They exchanged a look of silent agreement to put down their armaments - for the duration of the meal anyway.

Anxious to change the subject, Olivia set out to pry a bit and catch up on his life. "So tell me what happened ... with Kathy?"

"You know my marriage was living on borrowed time, Liv," he explained. "Time just ran out."

"Just like that?"

Elliot sat back in his seat and repositioned his napkin on his lap before continuing. "Me spending more time in a bottle than with her or Eli didn't help. I was self-destructing, and she was pretty clear that she wasn't willing to go down with me."

"Can you blame her?"

"Not one bit," he offered quickly. "She'd already toughed it out too long. She didn't need to hang around to watch me ..." Then his voice trailed off and he dropped his eyes and fiddled with aligning his fork and knife in front of him.

The shift in his body language told Olivia that there was something he wasn't quite ready to reveal. If he wanted honesty from her, she expected it from him. "Watch you what, Elliot? Tell me."

He looked at her, but didn't speak immediately. His fingers continued to manipulate his silverware into perfect alignment while she waited. "Let's just say … I wasn't sure I wanted to be around anymore."

She gave his words a moment to sink in before she felt the lump in the back of her throat and her heart ache like it was being squeezed inside her chest. "Jesus Christ," she breathed. "Did you ... did you try?"

"Didn't get that far. Thought about it."

"You could have called."

"Maybe I didn't want to be talked out of it," he explained. "And maybe I didn't want you to see me like that."

She found herself strangely angry with him about this. "You son of bitch," she nearly seethed. "That's not fair."

"Liv, please just let it be. I'm not in that place anymore. And I already told you why I didn't call."

"Give me some kind of credit," she argued. "Just because you might have fallen into my arms doesn't mean I would have let you."

"Was I so wrong … about us?"

She finished off her eggroll and shoved the plate away from her. "Not entirely. No."

"Look, I can't take back what happened. I can't change it," he pleaded with her. "So can we just work on now?"

She'd give him an honest answer if she actually knew what now was. She was still angry and still hurt, but for evolving reasons. Ironically if she'd known he was suicidal, she might have killed him herself for being so damned selfish.

"I really don't want to fight, you know," she said. "But you hurt me, Elliot. I never expected that from you."

"It wasn't a real stand-up thing to do, how I handled it," he acquiesced. "I've never felt so powerless."

"I guess I can understand that," she empathized. "He … uh … Lewis made me feel like that. Made me someone I never thought I'd be."

"But look at you now," he blurted out. "You're … I don't know … thriving."

It was a strange choice of words, she thought. But it was one that had come up in conversations with her therapist and with victims in recent months. And the very thought that she was finally thriving made his reappearance all that much more frightening. She couldn't go back to being the woman she was back then, depriving herself of a life because of feelings she couldn't admit. She expected more out of herself now. So she resolved right then and there - as they shared each other's Chinese food like the past five years hadn't happened - that she'd handle Elliot Stabler with kid gloves.

The conversation had taken a comfortable turn, so she wasn't necessarily anxious to leave him after lunch, but she was eager to get back to work so she could, in turn, get home to Noah at a decent hour. So even though he was reluctant to let her go again, he drove her directly back to the precinct. He was happy for the time she'd given him.

"I did need to eat, El, so thanks for not taking no for an answer."

"I'm still hard headed. That hasn't changed," he teased.

"Like you said, a work in progress," she teased back.

The time had come to say goodbye and he wanted to be clear that it was only for now. "I'm at a loss for any more big ideas right now," he said. "But I know I'd like to see you again. And I'd like it to be sooner than five years."

She rolled her eyes slightly and looked him over as she considered speaking the words in her head. She began to turn toward the door but stopped. "El?"

"Yep," he acknowledged matter-of-factly.

"Would you like to meet Noah?"

He hoped like hell that he'd kept a straight face as he silently thanked his God for her invitation. It was as unexpected as it was welcome.

"Yeah, he said, his voice cracking slightly. Then he cleared his throat. "Yeah I would."

"Dinner Friday night," she offered. "I'm cooking."

"Well then I'm eating."

