A/N: Apologies for taking my time. As I mentioned, I'm incredibly out of practice when it comes to writing anything that isn't a oneshot, and so this doesn't come naturally to me. Regardless, just wanted to say a HUGE thank you for all your kind words and reviews and follows. It truly means a lot and I'll try not to disappoint too badly with future content. XD

She doesn't get home in time for dinner, but Noah's still waiting for her, a small, dear body under blankets clutching an open book in his hands. Olivia thinks, as she turns the light out and closes the door twenty minutes later, that she might actually need that time with him, a touchstone, a grounding, more than he does.

Her son is fast asleep and she has a glass of wine by her side before she lets herself remember. She's never particularly enjoyed the politics of working with other agencies and departments, but the actual working itself? She doesn't have so big an ego that she can't delegate, can't engage in the necessary compromises and to-and-fro that naturally occurs when she's equally or outranked. Usually, though, she isn't being bombarded with memories.

Elliot had brought her coffee. And tea. He hadn't asked how she took them, whether she even wanted them. She'd simply looked up and they'd both been there waiting. Unlike him. That was when she'd made her gravest error in judgment and taken her cell out and changed his number from old to new. An unnecessary temptation, Olivia, she'd warned herself, watching the office door as if someone was going to bust in and accuse her of some heinous crime. You might need it for the case, she'd justified to herself.

Not long after he'd introduced himself to her squad (she'd let herself wonder whether he was proud of her), they'd stood side by side as Fin ran down some of the particulars, and all she'd heard was Elliot's slow and steady inhale and exhale. Hours later, when defending Carisi to a crossed-armed skeptical Stabler, all she could feel were the echoes of the hundreds of times she'd seen the same expression on his face, had to cajole him, convince him.

She's halfway through an episode of The Late Show from two nights ago and more than halfway through the wine she can barely taste when the call comes. It's not as though it's unexpected, not really. In the days before things became complicated, before they depended on each other too much and talked about everything except the one thing they couldn't, calling Elliot after work had been second nature. Phone calls about rapes and assaults and unimaginable horrors nobody else should hear about became exchanges about Dickie's baseball games and musings on places they'd vacation if they only caught a break.

Since he'd left, Olivia had scrabbled together a new family, Noah, obviously, but her colleagues too, most of whom Elliot hadn't even met until today. And that's a discordant note, because once upon a time, she'd thought he knew her better than anyone.

"Benson," she answers, readying herself for his voice.

"Hi." It's just a word, one she's heard tens of thousands of times, but this isn't Elliot in the squadroom and there isn't any kind of structure or professionalism to hide behind right now. She feels vulnerable and she hates it. He should be the one feeling that way and maybe he does, but it's not in that single syllable and thus she resents him.

"Do you have news?"

Is there a reason you're ruining the semblance of peace I've managed to find in your absence?

"Elliot? Are you still there?"

He sighs and it sounds shaky. "Yeah. I didn't know if you would be, though. I just… It's so good to hea-"

"I've always been here," she manages to grits out, cutting off the words she doesn't want to hear. Longs to hear. "Is this where you pretend you're calling to update me on the case?"

"I can't lie to you," he says, and the fact that that's clearly a lie frustrates her in a way that makes her stomach clench. "I don't want to," Elliot amends. "I needed, wanted, to explain."

"Only nine years too late." She's being sharp, maybe too sharp, but she can't stop the acid from uncurling itself from where it's clung to her memories of him and attaching to her words instead.

"Yes," her former partner admits. She waits for the excuse and it never comes. "I made so many mistakes, Liv."

Undercover. Opportunity. Family. Missions. Bust. Scared. Divorce. Organized Crime. Granddaughter. Her heart stutters at every point of his halting explanation, the years of his life going by in a flash, and she pretends it's all news, that she hadn't found her eyes straying to his bare ring finger earlier in the day.

"I saw the photo on your desk. It makes me feel better about it all, you know, that you - "

She nearly hangs up at his audacity, and Olivia's not sure if it's because he seems to feel that her joy justifies the pain she went through because of his own actions or because he's not meant to mention Noah. It's like she's had two lives and they're not rubbing up along each other comfortably. She's pretty sure she doesn't even want them to.

Elliot seems to mistake her silence for an invitation. "What's his name?"

"You once told me that you'd be here for me." Ignore the question. "If I wanted… You weren't. I don't think I'll ever really get over that," she admits, her fingers restless on the cushion on her lap, tapping incessantly and providing no distraction from the familiarity and warmth of his voice. "Life is good without you. I've dated. I've been promoted. Noah - that's my son - he's my world. And he loves me."

"Of course he does, Liv," he says softly and if that's a response to her perceived defensiveness, he can go fuck himself. "You're his mom. You're you."

Which isn't always enough, she wants to say. He knows that more than most...

"Tell me about him. Please." A question. He hadn't always been good at that, at not demanding, at forcing the words out of her even when she'd wanted to keep them, hide them. They've both changed over the past decade and she wants him in front of her so she can find them all, every last one, catalog them and learn them. "I've missed you."

The clock tells her she's already been on the phone too long, the empty glass tells her that if they keep talking, she'll say too much. Maybe she already has. She ignores the words, the way they want to take up residence in her heart. "I have to go."

She sits on the floor in Noah's room until midnight, watching him sleep and praying that she doesn't dream tonight.