were heading or why. When he had asked her to stop and park here, in this perfect Lincoln Square neighborhood, she still kept her questions to herself.

But her pulse is picking up pace now as she sees the slight spark of light in his eyes. He stands in front of her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his overcoat. He's wearing his Captain's uniform underneath, and aside from a few new crevices on his face, he reminds her so much of the man she'd known a lifetime ago.

She understands why they are here.

Barely twelve blocks north of her place, it is easily walking distance from her own home. But where her place had been chosen for its clean lines and unfamiliarity after the worst time in her life, this place is all old school, picturesque New York.

"Whaddya think?" he asks, peering up at the building.

Olivia's own hands curl inside her jacket pockets. Her fingernails dig into her palms so she doesn't choke on the way her throat closes tightly with emotion. He has to know what he's doing to her by so casually bringing her here, to a place that will be so close to her and Noah every night.

"I don't know," she shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. "Depends on what it has to offer on the inside."

He turns to look at her and breaks into a half-smile. He knows she is kidding. This street is a small slice of heaven. It's close to Riverside park and the Hudson River, it's a short walk to Lincoln Center and the American Museum of Natural History. There are no shops or cafes here, instead it is a utopian respite within the bustle of Manhattan.

She could swear she can hear the trees rustle and drop more of the crisp leaves around her as she smiles back at him just a little bit.

"Well then you should probably come take a look." He shrugs back. "I was going to order a pizza and I don't think you'd want me to eat that alone in an empty apartment, would you?"

He's teasing her, and she is rooted to the spot. Even after two weeks of him being back, she is still sometimes struck by the sheer magnitude of his return to her life. His texts during the day, the occasional coffee. The dinner at her place and the drinks last week. He's been busy with the fallout of his case, and she's been just as busy working the victim statements, but they've found time and moments, as small as they might be.

But now, as she looks up at this brownstone, she realizes that he's really well and truly investing in staying. The places on this street aren't cheap, but with seven years of overtime coming to him and a promotion, the money wouldn't be an issue. It's more than that though. This street isn't short-term living. Every inch of the history on this block screams long term. Home.

It shakes her, the concept of him so close by day after day.

He makes Manhattan feel smaller around her. Safer.

Adrenaline surges through her, and the relief bubbles up again as it sometimes does these days. There are small joyful moments that come out of nowhere, making her dizzy to the point where she thinks she might laugh unexpectedly and reach for something to steady her.

"I wouldn't want that," she says solemnly. "I guess I'll have to come in."

His eyes soften as he looks at her, and he watches for so long that heat floods her while her skin pricks with awareness. His gaze is always trapped on her eyes or her mouth, and she can't tell him how it keeps her warm, even when the cold air envelops her.

When he turns and makes his way up the stairs to the front door, she forgets to move.

Elliot holds the door open and leans back against it, waiting for her. "Let's go Benson. You can think about what to get me for a housewarming gift later."

She laughs, and for just a second she closes her eyes, trying to trap the growing feeling inside of her. Their rhythm is coming back in the tiniest of moments, and she will hold onto every one of them. "I'm getting you a tracking device as your present, Elliot," she says as she walks up the stone sidewalk towards him. "One of those RFID things we once had to deal with."

"Glenn Cheales would be proud you picked up a few ideas." Elliot is nearly grinning at her now as he easily recalls a case that is over a dozen years old at this point. It doesn't matter that the case was devastating, or that they had nearly fought through the whole thing.

It's another stitch in a tapestry of their private history and they had survived it.

She steps into the hallway of his new apartment building, and he is only inches away. Every instinct within her is on high alert to simply push herself against his body again. She wants to feel the lines of his broad back beneath her hands, she wants to fit her face into the curve of his neck.

Olivia wants to run her hands over Elliot's bare skin and find all of the places he'd been hurt, and she wants to show him her own scars.

But he's found a home now, and she believes there will be time.

For tonight, she has to approve of where he's going to live, because if she has her way, she is going to end up spending a lot of time here.

With him.

-o0o-

It's after midnight, and he's still awake.

He has only had the top-floor apartment a few days, and this is the first night he is staying in it. The bare, king-sized mattress he is sitting on still rests on the floor of the living room, and while he managed to pick up some pillows and some clothes at the store yesterday, he doesn't even have bedding yet.

In truth, he still hasn't checked out of the hotel.

It's so empty in this place that every noise echoes, but Olivia hadn't minded. She had walked the place in wonder, marveling at every hand carved molding and the hardwood floors, and he had seen it all through her eyes. The bathroom has a claw-footed tub, and the kitchen that overlooks the main room has surprisingly high ceilings and bar seating. She had admired all of it. He had managed to get the place on a tip from his future Deputy Chief, and it had instantly given him the history he had been struggling to reconnect with.

His back is against the wall now as he looks down to his right, his legs stretched out in front of him. All the lights are out, but with no window shades as yet the place is flooded with street light.

It's enough to see her clearly, despite the shadows.

Olivia is curled on her side, facing him, her eyes closed and her hands tucked under her cheek on the new pillow he had unwrapped for her.