"Just dinner. No sex."

She wasn't sure why'd she said that so abruptly so brazenly. Maybe it was less to manage his expectations than to remind herself of her own limitations.

He was nearly offended. "C'mon, Liv. Just because I made one wrong move doesn't mean I'm incapable of thinking about anything else."

She titled her head and eyed him skeptically. He couldn't help but laugh at her expression.

"Look … would I absolutely love to go there with you, to be with you like that?" he admitted. "I'm not gonna lie."

She titled her head back up, satisfied that she'd finally gotten him to admit his interest in a physical relationship. Chalk another one up for her. She'd also gotten him to confirm that he wanted her like that, the way she wanted him.

"But if there's one thing I've learned," he added. "It's that a man can live without sex."

She considered his words and their implication yet found it difficult to believe that a man with his bulk, his eyes and his irritatingly arrogant smile - not to mention empty ring finger - had hit a lengthy dry spell.

"How long?"

He chuckled and looked out his window before turning back to her. "How long has it been since I've had sex with someone other than myself?"

"Elliot ..."

"Too long."

She pressed on. "What … like a year?"

He laughed a little at how very far off she was. "Not even close."

"Since the divorce?"

"Longer."

Her eyes widened, and he was suddenly uncomfortable with her inquisition. "Why does it matter?"

"I guess it doesn't," she said. "I just … I just want to know."

"It's been a long time, Liv. But I hear it's like riding a bike."

She gazed out the windshield briefly before continuing. "Since you left?"

He didn't respond, but the look on his face told her she was in the ballpark.

"What about you?"

"Not that long," she said, but immediately felt bad for the judgmental tone with which she'd said it.

He reached over and took her hand in his. She let him, distracted by his intensely fixed gaze. "There are a lot of things I've learned to live without since the last time I saw you."

She couldn't help but break his eye contact and look out her own window briefly while she waited for his weighted words to dissipate in the small space between them. She swallowed thickly and broke the brief but awkward silence. "So Friday. You'll be there? Say around 7:30?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

The moment seemed as though it needed more. He wanted to kiss her. He really did. But he thought it best to end their lunch outing on a safe note. He went with the most benign affectionate gesture he could muster. He squeezed her hand and slowly released it, drawing his hand back into his lap and settling in to savor each second until inevitably she'd move to get out of the car.

"Well, alright then," she said, grasping the door handle.

"Alright then," he replied with a soft smile.

And then she was gone.

When she opened her door to greet him on Friday night he was taken aback by her appearance. Not because she looked beautiful - he was prepared for that - but because she looked so relaxed, so at home. Her well-worn jeans were rolled up a few inches to reveal olive-skinned ankles that led down to bare feet with toenails painted the same soft lavender as the baggy sweater she was wearing. The fabric was plentiful enough that it nearly hung off one shoulder, exposing the sexy skin along her collarbone. What really drew his eyes were hers. The smile she offered crept up into them, and they were shining.

"Hey," she said, wiping her hands on the dish towel she was holding. "You're right on time."

"Smells good."

"That's a good sign," she offered. "I hope it tastes good too."

"Really Liv, I'm just impressed you're actually buying groceries these days."

She smacked him playfully before inviting him inside. "Come. I want you to meet the other man in my life."

He forced himself not to linger on her words or give them too much meaning. Instead he moved through the doorway past her and let his eyes fall on the bundle of chubby cuteness in the middle of the living room floor.

"So this is Noah, huh?" he said in a soft voice as he approached the toddler and instinctively kneeled to get down to his level. The boy could hardly be bothered with company as he was knee-deep in pawing at a variety of soft play balls. He fisted one and brought it to his mouth as he eyed Elliot.

Olivia kneeled between them and got Noah's full attention. "Noah this is mommy's friend, Elliot. Can you say hi?" she prompted, waving her palm at her former partner.

The baby's eyes traveled from his mother's hand to Elliot's face, then he mimicked her movements by raising his own chubby palm and offering a clumsy wave.

"Hey buddy," Elliot said, getting in a playful wave of his own.

"I'll let you two get acquainted while I get dinner on the table," she said, retreating toward the kitchen.

