6

A/N: So this is the set of scenes that started this fic idea in my head. This is the chapter that meant the most to me and I can't believe we are here. Happy Birthday Brynn and thank you for listening to me babble about this all the time. Ashley, thank you for the quick beta and all the encouragement. I'm BEYOND grateful for everyone appreciating the small moments here and leaving such beautiful reviews that tell me you're in the moment like I am. This is not the end of this story, just the beginning.

Also, the songs MEAN EVERYTHING to me on this one in particular. If you listen to no other songs with this fic, please listen to these. The first two sections are to Apollo, by Noah Reid (the song that started this fic) and the last two sections are to Peer Pressure by James Bay and Julia Michaels.


(and I'll be apollo)

she was powerful,

not because she wasn't scared

but because she went on so strongly,

despite the fear.

-Atticus


It's five days before Halloween when - as he opens the door from the lobby of his building onto the street - he realizes that one of the residents in the brownstone had decorated the front stoop for the holiday.

A few small pumpkins and a dried corn stalk rest by the railing, and it reminds him of the days when his kids used to paint the gourds and pumpkins on the front porch of the house in Queens. They would light up the house with jack o'lanterns and handmade ghosts, strings of orange lights and purple light bulbs. It reminds of him of ten-year-old Dickie fighting with Lizzie, because he thought they should go together as superheroes, and she wanted to go as Walt Whitman. It reminds him of Kathleen stealing the Reese's Cups out of her younger siblings' candy bags in the middle of the night, and of Maureen who had wanted to go to the college costume parties too soon. It reminds him of the last time he'd seen Eli dress up, and how his son had been an exuberant Captain America, sword and shield at the ready to fight off the villains. His youngest has decided he's too old to dress up this year according to his ex-wife, and there is a part of him that can't even examine how much he's lost.

Elliot looks up, into the perfect early morning sun of late October.

As his eyes focus on the street ahead, he feels the smile breaking him from him. He feels it before he sees it.

There she stands, leaning up against her work truck, NYPD placard on the front windshield declaring it official business while she parks wherever she damn well wants to.

The recollection hits him fast and hard. He's immediately thinking about a picture of him in a costume as a young boy. She had taken the rough memory behind that photo and made it her own as she'd left the courthouse after Kathleen's trial years ago. Maybe God forgot how cute you were as a carrot.

She is always righting the wrongs in his life - as she is right now.

This morning, Olivia is wearing a brown leather jacket that he feels like he remembers from their past, her sunglasses are perched on the top of her head and she is holding two cups of to-go coffee. Her hair is straight and glossy, and her badge is clipped to her hip, glinting with sunlight. Her ankles are crossed, as if she's been lounging against the truck for hours.

Her smile is soft, but her eyes are sparkling.

He can see that particular phenomenon even from here.

Just like that, she makes the passing of time bearable - simply because she makes the present the place he wants to be most.

She's extraordinarily beautiful, he thinks. She is grace and absolution. Resiliency. She is the softest heart he knows, and the strongest person he has ever met. He wants to laugh in disbelief, because why she wastes her time on a bastard like him he has no idea.

Elliot makes his way towards her, and his chest is so full that he's shaken by the feeling. He takes the steps downwards, realizing he's wearing a suit and she's casual as hell.

As he gets closer to her, he is mesmerized by the way her eyes track him, and she tries not to smirk as she pointedly looks him up and down.

"You clean up really well, Captain Stabler," Olivia says, trying to hold back a smile.

The way she looks at him upwards through her lashes makes his gut wrench. "I wish I could say the same, Captain Benson," he teases. "You have casual Mondays at the 1-6 now?"

Olivia cocks her head as he closes the last steps to her. "It's not my first day, it's yours. I don't need to make a good first impression."

He grins as she hands him the coffee. He looks down at the label. "This place is still open? Always had the best coffee in the city."

It's the place they'd gone to start too many mornings to count, the place they had relied on during the long nights. If they'd had a place, Caffe Dante had been it. The baristas knew their order, the menu was as familiar as their badge numbers.

"It's still standing," she says quietly, and he wonders if she's talking about the café or them.

Both, he tells himself.

She holds her own coffee to her lips, not moving from her spot against the truck. She practically bites at the lid on her cup as she grins back at him too, and she might be flirting. She's certainly not in any hurry to leave this moment, and he isn't either.

He would stand right here forever with her, if she would simply stay with him too.

He can hear the traffic in the distance, but for the moment there are no horns, no sirens. There is no yelling, no construction, no deliveries and no rush. In the middle of the busiest city in the world, there is stillness.

Calm.

The city is holding its breath for them. Waiting to see what they do. Wondering if they will finally get it right this time.

He plans on it.

His throat closes as a strand of her hair blows into her eyes. "You didn't have to come, Liv."

