"How's Noah?"
"Hmm, ode on" Olivia, stands in front of her bathroom mirror, hair tie between her teeth, phone pressed to her ear with her shoulder as tries to gather her tresses into a ponytail. She mutters frustratedly, hissing underneath her breath when a strand caught between her cell and sweater almost sends the device tumbling, and finally gives up, swearing.
„Shit!"
"Everything okay over there? You sound kinda frazzled."
"Fine. Just should've thought to put you on speaker while trying to wrestle my hair into a ponytail."
At the other end of the line Amanda snorts a laugh, the kind Olivia hears so seldom, now, and God, how she misses Rollins.
Amanda's happy where she is, Olivia reminds herself. She sounds happy whenever she talks about the new job and happiness is not something that's in the cards at the 1-6. Flickers of light, maybe. Moments of hope, and moments of justice, sometimes. But not happiness.
Maybe it's jealousy, she muses.
Or maybe it's that she admires Rollins for taking the jump, for drawing the line. Prioritizing her home life and mental health instead of sacrificing it for another year, or two, or five. For another case, another victim, another conviction and then one more–a different horror every day–always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the one that will eventually break you.
It's not resentment that makes her heart clench and her stomach feel hollow when she comes into the squad room these days and sees one more empty desk, but loneliness.
It's just hard to get over, hard to fully process that one of the two people left at SVU that she deeply cares about threw in the towel and left her, too.
Olivia's so, so tired of people leaving.
The hair tie goes back in one of the small organizing boxes as Olivia looks at her reflection in the mirror, picking up their conversation as she dabs her finger at what is still visible of the injury across her cheekbone, right at the juncture of her nose. It's no longer a dark purple hematoma, not as offensive now that it has faded to a green-yellowish bruise.
"Noah's doing okay, considering. A bit more attached, maybe. Fairly on edge when we walk alone, especially when it's dark." Since he's come back from the McCanns he's back to wanting to hold her hand, nervously checking his surroundings. He's scared for her, terrified something is going to happen to his mom. It's no different for her, she's still overly aware of every movement and noise, no matter if they are in or outside of the house. The attack has taken its toll, and she's talking to Lindstrom, doing her best to work through it, needs to work through it, so she can effectively reassure her son that nothing is going to happen to them, that they are safe now.
"Not so surprising after watching how his mom got the living daylights kicked out of her."
"No," she breathes, gripping the lavatory with her free hand. "I'm pretty sure he's mirroring, as well. I'm still kinda… jumpy? He's seen me in a position where I couldn't properly defend myself and-"
"Liv, if you hadn't properly defended yourself, you'd be six feet underground," Rollins objects, and while there's truth to it, it's hard to get over the fact that it was a close call. Duarte's demise makes that all the more clear.
For the fraction of a second she sees herself in the street, a lifeless body crumpled in a pool of crimson. Her stomach turns and she shakes her head, has to stop, because it's the stuff her nightmares are made of. She's been waking to the images bathed in cold sweat every night since she's seen the photo of the scene, Mike on the floor of a bodega in Brooklyn, paying the price for her child's safety.
It could've been her.
She pinches her nose, draws a breath and focuses. Talks.
"I hear you, Amanda. I do. It's… he's scared. I think he felt safest the day Elliot brought him home," she says, dejected.
Noah asking him to stay shortly after Olivia joined them at home hads been a dead giveaway, and she could swear her kid only fell asleep as fast as he did because Elliot was still around when she rang in his bedtime. He'd probably never admit to it, but it was obvious Noah was relieved when he woke up to Elliot making coffee and a small breakfast the next morning. He hardly left Elliot's side, not even when Olivia joined them after a mostly sleepless night.
"Carisi mentioned that."
"I bet he did."
"Said you didn't wanna drive, so you asked Stabler." Amanda sounds smug, but Olivia's too tired to pretend that asking Elliot was about just exhaustion, so she doesn't further spark her friend's curiosity, and feeds the monster instead.
Turns out she's also tired of being in denial.
"I needed to know Noah'd arrive home safely and Stabler-," she sighs softly, shaking her head, a thin strand of stray hair falling into her face. "Elliot's the safest place in this world. He'd die to protect my child, Amanda." There's a brief pause, a moment of reflection before she admits: "And maybe I needed that safe place, too. For a little while."