Elliot didn't flinch when she left them. He may not have all the right moves when it came to Olivia, but he sure as hell knew his way around babies. He moved to a cross-legged position on the floor and pulled off his jacket to get comfortable for play time.

Moments later, Olivia set a salad bowl on the table then went to the kitchen to remove a steaming casserole dish from the oven. She placed it on two trivets on the table and drew Noah's high chair close to the table.

"Mind bringing him over?" she asked Elliot, nodding her head toward her son.

Elliot showed the boy his hands before he drew up onto his knees, slipped his hands under Noah's armpits and pulled himself into a standing position as he lifted the baby into his arms. He walked to the table, stopping once along the way to retrieve the ball Noah had dropped and was now pointing at. Olivia removed the high chair tray to give Elliot easy access to deposit the boy, then strapped him in and clicked the tray back into place.

Elliot followed her lead and slipped into the chair she wasn't leaning toward. He looked over the heaping salad and the bubbling cheese atop the pan of lasagna on the table. Before she filled her own plate, Olivia busied herself using the edge of her fork to break up pieces of saucy lasagna noodles onto a smaller plate for Noah. She added a few slivers of crispy lettuce, two tiny chunks of tomato and tore off four shreds of bread.

As Elliot enjoyed his first bites, he watched her work. He'd seen her eat hundreds of times before, but he'd never seen this - the unlikely mother who'd slipped so effortlessly into the role she'd always wanted to play.

"This is pretty damn good, Liv," he said between mouthfuls.

"There are a few things I've gotten good at since the last time I saw you," she said, glancing up at him with what he was sure was a flirtatious smile.

"I see that," he agreed, watching her push a few more morsels within Noah's reach.

As they ate, she remembered a question that had slipped to the back of her mind amid the week's events. After taking a gulp of lemon water, she set the glass back down and folded her arms in front of her. "So Fin says that Eli goes to PS29 now. That's a long haul from Queens."

Elliot didn't miss a beat. "Eli doesn't live in Queens anymore. He lives in Brooklyn with me."

"Wow. I didn't realize."

"Kathy wanted to go back to work after the divorce and with me in semi-retirement, I owed her that much."

"You have full custody?"

"We have an understanding," he explained. "She gets him weekends, but for the most part, it's just us guys now."

"And the others?"

"College, grad school, Dickie joined the army."

She offered surprise at the news of his eldest son's career choice. "And you were okay with that? I mean after you and he battled about that?"

"I'd hate like hell for him to see action," Elliot said after swallowing. "But he's working an electronics detail stateside for now. He's just outside of Houston."

They continued eating, interacting with Noah in between bites. Elliot took it upon himself to wipe the boy's face and offer him sips of water now and then.

"I hear you lost your partner," he said. "I mean ... uh ... your new partner. What happened with that?"

"I guess I have a way of chasing them away," she said mostly in gest.

"You can be a pain in the ass at times," he quipped back. "But seriously, what happened?"

"You really wanna know?"

He nodded.

"Seems that when his wife left him and took his kid, he developed a bit of a rage issue. How's that for dejavu?" she said, studying his reaction.

"Wow," he said as he considered her reference to his downspiral into anger during a lengthy separation from Kathy years earlier. "You do know how to pick 'em."

"Kinda hoping this pattern of mine doesn't continue," she reflected. "But Fin is solid. He keeps me grounded."

"Well something went right. You got Noah," Elliot pointed out. "If you don't mind me asking ..."

She went on to explain how she and Rollins had rescued the infant from a porn-producing pedophile, just one stop along his colorful tour of bad situations and shitty foster homes in his first six months. He listened intently as she explained the Ellie Porter case, the treacherous introduction of Johnny Drake into the mix and how the Trevor Langan who Elliot previously fancied as a high-priced but morally-deficient defense attorney had actually turned out to be a pretty decent guy.

By the time she brought him up to speed on how Noah had become hers, they were done with dinner. He offered to clean up so she could have some down time with Noah before his quickly approaching bedtime. As the boy was already rubbing his eyes, she took him up on his offer.