He stares at her in the silence, just listening her breathe now, where for hours her voice had filled the walls with everything he needed. They hadn't talked about their separate pasts or ordeals, instead they had joked and reminisced about the life they had once lived together. She had filled him in on Cragen and Munch's retirements, but outside of that they had shared a pizza and two bottles of wine while sitting on the mattress, the night filled with remember when's and her guilty smiles over all of the things she rolls her eyes about and calls their 'escapades'.

Olivia hadn't meant to fall asleep here, but he is innately grateful that she had. Watching her sleep is the only thing keeping him sane right now.

While he had done enough shopping the day before to be able to change into sweats, she had kicked off her shoes and laid down in her blouse and dress pants. He'd offered her a t-shirt, but half-tipsy and exhausted she had insisted she was fine.

An hour ago, when her breathing had evened to the point where he believed she was sleeping, he had stood up and grabbed his overcoat, spreading it out over Olivia before coming to sit again next to her.

His eyes are burning.

Her dark hair is fanned out on the white pillow and she is sleeping so peacefully that he nearly bangs the back of his head against the wall trying to contain the sound of his overflowing pain. He rubs his fingers into his eyelids hard, praying he doesn't fall apart now and wake her.

Elliot squeezes his eyes shut and it's all there, a technicolor nightmare that plays on a loop. He's in South Texas and New Mexico for awhile, and then he's living in a shithole in the desert in Arizona, in a place where the walls never kept the scorpions out. The next year he's in San Diego, and it isn't that they are moving the kids in from Mexico but rather out from the States. He spent years there, in a paradise hell that he rarely saw by daylight. His name changed over the years, always some variation of Nicholas O'Byrne, until he had become so accustomed to being someone else that he had managed to disconnect from the idea of ever coming back at all.

Home had been a distant memory, something meant for someone else.

Yet here he is.

Two weeks into his return and his older kids are in various stages of talking to him again. Thanks to Olivia, his youngest is willing to meet him for an afternoon in the park. His job is intact, and his ex-wife doesn't hate him.

And this.

He presses his fingers to his eyes again, and they come away wet.

There is no way in hell that Olivia should be here. That she isn't married and out of reach or full of hate or ambivalence towards him rocks him to his core. There is no fucking way in the world he deserves this. He glances at her sleeping form again. His chest betrays him and cracks, until he's breathing hard and small, dull explosions are detonating in his lungs.

He can't even mentally touch what happened to her in his absence yet. It's too much for his psyche to absorb. That anyone, anyone at all had had the gall to touch her out of hate and malice, that some monster had tortured her – he can't even comprehend it. Not now.

He'll vomit and wake her, and he will do anything to keep her right where she is, even if it means quelling the anger and nausea that comes with comprehension.

Wearing her white shirt while laying on the white mattress, Olivia stands out in the darkness like a saving beacon amidst the suffocating shadows that have filled his life for far too long.

She is his miracle. His fighter. His protector. His.

Elliot lets his right hand rest on her pillow, until his fingers can touch her hair.

His face is soaking wet and he no longer cares. It's been nine years of imagining this. Of believing it was out of reach. Of being away from this. Olivia had been something distant in his memory for all of this time, a mirage of safety he didn't dare hope for in the most desolate of the days.

Yet she is here. The way she had strode in with his son today had humbled him, nearly brought him to his knees. The way she has given him grace and absolution when he deserves none of it – that has awed him. The way she is still so mind-numbingly beautiful – delicate and fierce all at the same time – it makes him shake with need.

Between the pads of his fingers, he reverently rubs the few strands of her hair that he has captured. He tests the silk of them, the length of them, until he is touching Olivia's scalp so lightly that he almost believes she won't wake.

She barely stirs.

Olivia.

That she trusts him enough to sleep like this next to him is stunning. Overwhelming. His need to cocoon her now is almost paralyzing. No one will fucking touch her ever again.

He will not fail her again.

For all she has suffered, there is still something new and light and fragile in the way she looks at him, and he will be damned if he doesn't protect that with his life this time around.

Elliot's vision is so blurred from the way the depths have gripped him that he doesn't immediately realize that Olivia's eyes have opened. From where her head rests on her pillow, she looks up at him, blinking slowly and saying nothing as she watches him.

She doesn't call out the way he is breaking or the way his fingers openly play with her hair. She doesn't make a move to pull away or even to try and talk to him.

Instead, several minutes later Olivia's eyes slowly drift back shut. In the moment he thinks she has fallen asleep again, her hand shifts onto his lower thigh and squeezes a little, gripping him. Reassuring him. Her body curls closer against his leg and she lets out a deep, contented breath.

Elliot can't take his eyes off of her.

She is both brave and fearless in how she has guarded him over the last few weeks. Twenty years of history sleeps within her and he doesn't know how in all of Manhattan, Olivia rests in his bed tonight.

He stays awake and watches over her, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her temple as he acknowledges to himself the one truth that carried him through all of the years away.

How he feels about her is neither tame nor ordinary.

He loves her wildly.

-o0o-