Apparently this revelation has stunned Rollins into momentary silence, because they usually don't discuss Elliot, and when they do, it's mostly Amanda who's doing the talking while Olivia finds ways to shut the conversation down.
Then, after a few beats of silence, Olivia realizes Amanda is not only stunned, she's also sniffed out that there's more to it than she came forward with.
"Okay, what happened?"
Damn that woman, she's like a dog with a bone. But maybe this isn't too bad, maybe she can discuss this with Rollins, get it off her chest, that obnoxious weight that's been sitting there since she last saw Elliot. So she simply says it out loud, the words rolling off her tongue like an avalanche.
"There was a moment."
"A moment?"
"Yeah. A moment."
"Oh my God, what did you do?" Amanda's giddy now, curious as to what has transpired, probably expecting something a lot more juicy than it was.
"Nothing happened. I… we had a moment and we almost… I suppose we almost kissed," Olivia says slowly, her voice lowering as if Noah could hear it through two rather solid walls. "But I stopped it. I couldn't. I told him that I couldn't, and that I'm not ready, that there's still so much unsaid, and we… um… we agreed that things are okay the way they are – whatever they are, and we'll talk and try to figure it out."
"Wow. Liv, that's good. That's huge."
"Yeah," she breaths, chuckling nervously, because this is probably the most intimate thing she's discussed with anyone in her adult life, but it feels oddly satisfying to let someone in on this unforeseen development. "It… it kinda is, Amanda. But it's good. It feels… not as hopeless, you know."
"As long as you do talk," Amanda points out, skeptical. "Do you talk?"
Olivia lowers her head, a blush crawling onto her cheeks and tingeing them a deep rosé as she pivots and leans against the lavatory. She's fluttery with nerves when she thinks about later.
"He's on his way over, actually," she says, and a fragile kind of happiness hums in her chest.
Up until this afternoon she hasn't counted on it, secretly preparing for Elliot to tell her he wouldn't make it, preparing to be let down. Which is also why she only told Noah an hour ago, after checking in with Elliot and making sure they were still on. As shattering as Elliot canceling would've been for her, there is no way she was going to allow for her son to get disappointed, and judging by how thrilled he was upon hearing about Elliot coming over for dinner, he would've been heartbroken. Elliot seemed baffled that she doubted he'd show up, reassuring her that this is important to him, that she is important to him, and he wants this. His proposal wasn't a lighthearted idea that he didn't think through, he said. That he had every intention to come through. That if he says he'll show, he'll show. Ever since then she's nearly dizzy with anticipation whenever she's not otherwise distracted. It feels like Elliot is genuinely prioritizing her over whatever else he has going on in his life, but it's all new, it's hard to fully trust just yet.
"What are you not saying." Amanda sounds every bit as intrigued as was to be expected. "So, is this a dinner date kinda thing?" she inquires in the stickiest southern drawl.
"Noah's here, but he brings dinner, so I guess you can call it that." It's hard to hide the fact she's now grinning into her phone like an idiot, her voice coming off boldly happy. And she is. She's deliriously happy in the most cautious way about seeing Elliot, happy that Noah's excited, as well.
"You know, Liv, we should get together soon. I think there's a lot for us to talk about, if you know what I mean."
"Don't push it, Rollins," she warns. "It's not like there's all that much to talk about, I have no intention of jumping the gun when it comes to any of this."
"Liv, it's been two decades, rest assured that there's no such thing as jumping the gun," teases Amanda. "Ah- Carisi's home. I actually gotta go, we have a date night of our own. Tell Noah I said 'Hi'?"
"Will do. Have fun, Amanda"
"You too," Rollins gives back before the line goes dead, giving Olivia time and focus to attend to that ponytail.
She keeps things casual outfit wise, slipping on a pair of comfortable jeans and beige, oversized crewneck sweater that's super cozy and serves a bit like a security blanket.
Elliot texted ten minutes ago, announcing he's on his way from the pizza place, which has given Olivia just enough time to check her appearance in the mirror once more. She's almost bare-faced today, nothing more than a touch of blusher on her cheeks and mascara on her lashes. Her hair is in a loose high ponytail, the way she usually wears it at home. She contemplates putting on some nude lipstick but merely dabs some balm onto her lips instead.