She shrugs, her eyes reflecting mischief and humor and light. "It's a big day. Figured I could give you some pointers on the way in. You can't just stomp in there and throw some things around. Being Captain requires some diplomacy."

She might be able to hold back her laughter, but he loses the fight. It comes from deep within him, from a place that she is making her home. "Glad you have so much faith in me."

"I always have," she says softly, tilting her head. Standing in front of him, Olivia purses her lips and looks down, and he thinks yeah, yeah she's flirting. "You were there for me on my first day, I figured I could return the favor," she explains with as much seriousness as she can muster. "I can show you the ropes."

Twenty-three years ago, and the day will forever be embedded in his chest. Her dark hair had been tucked behind her ear, and she'd been carrying enough folders and bags that he had thought she would fall over. Her suit had been too big, her eyes too wide and her passion for justice so strong that he had been immobilized by the immediate force of it. He had been leaning back in his chair and she'd just looked at him, waiting for some direction.

Every protective instinct in him had kicked in at first sight, and looking back now, he realizes the universe knew things then that he wouldn't know for years.

She's unfolded into every corner of his life. Minute by minute, year by year. This morning, despite all of the things that have changed, he realizes that the most important things between them are the same. Despite nine years apart, she's the most familiar, natural thing in the world to him.

He takes a sip of his coffee - he still takes it two creams and two sugars - and it's just right. He's trying to get his voice to work. "If you're returning favors, then you know what's next right?"

Olivia finally straightens off the truck and looks at him. His implications register on her face. "Oh, hell no. It's been so long, you can't possibly remember whose turn it is-"

"It's definitely mine," he cuts her off, trying to contain his laughter. God, he hasn't had the urge to laugh like this in over a decade. Maybe the air is clearer around her, and that's why he can breathe so much better when she's near.

Her indignation is half-assed, but she puts forth the effort anyway. "You'll have your own vehicle issued soon enough. There's no way."

Elliot ignores her. "Keys in the truck?"

She lets her head fall back on her neck as she dramatically looks up towards the sky, as if looking for guidance. "You really are a pain in the ass, El."

"Agreed," he says, already opening the passenger door for her. "But this way we both win. You'll have to drive yourself to the 1-6 after you drop me off, so we both get a turn behind the wheel."

Her laugh is small, light, amused. He's holding onto the door when she suddenly stops, half in and half out of the car. She seems to take a ragged breath then out of nowhere, and when she looks at him again, her eyes are just a fraction too bright. "We're really doing this again?" The words come out small.

His fingers itch to touch the strands of her hair. He wants to taste her, brush his lips against hers and see if she sighs against him the way he thinks she would. He knows what she means. Despite their conversation the other night, this feels surreal, impossible.

In all of the years of darkness, he couldn't even fathom that this moment of beginnings could exist.

This morning, infinite possibility holds more weight than fear or regrets. They're both NYPD, out in the open, back fighting the good fight in step with each other, even if from different precincts. The goal is the same, the justice is just as compelling. Each of them will do their job knowing the other is just across this suddenly small island called Manhattan.

"We are," he confirms. Then he loses the battle and his finger swipes away the one strand that keeps slipping across her eye. The gesture is the most miniscule of ways in which he will take care of her from here on out. "We're partners, for better or worse."

By the way she stills, he knows she remembers him saying those words to her back when they were just starting this journey. Of all the vows he'd been held to back then, it's the only one that he still feels to this day.

Her eyes darken with seriousness then, searching his. "Yeah?"

If only he could grab her and pull her up against him and tell her how grateful he is for every minute with her. If he could somehow just explain how she is all of the pieces that have been missing in him for too many years.

She doesn't understand how bright the light of her is. She doesn't realize that the lighthouse of her guided him home.

"Yeah," he affirms instead, and he thinks she hears the rest anyway.

Olivia slips into the seat then, and after he closes her door he comes around to the drivers side, climbing in and removing the placard. He adjusts the seat and settles in, and suddenly it's a dozen years ago. He starts up her truck, and as she sits next to him they have the best closure rate in the city. They are full of the bravado of having beaten the odds too many times. They are younger and full of mistakes and forgiveness and victories.

They are them, again.

She is his person, and he prays to God he can be hers in the way she deserves. Second chances aren't a myth, faith isn't fragile.

He pulls away from the curb, and beneath the warmth of the strengthening sun he thinks to himself okay then, today is the day.

He smiles, and she will know why he's smiling soon enough.

-o0o-

Olivia is holding her coffee cup between her thighs as he takes them south on Columbus.

The sun is strengthening as it climbs into the crystal clear morning, its brilliance reflecting off the cars and buildings that slide by.

She leaves her sunglasses atop her head. If she puts them down over her eyes, she'll lose herself to the quiet, the escape, the shelter behind her aviator lenses. For some reason it feels important to remain exposed to him.