"I must say it's been very nice meeting you, little man," Elliot said, slipping two fingers into Noah's palm in a makeshift man-to-man handshake. "Anyone who makes your mommy as happy as you do is alright with me."

It wasn't fair really. Here he was in her apartment, cleaning up after a delicious meal, and saying and doing all the right things with her son. She was quickly losing her urge to fight him off and keep him at arm's length when, in reality, watching the two most influential males in her life interact made her feel somehow safer than she had in a very long time.

As he did the dishes, the sound of the running water served to drown out the muffled conversation she was having with Noah as she readied him for bed.

"Looks like Mommy's got herself a little problem here," she said rhetorically to her son. The baby was oblivious to her words but captivated by her attention, grabbing at her nose and necklaces as she changed him. She turned her lips into his tiny palm and kissed it as she thought out loud. "We were doing just fine here, you and me. Then along comes Mr. Elliot. What ever will we do with him?"

The only answers the boy gave came in the form of giggles as he watched his mother's exaggerated facial expressions. "Good thing you have plenty of time before you worry about falling in ... before you even think about girls." The boy giggled as Olivia laid a trail of affectionate kisses along his tiny chest and wiggled uncontrollably when she blew raspberries on his belly. Finally she got his squirmy form into his pajamas and dimmed the light in the bedroom to a small lamp on the dresser. She laid him in his crib and smiled at him as he gripped her finger in his tiny hand. She spoke softly to him about sweet dreams and such until he turned slightly to his right side and his bright brown eyes grew too heavy with sleep to watch her anymore.

By the time she emerged from the bedroom, Elliot had popped open a bottle of red wine and was finishing filling two glasses when he saw her. She had a strangely satisfied look on her face.

"I hope you don't mind," he said lifting one of the wine glasses toward her.

"Not at all. Good idea," she said, taking the glass from his hand and turning toward the living room. "You wanna sit?"

"I'd love to sit."

As they walked into the living room, Elliot thought it best to occupy the arm chair she'd relegated him to the last time he was here. But she was having none of it. She patted the couch cushion beside her. It was an offer he wouldn't refuse, settling down a respectable distance from her on the sofa.

The two feet between them gave him a safety zone and enough space to really look at her. "You look peaceful when you're with him," Elliot offered, nodding his head toward the now drawn bedroom door.

"It's funny," she said thoughtfully. "He keeps me on my toes, and I've never been busier. But it's like ... I've been waiting for him my whole life."

"You deserve good things, Liv, and I'm sorry I haven't been one of them."

His words surprised her and it was evident in her face. So he continued. "I know I could never say it enough, but I am so very sorry for not being strong enough to stick around," he said, looking away from her. "I just didn't feel strong enough for anything."

She appreciated his words and how difficult it must have been for him to speak them. "You didn't eat your gun," she began. "Even though it was an ending. you finally got your marriage situation figured out, and you're here. You didn't run when i worked you over."

He was grateful that she'd accepted his second attempt at an apology. The Olivia who had hovered over him in the earliest moments of their reunion captivated him, but he liked this one better.

"Can I ask you something?"

She smiled sideways at him, slightly skeptical about what he might ask. "Yeah, I guess so. Shoot."

"If you don't want to talk about this I understand ..."

"Just ask, El."

It was El, not Elliot, he noted. It gave him the courage to continue with his question.

"You said the other night that you thought about me when he had you."

And here her greatest fears were coming to fruition. He'd chosen the one topic she didn't want to discuss. "El please, I don't want to ..."

"No wait," he said, raising one palm to delay her protest. "I don't need to know why. What I want to know is ... if you'll tell me ... did he ... uh," he faltered, watching the swirl of his wine glass as he struggled to get the question out. "Did he rape you?"

She released the breath she was holding. He might have thought this was a particularly fragile question, but she actually found it much easier to answer than trying to explain why he'd been the one in her head those four days.

"No. No, he didn't," she answered firmly. "And I don't know why. For four fucking days he did terrible things to me, but he never got around to that."