When she hears knocking through the open bathroom door, followed by Noah shouting that he's going to get it, Olivia's jittery, then panic-stricken.
"Noah, wait!" She shouts, rushing to join him at the door, silently scolding herself for reacting so thoughtlessly when she sees the insecurity written all over her child's sweet face.
'It's Elliot,' she reassures herself. 'Just Elliot.' But there's also that cautious little voice in her head whispering: 'What if it's not?'
Oscar Papa has given her his word, has assured her that her son will not be harmed, and Olivia wants to–needs to–believe this. She needs to trust the word of a man who shouldn't be trusted, because it's all she can do in order not to lose her mind, her sleep (more of it than she loses over it, anyway), her faith.
It has been almost a week, she rationalizes. If they were still in danger, still a target for BX9, she believes they would have come for them by now. Collateral damage from when she was first attacked is all this is.
"Sorry," she apologizes, glancing through the peephole and composing herself by running her fingers through Noah's thick curls, because touching him, having him right here with her is the only one thing that quiets the chaos in her head. "Go ahead."
Noah doesn't have to be told twice. He opens the door to Elliot balancing two pizza boxes on one hand, greeting them with a smile that makes Olivia's heart stumble, and there's that hum again, deep in her chest.
"Hey, somebody order a pizza?"
He looks handsome and carefree as he crosses her threshold, and promises aside, she still can't quite believe that he's here for their first scheduled meetup.
If someone's buzzing with more excitement than she is, it has to be Noah ushering Elliot in, making sure he's got their pizza order right.
"Did you get one with pineapple?"
"Sure did, kid. But just so you know, I used to live in Italy, and I wouldn't have dared to ask for a pizza with pineapple on it if my life depended on it."
There's a moment Elliot takes her in, his eyes blue and bright and amused as he mouths a greeting at her, but there's no time for her to get a word in between Elliot's explanation and her child's bouncing energy.
"Why not?"
"They take their pizza very seriously, I think they don't believe that sweet and salty foods should go together," he explains, following the boy to the kitchen island where he drops the boxes. "Can't say they're wrong when it comes to pineapple pizza."
"But it's good," Noah reasons, climbing onto one of the barstools at the island.
Olivia watches her child and Elliot so engrossed in a conversation about fruit on pizza, and it's adorable enough for her to think her heart will jump out of her chest. It's the novelty of the situation that makes it hard to grasp, hard to process that this is the third time they meet and they instantly clicked. Like Noah knew instinctively that Elliot is someone he can trust. They are already so comfortable around each other, making her wonder how that is possible. She's glad, of course, but it's also terrifying if she thinks about it, because if this goes sideways, where does that leave Noah?
She's overthinking this, she knows, she's overthinking and missing out, because her kid hops off the bar stool and runs to his room, and all she catches is: "I'll get it!".
Suddenly it's just them. Just her and Elliot. She should have expected it, did expect it, but maybe not quite so soon.
It's them alone in this kitchen, and he looks at her, waiting for her to say something, maybe, and he looks good.
"Pineapple on pizza, Liv? Really?"
And just like that the fuzziness in her head clears, and she chuckles, shrugging her shoulders, grateful that he doesn't make this as awkward as it could be.
"What can I say, the kid likes pineapple. He doesn't get it from me." She smiles, glancing in the direction of her son's room. "He's excited, you know? For this."
This. Elliot being here. Them having dinner together.
"Yeah, it's nice to see." He waits, cocks his head at her, and comes a couple of steps closer.
"It looks better." Elliots voice is low, and he's close and she feels a little vulnerable like this. "The eye," he clarifies.
He's at war with himself, she can see that, caught between what he might want to do but shouldn't do, maybe. His hand moves up between them, and she thinks he's going to reach out and touch her–touch her hand, or touch her face–whichever it is, it makes her throat run dry. Then, for some reason Elliot drops his hand. For a moment Olivia stops breathing, because it stings.
She shouldn't be wanting this.
A tight smile clambers onto Elliot's face, small and sorrowful.