She wants him to see her. She wants to see him clearly.

For all of the weeks that he has been home, she realizes that this is the first time she's been in a car with him while he has driven them. The city is a blur at the moment, and as he easily makes the left onto 65th, Olivia exhales hard. It had been the little things like this that she had missed deep in her bones. The way she can only relax in a car with him, surrounded by the familiarity of his breaths, the comfort of their silence. The intoxicating smell of him as his big frame fills the vehicle.

She can feel the sheer, nearly sharp sense of safety that he gives her, just by sitting next to her.

In the middle of her relief, her eyes prick with moisture. She's not crying for the past, she's just too full in this singular moment; content in a way she had never expected to be again.

This, this had always been their world.

Elliot is driving her again, and the magnitude of that simple occurrence is overwhelming. She's smiling as a default expression, and it feels foreign to her.

"New suit?" she teases casually, focusing on the way the city street so quickly turns into a lush cavern of color as it begins to weave through Central Park.

She turns to glance at him anticipating his response, and while his focus remains on the street, she sees his lips lift. "Don't mock it. I seem to recall you wearing a new suit on your first day. At least mine fits."

"Oh," she warns, slipping into their old bantering rhythm. "That's where we're going with this?"

He shrugs a little as the truck comes to a stop at the light. "You have to admit those suits were a little big, Liv."

She nods once. "Got it. You go undercover at a design house, El? Suddenly you're full of fashion advice?"

He's trying not to laugh, but his amusement is written all over his face as he doubles down. "Could've fit two of you in those jackets you wore."

"I don't know how you and your ego are fitting in that suit right now, Elliot."

He laughs out loud. When he turns to face her, she feels the intensity of his perusal slip over her skin. The last weeks have been filled with a careful dance of texts and the few dinners, a balance of space and needing to see each other.

Right now, that fragile waltz seems to fall away. Years disappear. The way he looks at her, she wants to strip away the captain's badges from both of their hips and go back to how it used to be. Detective Benson and Detective Stabler. She'd even take all of the boundaries again if she could just erase the pain they had both suffered so acutely in the time apart. If she could just give him his family back, take away the haunts, protect him the way she had always intended to.

Elliot must notice the burn in her eyes again, because as he starts the truck moving forward again, his hand reaches out and covers hers where it rests on the seat between them.

It's such a simple gesture, but it makes her nearly choke with need. The weight of his palm, the heat of his skin covering hers. The way he envelops just that small part of her, and how it feels like everything. Irrevocable shelter.

Here, within the confines of this truck, is her cocoon. Here is where life, belief and hope are seeping into her again.

With him.

She almost exhales his name out loud.

Next to her, the small stone walls that line the street are covered in red and orange leaves. The city breathes and thrives and aches, and deep in the middle of Manhattan this beautiful park remains unscathed, despite the harsh world that surrounds it.

She turns her palm face up, and his thick, roughened fingers sink down between hers.

He closes his grasp.

She closes her eyes.

The sun finds both of them, and then - as they drive under the tunnels beneath the park - it hides. It's a childish game of peekaboo, and she lets her head roll against the seat to watch him in both the darkness and the light.

"Day you walked in was one of the best days of my life," he says without looking at her.

His quiet words make her push her lips tightly closed for a moment, until she can get ahold of herself. "Mine too," she finally says.

He ignores the magnitude of what they have both said, because it doesn't need more. "That first year, I figured Cragen would boot you for that mouth of yours. Figured I could save you from the perps, but I didn't know who the hell would save you from yourself."

If anyone else talked to her like this, she would have kicked their ass. But he's smiling again, and in fairness, he's also right. She remembers now how much she hates it when he's right.

At the moment, he doesn't deserve to know she's laughing inside. "I'm not the one who needed saving," she taunts.

They emerge out of the park a few minutes later, and he easily moves the car into the right lane to head south on Fifth Avenue. "You remember that night I said you could walk away and you said you couldn't?"

It's a straight shot through the city now to his new home at the 1-3. This street always hits her differently because it doesn't fit with the Manhattan that she knows. Here, in midtown, this avenue is a tourist attraction. It's the glamorous hub of a city that is otherwise filled with nooks of darkness. She watches as the shiny, high-end stores - intermixed with luxury high-rises and hotels – pass by them. She used to think this street was an illusion, but now she realizes it is simply the unmarred part of the city that reminds those who traverse it that there is hope somewhere. There are places left untouched, unscathed.

There is still a dream in this city. They are driving down it, proof it exists.

"I remember," she tells him.

"I couldn't walk away, either. Not then. Not now."

His hand tightens around hers. Olivia shifts in her seat, giving up on the view out her window just to watch him for the last twenty blocks of their drive. She takes another sip of her coffee, letting the heat of it slip through her chest.

"Wasn't the job I couldn't leave, was you," he says simply.