Her answer stirred a strange mix of feelings in him. On one hand he was flooded with relief that she hadn't been raped. But he also felt his old friend rage bubbling to the surface at the acknowledgement that she'd had to endure four days with the bastard.

She watched him process her answer and it wasn't lost on her that it wasn't sitting well with him. "I've been in therapy a year, come a long way with all of that. And then came Noah," she explained. "So if there are things you want to know about that, you can ask. I won't break."

He could almost hear imaginary tumblers turning in the locks as she offered him unbridled access to her feelings about her horrific ordeal. He completely appreciated the monumental step they'd just taken in the right direction.

"So um ... how did ... did Cassidy help you through it?"

Her eyebrows leapt upwards at the mention of her former boyfriend's name. She almost wished Noah would awaken now and cry for her just to rescue her from this topic too. She threw her eyes over his shoulder and browsed over her own bookshelves to frames that once held Brian Cassidy's picture and the spot on the wall that once held his God-awful bullhorns. She'd not only replaced Elliot's face, but had wiped Brian from her life too. "You knew about that?"

"Didn't want to know really," he admitted. "That way it wasn't real. But yeah, I heard."

"The answer is no. He didn't handle it well." Then, with her voice fading as she rose to refill her wine glass, he heard her add, "Or maybe I didn't handle it well with him."

"What do you mean?" asked, following her to the counter.

"I never talked to him about it," she explained. "Not even like we're talking about it now. But he was there, he didn't push me, so I'll always grateful to him for that."

As they returned to the couch with refills, she chose not to tell him how Brian had previously inhabited this very apartment with her or how for a few fleeting moments she thought she was pregnant with his child.

"So why isn't he here now?"

"Elliot, I said we could talk about Lewis. I didn't give you an all-access pass to my psyche here."

He raised his palms and apologized immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep. Guess I pushed it again."

"What is it with you? Why are you such a knucklehead?" she said tapping him playfully on the forehead.

Their amusement with each other served to lighten the mood.

"Okay, my turn," she announced. "I get to ask you an invasive question now."

"Fair enough."

"You asked me if ... the other night ... if it was what I expected."

He smiled at the direction she was going. "I did."

"Was it?" she asked. "What you expected, I mean?"

He smiled and titled his head to look at her. "Well, I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" she argued. "It either was or it wasn't."

"Hmmm," he hummed teasingly. "I can't seem to recall. Refresh my memory?"

She shook her head at him and laughed. At his audacity, at his rudimentary skills of seduction. Just at him.

He enjoyed watching her laugh. "There I go pushing it again."

"Very smooth," she smiled. "But I'm gonna let you have this one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Anything to shut you up."

"So you're saying …"

She growled playfully in frustration. "Do you ever shut up?"

"Only when I have something else to do with my mouth," he said as he leaned toward her, licking his lips. He watched her eyes slip shut before his closed his own and pressed his lips to hers. With the shock of the other night gone, he was able to consciously register this kiss, to really feel it.

For her part, she wasn't angry with him this time or trying to prove a point. She wanted this kiss. She'd wanted it for years.

He slowly pulled back and studied her face, watching as she opened her eyes. He was still holding his wine glass in his right hand but his left hand was free to reach up and twirl a few strands of her hair between his fingers.

"You know in all these years I never said it. I couldn't say it. But you really are beautiful."

She couldn't suppress her smile as she licked her own lips. "You sweet-talkin' me now, Stabler. You're smoother than I thought."

"S'the truth."

She set her wine glass on the coffee table then reached over and took his from his hand and set it next to hers. His eyes followed her movements, shining with speculation as to why she might want his hands free. She scooted a nudge closer to him and moved her head towards his, making it clear that she wanted to be kissed again. He slid his left hand along her jaw and drew her face the rest of the way to his and pressed his lips to hers a little more firmly this time. She tilted her head into the kiss as it lingered longer than the two previous ones they'd shared. Her face was smooth and his was rough, but their lips slipped more comfortably into rhythm as each second passed.

As they parted, he dropped his hand from her jaw and opened his eyes to see the softest of expressions on her face. They simply smiled at each other.