She really shouldn't be wanting this. Not this much, anyway.
Then Noah comes clopping back in. It occurs to her only now that Elliot had a clear view of her son's bedroom this whole time. That dropping his hand has been an act of protection, because her child doesn't need to see them touching in a way that could easily be misleading.
"Here, look."
Her kid stops next to her, holding something out to Elliot that Olivia recognizes as a card, which is when she remembers. Noah had asked her a few days ago if they could get Elliot a Thank You card – for picking him up at Connor's house and taking him home, and getting him what he wanted for dinner (cheeseburgers, fries and an extra large strawberry milkshake). She'd agreed that it was a great idea, but then forgot, so now it seems that Noah's taken it upon himself to fix her mistake and made one himself while she spent half an hour on the phone with Rollins, and another half hour to make an outfit choice that said: 'definitely not trying too hard, here'.
Elliot accepts the card, and she gets a glimpse at the flowers (pink peonies, because they are her favorite, she supposes) he drew with watercolor on a yellow background that fades at the borders, and her heart swells with pride.
Noah's good with everything artsy. He's interested, he teaches himself by watching youtube videos and following instructions in books and every couple of months she's amazed by his progress, but all that aside she's deeply moved by the gesture. Noah made something for Elliot because he's grateful, because he genuinely likes him.
She's got a good kid, a thoughtful kid, but Olivia knows her child is also overcritical of what he creates. He doesn't share his art easily, especially not with people he hardly knows.
It means something.
It already means something, that this man, this practical stranger (his mother's friend, his mother's ex-partner, "the best cop I've ever known, Noah") picked him up and got him home and kept him entertained for a couple more hours after she made it home.
There's a hell of a lot at stake if she fucks this up, and it's terrifying even without the romantic element.
Her child likes this man. Really seems to like him a lot, so a sinking feeling starts to set in that no matter what, no matter which way she turns when it comes to Elliot, she might be setting Noah up for disappointment of some kind.
There's a screaming hollowness unfurling in her stomach, and when she sees Elliot studying the gift and reading whatever words Noah put in there her heart clenches like someone's squeezing a ripe lemon.
There's the slight rise of his left brow, his puckered chin, a minor swallow that would go unnoticed if Olivia didn't know him that well.
Elliot Stabler is affected.
„You made this for me?" he inquires, voice thick and deep and shaken.
Olivia stands with bated breath that burns in her lungs as Noah confirms with a smile that's ten times brighter than the sun.
"Thank you. This is so thoughtful. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Noah says, a little red around the cheeks as he clambers back onto the chair he'd occupied earlier, asking if they can eat now.
Elliot's eyes, lit like a fuse, connect with Olivia's, a moment of understanding flickering between them.
She knows he understands at once her insecurities run deeper than the pain and fears his abandonment have inflicted; they may start there, with his missteps and neglect, but are now entwined with a fierce need to protect her son from heartbreak, from loss.
They come together at the table, plates filled with pizza, engaging in easy conversation–for a little while. The bottle of wine Olivia had bought for this occasion remains untouched, for now.
Noah eventually starts to ask questions about Elliot ("Did you know Uncle Nick? He was my Mom's partner, too!", about them ("Why did you stop being partners?"), and she wonders if wine will do by the time they get each other alone, because there are memories she'd rather not conjure up–late night driving and coffee-heavy stakeouts, laughing and fighting, victories celebrated and losses drowned in pitchers of beer and a few too many tequilas, the first years (the best years), the years before "What about me?" or "If I would have heard your voice" and "You would've loved it", and God, it cuts so deep, she wonders if any amount of liquor will stitch it up.
Elliot, on the other hand, seems unaffected, reminiscing with a smile on his lips and pride coloring his face about what a great cop and partner she was, that he wasn't surprised to find she became a Captain, that if anybody had it in them, it was his mom.
She listens, quiet, secretly dejected but maintaining a straight face, wondering what on earth has possessed her to think that this was a great idea.
Of course she wants Noah to get to know Elliot better, wants Elliot to get to know her child, but she didn't anticipate this particular string of conversation.
It's almost nine though, she thinks, so time is working in her favor, it's a school day tomorrow after all.