Her breaths even out, and if it weren't for the fact that the start of her day lay ahead, she would probably fall asleep, lulled by the sound of his low voice and all of his conviction.

"When I went under, Liv. If you want to know why I didn't tell you-"

"I would have wanted to go with," she finishes for him.

At the stop light, he looks over at her again. He doesn't need to say anything, and neither does she. Sometimes the biggest questions can be answered with the fewest words, and the biggest apologies can be accepted with no words at all. Maybe, she thinks, they both needed this much time to pass in order to quell the anger and the pain of their early years, and to simply reach the acceptance that had always seemed so unattainable.

He's home, occurs to her again. The reality of it hits sometimes like this, out of the blue.

She feels free to watch him as he drives, as if she doesn't have to hide her fascination with him anymore. The minutes pass easily. She lets herself absorb the new broader lines of his shoulders, the new lines on his face. She traces the edge of his jaw with her eyes, the fullness of his mouth. His eyelashes are as thick as ever, and his irises are the same, familiar blue. He still squints the way he used to, yet his laughter is deeper. His knuckles have new scars, but the shape of his hand hasn't changed.

He must feel her gaze heavily on his skin, because she sees that cocky smile return. "So, what was it like taking over Cragen's office?"

"Felt like it's where I belonged," she retorts.

"If I'd stayed, you know that would have been my office, right?"

Indignant laughter escapes her. It spills through the truck as she extricates her hand from his just to smack his shoulder. "You're an ass. There's no chance anyone was letting you be in charge of the coffee, let alone the unit."

"I guess it's for the best," Elliot admits, pushing his luck with her as they make the turn onto 22nd. "The vision of you behind that desk has kept me up a few nights."

Her breath catches then, because even by looking at his profile, she knows what he's suddenly implying. Her face immediately flushes and she straightens, ignoring the goosebumps that have started crawling across her skin in anticipation. It was one thing for him to harmlessly flirt with her years ago. He'd been married, and they would never have done anything to jeopardize that or their partnership. There had always been safety in the lines.

There is no line anymore. They both know it.

In truth, she's felt the energy between them over the last few weeks. She's known it would go somewhere one way or another, but for him to so casually drop it between them, now

She shoves her coffee cup in the holder, not willing to risk spilling it with her hands shaking the way they are at the moment.

Her silence seems to amuse him. "Nothing to say?"

Olivia is facing forward, her skin is heated, and her pulse is picking up speed. She has to pull it together; she can't act surprised. She's slept next to him, he touches her more, she aches for him at night.

This is over twenty years in the making. She can't act like a teenager because Elliot Stabler is finally openly, blatantly flirting with her.

Elliot.

The shock of it fades as quickly as it had arrived, and then it's so perfect and she's so ready for this that she finds herself laughing again. "You're about to start your first day with a new unit, and you pick now to tell me about your sordid fantasies?"

The timing could not be more ridiculous for this conversation, because he's pulling over into the street lot that lines the front of the 1-3. He finds a spot to temporarily stop, right near the front door of the building, and he puts the truck in park, leaving it to run.

Instead of saying anything, he just turns in his seat to grin at her. The aches and apologies are still there, lingering in his eyes. But there's something else there, too. Heat, hope. Inevitability. "Well, I hope you have a good day, Olivia," he teases, slowly dragging over every word.

He makes no move to leave the confines of the vehicle.

The world falls away, and it's just them in this truck. In front of a precinct he will run roughshod through, in front of this thing between them that has finally found its place.

She can't take her eyes off of him, and despite the years of pain, of absence, he is in control in this moment. She is watching him coming back to life as the seconds pass. The confident, assured man she'd run alongside for the best years of her life, he's looking at her as if she is what he wants, and she wants him right back.

Before she can think of anything to say though, he is opening the drivers side door and letting himself out of the truck, holding his coffee. She doesn't move, her body is still too shaken from the intensity of how he had just looked at her. It will take her a few moments to recover, and she doesn't care if he sees.

No more hiding what he does to her.

Elliot closes the door then, and she sits perfectly still while he walks around the truck. She thinks maybe he's going to open her door to let her out, but instead he raps on her window.

She uses the small button to put the glass down all the way.

He leans in, casually folding his arms over the ledge and dangling his coffee dangerously over her lap. "Any parting words of advice?"

Elliot's face is inches from her, and she ignores their surroundings. For just one minute, there are no patrol cars, no colleagues. There's no time limit, nowhere she has to be.

He's really back.

He's back and he's right here, and he's…hers.

The moment is overwhelming. For all of her bravado, she is trembling. Reality smacks into her all at once - the days without him near, the nights, the nightmares, the anguish, the fear…the way she had missed him so deeply and so profoundly all the way into her bones. This kind of morning had never even been a figment of her imagination, because she had lived in such a brutal, lonely reality without him for far too long.

