"Stabler was my home."
She admits this to Amanda, buzzed on cheap wine and the adrenaline following their impromptu case.
Saying it aloud hurts. It's something she's never verbalized in this way to anyone before, her body laden with the heaviness of it all, weary and heartsick. She won't admit to more, other than she is not over him leaving her, which is an egregious understatement.
She won't define what home means, this tiny word filled with quiet complexity.
Home meant blinking her lights.
Home meant his fingers wrapped around her elbows, drawing her close, pulling her into his embrace. It was the nights they shared, clandestine moments enshrined inside her vaulted heart.
Home meant feeling loved and safe for the first time in her life.
But he left her, and her home shattered.
Amanda seems transfixed by the words Olivia does say, as if they've taken her back to a time and place she can only imagine, listening with fairy tale eyes and a nostalgic, sad smile.
The truth of it is devastating, Olivia's voice raspy and strained when she says she never had a right or a claim to him, that he is someone else's husband. He'll always belong to Kathy, and the sting of that caveat permeates her soul. Olivia was the other woman, a trope she swore she'd never become. While Elliot and Kathy never had a perfect marriage, it was still an affair. That word alone makes her quake because it's a word that feels foreign. Maybe because deep down, she feels she had more of a claim on him than any gold band could convey. He was her best friend, her confidant, her partner. As much as she's told herself she should feel guilty and remorseful, she doesn't regret a single moment. They needed each other in a way that they could never explain, other than it was survival. The only regret is that she let go of something so right because of circumstances that were so incredibly wrong.
None of it matters, because he walked away, solidifying the fear in her heart: that she wasn't worth staying for. Except…
Except now he's back; he's staying, and none of his actions reflect this theory. He's been reckless but grounded and looks at her with an unfettered admiration that elicits sharp breaths and goosebumps. He's careful now, maybe a little too respectful, allowing her so much space to decide his place in her life. The bruise of his absence is fading, but its replacement feels worse- a gnawing, festering wound that forces her to take notice. He's here, he's solid, flesh and bone. Alive.
He appears to want more, to rekindle the flames of the past. The trepidation seeps into her limbs, her mask falters in these moments of insecurity, and she's tortured by paralyzing possibilities. Dreams she abandoned a lifetime ago. She's still so angry and devastated, but whenever she looks at him, she wants.
If she's not careful, she'll admit the truth: he's still her home.