"So … um … how come ...," she struggled to ask. "How come you never did that before?"

"You mean ..."

"In all these years?"

"It's not that I didn't want to," he said convincingly. "I just ... wasn't strong enough to do it. Or strong enough to stop once I did."

"But you wanted to?"

"Oh yes." He couldn't even fathom that she was asking. "No doubt."

"Okay then," she said. "Do it again."

He smiled as he moved his lips toward hers again. "Okay," he whispered into her mouth as the distance between them dwindled. This time he cupped her face with both hands and touched the tip of his tongue ever so slightly along her lower lip. He waited for her response. She surprised him by rising up slightly from her seated position and moving not just her mouth but her entire body closer to his. His left hand slipped from her face and wrapped around to her back, pulling her closer.

She didn't fight it. In fact she one-upped him and slipped her tongue past his lips and into the warm, wet recesses of his mouth. He instantly chided himself when the moan escaped him. She smiled against his mouth when she heard it.

When they parted again, she caught him pressing the inside of his forearm down into his crotch, attempting to suppress his response to their kisses. She smiled at him knowingly.

"Liv you said ... you were pretty clear."

"And I still am," she said firmly. "But I never said we couldn't make out a little."

He mirrored the big smile she was flashing at him, pulling her closer and finally kissing her, really kissing her like he'd wanted to all these years. Like he wanted to when she sat him down in her office less than a week ago. His hands wrapped around her back and one of hers explored the back of his neck. As it lingered, they both relaxed into the kiss, giving up the fight, the power struggle and just allowing themselves to feel. It was the first emotion that passed between them in years that didn't hurt like hell.

As his hands tangled in her hair, she fought the urge to rise up and move into his lap. She felt her own body responding to his mouth and was thankful that he'd managed to keep his hands from wandering anywhere else. As her lips rolled over his, she thought back to his admissions in the car the other day. It wasn't fair for her to lead him down this path when she had every intention of turning back. For now. So she put everything she had into one last kiss, making it clear to him that she was on board with the feel of his mouth on hers and the tug of his heart at hers. Then she pulled away, sealing up their makeout session with a few quick pecks, almost weaning herself away from his mouth.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked breathlessly when they parted.

"Not at all," she assured him. "I … uh … had to stop for my own sake, okay?"

"Okay," he said, his single word loaded with understanding. "I should get going anyway."

He released her hand and grabbed his jacket, rising to put it on and head for the door before she really got a look at how enthusiastic he was feeling about her kiss. But she knew. She'd seen and chosen not to point out the obvious.

"Dinner was delicious," he said turning back to her. "That kid of yours is a piece of work," he said affectionately. "And you …," he continued, motioning with his hand toward her, "are just … you." He shook his head at her, a simple gesture to indicate that she was just a little too much for him to handle right now.

As he grabbed the doorknob, she spoke again. "El, I'm … um … sorry about …," then, her words faltering, she motioned to the couch with a wave of her hand. "About cutting that short."

As far as he was concerned, she had nothing to apologize for. "Look Liv, do I need it? Probably. Do I want it? With every fiber of my being. Will I wait? As long as you need me to."

He'd put together an impressive string of words there, so she told him so. "Well listen to you making pretty speeches n'all," she quipped.

Her amused expression was irresistible, so he brought his palm to her face and leaned in to kiss her softly.

"Goodnight."

"Night," she whispered back.

She closed the door behind him and leaned her weight back against it. She sighed heavily, but not in frustration as she had that first night in her apartment. Tonight she felt like a school girl with a crush and her sigh was a way of releasing a few of the butterflies flapping around in her belly.

She reminded herself that she was a grown-ass woman as she walked over to the window overlooking the street where he was parked. Before he appeared below, she fired off a quick text message. Then she watched him jog across the street, get into his car and start the engine. Before he pulled away, she saw his phone screen illuminate the car's interior.

On the street below, he swiped his phone to view the text she'd sent. A smile spread across his face as he looked up at her window just in time to see the curtains sway shut. He set his phone down on the passenger seat and pulled away. As he reached the corner, the screen slowly began to dim on her words.

You won't be waiting long.