This goes beyond every hope she'd ever had when it came to him.

Olivia tries to swallow, but her throat is locked. "You're back," she says numbly, obviously, because it's all she can manage.

His gazes drops to her mouth before raising back to her eyes. "And this is my partner, Captain Benson," he rumbles heatedly. "It's day one all over again, isn't it?" His irises darken. "Day one of everything."

Just when she thinks she's going to break from the emotions that threaten to tumble out of her, she becomes peripherally aware of him tilting his head and closing in on her.

Jesus.

There's no time at all to process, to prepare.

She sucks in a breath as his mouth quickly and effortlessly captures hers. It's just a brush of contact, his lips barely tucking between hers for the briefest of seconds. He presses against her mouth, caressing it with his own for a millisecond and nothing more. A slight nip, the barest taste of coffee. His or hers, she doesn't know. She nearly moans out loud at the instant intimacy, but air is failing her and before she can even inhale, he's already pulling back.

Olivia is immobile. Stunned. Shaken to within an inch of sanity.

Elliot isn't though. He's smirking as he looks at her. He's self-satisfied and amused, and she just watches him in shock.

He'd planned it. She can tell, just by the expression on his face. It was fast, swift. For her, it was completely unexpected.

Because he is Elliot, he's already recovered and straightening. As she watches, frozen in place, he silently turns and heads for the front door of the precinct - as if kissing her goodbye is an everyday occurrence. She watches him in awe, barely aware that her fingers are now touching her lips. They too, are disbelieving.

Their lips had touched. Kissed.

It had been a goodbye no different than one quickly exchanged by thousands of couples across the city in the morning as they part for a day of work. Only this one had changed her whole world.

Of course he's really going to drop that on her like it's nothing.

Two steps from the front door of the 1-3, almost thirty blocks from where they first had begun this life together, Elliot turns to face her. He uses his thumb to point at the front door. "You know where to find me if you need me," he calls out, keeping his tone infuriatingly casual while giving her a wolfish, knowing smile.

Then he's gone, disappearing into a place where he will be from now on. For good.

Olivia's fingers fully trace her lips, and then as the morning's events settle into her consciousness, she lets her head hit the back of the seat hard. The bastard had known what he was doing to her, kissing her like that.

Out of nowhere and in front of everyone.

Elliot Stabler had really, well and truly kissed her. It's just starting to sink in.

The irreverent burst of laughter starts in her stomach and then bubbles up through her throat and into the air around her until she is shaking her head in disbelief. She sits there, simultaneously dumbfounded and madly in love.

Monday mornings, she thinks, might not be so bad anymore.

-o0o-

He's been sitting on this bar stool for over an hour.

It's nearly midnight, and he's got to head back to his apartment soon, but truth be told, he doesn't want to be alone just yet. He'd like to be with Olivia, but she had the chance to go home early for Noah tonight and he is doing his damndest to respect and protect the life she had been living before he came back.

He knows he can't just storm back in and take over, despite the fact that he'd finally kissed her this morning. But Christ, he'd like to do that again. He'd like to taste her fully, get her body up against his and make her promises with his mouth.

One step at a time, he reminds himself. He's got to earn Olivia's trust all the way through because he doesn't want to scare her – hurt her – ever again.

She deserves the whole dance too, he thinks. She deserves the dates, the courting, the romance.

And by fucking God, he's going to romance the hell out of her. He wants to know everything about who she is when she's not wearing that badge. He wants to learn the difference between her smiles, the sounds she makes when he touches her, the things that make her look at him the way she had this morning.

He wants her to trust him enough to tell him about what she's suffered. What she's impossibly survived.

He takes a long drag of his beer, downing half of it at once.

Elliot had brought his core squad here to Muldoon's hours ago. They'd all met for the first time today, and after a grueling day of learning new systems, identifying roles and chains of command, assigning workspaces and even receiving the first of their cases, the team had needed a chance to break ground on establishing some camaraderie.

Most of them are drinking on his tab ten feet across the bar from him. He watches them silently, cataloguing their interactions, the chemistry, their personalities. In the next few days he will assign partnerships, and that's what he's looking out for right now. He'd love to slam a few beers and chase them with a whiskey, but he's been taking it slow so he can observe.

He feels good about this team.

There's Owen Jones, the highest ranking of his team as a Detective First Grade. He's tall and brash, someone who uses his All-American good looks and charm to get his way. He's a big tatted-up guy, former Army, and his easy-going personality is a cover for his lethal set of skills. Jones is currently trying to convince Amalia Thorton to do a shot, and she's steadfastly holding her ground in refusal. She's the polar opposite to Jones. She's lithe, quiet, nearly regal in how she holds herself. She's a stunning black woman, and at twenty-eight she's the youngest one on his team. Elliot had picked her because of her incomparable computer skills – nearly hacker status – and her command of both Mandarin and Spanish.

Then there is Lucas Hernandez, and he's the money guy. He's got a head for finance and dollar trails. He's a family man, with two kids at home. There's Dai Nguyen, who spent three years UC in the gang unit, and Shanna Holt, who just left the LAPD to come back to the city she grew up in following a divorce.

The biggest enigma is Cara Jasper.

She's early-thirties, dark and reclusive. He knows her history – mother died of an OD when Jasper was a teenager, her father was killed four years ago when he got caught stealing from a cartel. She's strong, tough, and no-nonsense. She graduated fourth at the Academy a decade ago, and her closure rate is almost shockingly high. She wears her dark hair cut short, and her clothes are deliberately chosen to make her look rough. She looks younger than she is, and she knows it. She doesn't say anything extraneous.

She sits across from him now, focused on the neat tumbler of Jameson in front of her and refusing to socialize with anyone else on the team.

Jones and Jasper, he thinks. He'll pair them and see if their personalities balance each other out.

Elliot's phone sits on the bar in front of him now, and the ding of the incoming text jolts him out of his silent assessments.

Yin-Yang. Opposite forces that counter-balance. That's what you're looking for.

The messages from his former Captain had started around lunchtime. Don had texted him congratulations, and that had started a dialogue that had gone back and forth all day.

He's been advising Elliot on partnerships for the last thirty minutes, despite the fact that the older man is sitting out on a dock off the coast of North Carolina right now.

And if that becomes oil and water? Elliot sends back.

A few seconds later, he gets the kind of irreplaceable advice he has been receiving all day.

That's not a bad thing every now and then. Then they're separate enough to check the other.

Is that why you put Liv and I together?

Elliot takes a long sip of his beer, watching as Dai and Lucas agree to a game of darts. Shanna is edging in on rescuing Amalia, and Cara is absently sliding her finger along her phone, lost in thought. She doesn't want to be here, but she's not willing to leave the team, either.

Don's response comes quickly. She needed roots. You needed wings.

He lets out a small laugh. This relaxed and retired Don is poetic in his advice, he's both succinct and abstract all at the same time. As Elliot he watches his new squad, he longs for his old one. He yearns for the past, for the days before the great divide that his absence caused in too many ways. He misses his old squad room; he misses the way Don had held all of them together. He misses the sheer security that Don had provided all of them.

As Captain, Don had provided shelter. He'd given them a steady hand when they were a bunch of misfits in every way.

Elliot had always been the loose cannon, Olivia the rational one who put too much of herself in. Munch was the analytical, acerbic one. Fin had an edge that came from a lifetime of surviving on his own.

Don had put them together, then kept them that way. It's what Elliot hopes to do for this squad if he can find his way to being half the man his former Captain is.

I flew too far, he sends back. For too long.

His beer is almost finished, and he pulls out some cash to tip the bartender. He will leave his tab open tonight, just to let them know he's got their back right from the start. He knows firsthand how important it is for them to care about each other. They need to think of each other as family if they're going to be any good at this.

The job ahead will be dangerous. Brutal. It will shake them to their core. The enemies will be everywhere, and this team has to be able to look around and know who the good guys are.

Just like all of them had when they had been Don's squad.

You went to the brink, but you didn't go over the edge. Remember that.

He looks at Don's words and he knows why he didn't plunge into an abyss. He knows about the guys who never come home, the ones who live a life undercover because they have nothing left to come home to.

Olivia pulled him back on the worst nights. She gives him a place to be. A place to start again.

She kept me tethered.

He stares at the words, then hits send. When he had kissed her this morning, he'd tried to keep it as safe as possible so he wouldn't spook her. Since then neither of them had mentioned it, and he's okay with that. As much as he'd wanted more tonight, he knows she's home with Noah tonight, and just the idea of her safely home with her child settles him.

She's where she belongs. One day he hopes he'll belong there too.

Then take care of her.

Don's words make him close his eyes. There's something inside of him that irrefutably needs to simply see Olivia, despite the late hour, despite the fact that she's with her son. He wants her to know exactly how he feels, what he wants this to be. He wants to her to know that his days start and end with her now.

His beer his done, but he isn't.

I will, he texts back. You have my word.

Across the bar, Detective Cara Jasper glances at him as Elliot stands up. She nods at him, indicating she will tell the team he left. She doesn't smile, she just sits there quietly as the world goes on around her.

He nods his thanks, and as he exits the bar, he makes a silent vow to a God he's starting to believe in again.

He promises the heavens above that he will take care of every one of them this time around.

-o0o-

It's after midnight and she is staring at the ceiling.

Her bedroom is dark, but the hallway light illuminates the small form of her son as he sleeps soundly next to her. Noah's small breaths are soothingly even, and Olivia brushes her hand through the soft curls of his hair.

Her child had missed her, she had profoundly missed him. The victim statements and cases from Elliot's undercover are still overwhelming the team, but this evening they all agreed to find some balance again. So tonight, after Noah's bath and her shower, they had climbed into her bed together and they had talked. His little boy voice had woven tales about school and his dance class, he'd discussed an upcoming Halloween party and told her how he hadn't done as well as he'd wanted on his spelling test.

She'd made ice cream sundaes and together they'd broken the rules by eating them in bed.

Rules.

Olivia knows why she can't sleep. There are no more rules holding her back from Elliot. What happened this morning wasn't going to stop there. He'd kissed her ever so briefly, and the easy texts they had exchanged during the day tells her that this is the new normal moving forward.

She smiles into the darkness, as if she's holding some ridiculous secret. When she thinks she's going to make a sound, she presses her face into her pillow, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

Elliot kissed her this morning.

It's still too much to process.

She hears her phone ding announcing a text message, and she groans before she even reaches for it. She can't go in easily tonight - Lucy isn't on call - and she doesn't want to leave Noah. She tells herself she will figure it out as she opens the text.

It's me.

Elliot's text doesn't make sense. She's frowning at it a moment later when she hears the quiet knock at her front door. She knows he has the front code, but at this hour it worries her that he's here.

Ok, she sends back. Hang on.

Her hair is probably unruly and curly because she had let it air dry after the shower. She doesn't have any makeup on and she can do nothing more than grab a short robe from the chair in the corner, putting it on and tying it closed as she pulls her bedroom door shut and heads towards her front door.

When Olivia opens it, she immediately knows nothing is wrong.

Elliot is standing in front of her, a half-sheepish grin on his face. He's now wearing his black leather jacket, a t-shirt and some jeans, and he's got a shadow of stubble across his cheeks. His hands are braced on both sides of the doorframe.

The way he's looking at her, she's suddenly trembling with anticipation. He looks sexy as hell. He's both dangerous and her safest space all at once.

Olivia is wholly locked on the blatant intent flaring in his eyes. Her heart is slamming, his gaze is unwavering.

It's twenty years speeding in between every beat of her pulse.

The memories blend into the heavy promises held in this moment. It's raining on both of their baseball hats, and she is only able to do this job with him. She's running next to him, he's two steps ahead. Their footsteps land at the same time and she listens for that rhythm. He is holding her after her mother died. He's her only family left. He's grasping her to keep her off a suspect. He's texting her late at night, hating that he has to wake her up. He's risking his badge for hers again and again. He's beautifully faithful to his wife, even when his heart wasn't in it. He's steady.

He's still that steady now as he just looks at her. Waiting. Giving her time to close the door on him.

She knows this morning was nothing compared to what is about to happen. This is the turning point.

Here. Now. There are infinite seconds contained in the minute that passes.

He must find the permission he's looking for in the blur of her widened eyes, because his hand lifts off of the doorframe and immediately slides under her hair, around her neck. The heat of his palm cups her there and instantly she's that much closer to him. She shudders from the relief of his touch. She belongs against him.

This.

It's everything.

Elliot's forehead knocks gently against hers. His breath smells of beer and mints, and it makes her silently laugh because he knew exactly why he was coming here.

"Olivia."

Another punctuating beat of her heart. He's saying her name in a bus terminal, it's dragged out, it's guttural. She's staring at him, gun in hand and she won't let him die, not ever. They're too close as partners, Cragen is going to split them up. She leaves, she comes back. He's still there, waiting for her.

He's waiting for her now.

Here.

Olivia lifts her chin, moving her mouth is closer to his. Seeking him.

"Tell me to stop now if you don't want this," he murmurs.

I can't. She's sitting on his porch, and he's telling her she can leave anytime she wants to, and that's impossible. He's the most solid thing in her world. She knows too early on that no other man will ever compare, but she's scared about what that means. She dates for years anyway, looking for someone just like him. She dates and dates and she'd still rather spend the deepest part of the night sitting across their desks from him.

"I want this," she whispers, her words cracking into the still air.

Elliot's mouth is millimeters from hers. His air is hers, hers is his.

"I want all of this," he tells her.

"Me too," she tells him.

She was in love with him even back then. In the days when he'd stood by her side as she'd protected Simon. Elliot had taken care of her when she was sick, he'd bailed her out of jail without questioning her innocence at all. He'd proven her theories when he didn't even believe them; he'd trusted her after Sealview. He had nearly died one night, and as she'd held his head, felt his blood seeping out under her fingers, she'd vowed that she would never leave his side again.

Elliot touches her lips with his then, his hand tipping her chin up to his seeking, hot mouth. The melding is slow for a second, two seconds, but then she's tilting her head and he's tilting his and somewhere in the middle of it her knees feel like they might give way.

Her bare toes curl into the floor as he steps into her apartment, she's backing up against the wall, and his mouth opens hers.

Are we good?

She'd asked him that a dozen years ago, late at night while sitting on his front porch. The hope she'd had that night is nothing compared to this. It's taken all these years for them to come back around, but here they are.

Here they are.

Elliot is kissing her.

It all flashes through her mind as she sinks into him, into his touch. Eli's birth. A new baby in his arms. How she'd cried, both because of the loss of hope and the perfect gift he'd been given. How she had wanted him to be complete, how she had wanted his world to be whole again even if it was at the expense of hers.

He's got his hand spearing through her hair now, and as her head taps back against the wall, as his tongue pushes into her mouth, her fingers grip Elliot's t-shirt as if she can hold on for dear life. He closes in on her, and there is something about her son sleeping in the other room that makes her chest crack, overflowing with hope and love.

Her mind is wandering in disbelief and relief as he kisses her. It's more than want, or lust. It's more than an act. It's more than heat or need.

It's just more than…everything.

Olivia easily yields to his seeking mouth, he's possessive, he's big and he's intense. There is such an acute sense of freedom, of things being finally right that she finds herself launching back at him.

This is completion.

Olivia greedily tugs Elliot onto her, hearing her reward come in the form of a deep groan. She's tremoring as his tongue sweeps into her mouth fully, and she is drowning in the sheer pleasure of him. His lips, her lips, the way he brushes his mouth against hers before pulling back, inhaling and then diving back against her. He exhales into her, breathes life into all of the places that are finally illuminating again.

Elliot isn't gentle, but he's careful. He's not overpowering, but he's in control. He makes a sound low in his throat, and she feels his mouth trail over her cheek, her neck, and then he's kissing the tip of her nose. It's a brief detour, because then he's back, deeper than the last time, bruising her lips.

He's holding her up. He's leaning on her. Somehow, together, they stay upright.

Her world goes unerringly silent except for the whispers of his body. The sound of their kissing, his breaths, the rustle of his jacket against her robe. She thinks she hears him say her name. She moans his.

Nothing has been this. Until now it's always been wrong, she knows that now. This is what they write books about, she thinks. This, this is love.

When Elliot finally pulls his mouth away from hers, she realizes that her eyes are watering, her fingers are numb, her lips are swollen.

He's staring at her stunned, too. Her hair is still in his hands, and then his forehead is back against hers. It's as if they have run a thousand miles together, and maybe they have.

Twenty years of running, and they finally found the end of the dance, the beginning of the journey.

Her hands cup his stubbled cheeks. Olivia rubs her mouth against his one more time. And then again. She's the one seeking him now. He's standing still, quiet and catching his breath.

"Had to kiss you," he mumbles against her seeking lips.

The smell of him is the same as she always remembered. Shampoo, soap, aftershave. He's every memory she has. She remembers no man before him. He's just kissed her to within an inch of her life, and he's the one she's waited for all of these years.

He's her best friend. The wait was worth it.

Time apart hadn't shaken the core of them. She'd simply lived life around the love she has always had for him.

He doesn't look her in the eyes just yet. He's looking at her mouth, at the floor. There are only inches between them. His head is bowed in deference as she holds his face in her hands.

Elliot starts to straighten then. His palms encircle her wrists. It's then that those beautiful blue eyes meet hers. There is a little less torment in them than there had been a week ago. There's life in them that hadn't been there almost a month ago when he'd first come home.

They're both breathing ridiculously hard.

It makes him smile. Then she's smiling. He is the one to first laugh softly. Elliot flushes and she's mesmerized by it. This big, rough warrior in front of her is now realizing what just happened. The corners near his eyes crinkle as he starts to chuckle, shaking his head.

She's grinning then. Even as he pulls off of her and stands back a step, she feels like she's glowing.

Elliot tries to meet her eyes. "Get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow," he rumbles, fully amused.

They're acting like they are both twelve and they've just had their first kiss in a dark closet somewhere. Bashful. Hopeful. Awestruck.

She's okay with that. She can still taste him when she sucks her lower lip into her mouth. "You too," she says, trying to keep a straight face.

Jesus, they are schoolchildren.

Elliot starts to back up, he's heading for the door. When he's just outside her apartment and she's holding onto the doorframe, he looks back at her.

"Twenty years of fantasies didn't prepare me for the real thing."

He's gone then, before she can respond. Her legs won't work, so she closes the door and leans back against it. She pulls her robe tightly around her and closes her eyes.

She understands why they say it's called falling in love, because she is absolutely tumbling.

Olivia shakes her head, and then she is laughing.

Moments later, her body still absorbing the way he'd touched her, her heart starts beating again. This time her pulse is slow, steady.

It's the brand new beat of a heart that has finally been heard.

-o0o-