Saturday, December 20th, 2003

Hyatt Grand Central Hotel

Manhattan, New York

6:07 AM

Olivia Benson

My head was pounding by the time morning rolled around.

I couldn't remember the last time I consumed that many drinks in one sitting. Yesterday had been a whirlwind of emotions from beginning to end, and I found comfort at the bottom of one too many vodka cranberries.

Despite the whole fiasco of Carisi and Elliot showing up late to the church, rehearsal ran incredibly smoothly. The entire wedding party managed to run through the processional and recessional twice. The readers — Amaro, Cragen, and Carisi's sister, Bella — were able to practice their scripture verses at the podium on the altar, and Amanda and Carisi were able to rehearse the words that they would proclaim to one another at the altar, before being pronounced husband and wife in a few short hours.

Dinner afterward at Carmine's was beautiful, filled with light-hearted conversations, flowing glasses of champagne, and impromptu speeches made by various friends and family members alike. Once guests began to trickle out of the restaurant, a few of us — myself, Fin, his wife Phoebe, Amanda, Carisi, Amaro, and Elliot — escaped to our after-work haunt for a nightcap.

Tell me about yourself, Olivia.

The bar was crowded for a Friday night, and seating was limited. Most of us stayed at the bar, while others retreated to our usual table in the back by the dart board. Fellow officers were lining up to buy Amanda and Carisi rounds of shots in celebration of their impending nuptials. He occupied the stool beside me and ordered a Guinness and a shot of Jameson. We'd been eye-fucking each other all night and even arrived at the pub in the same cab. The man was a smooth talker and incredibly sexy in all that he did.

I'd rather not, I remember telling him. Amanda's words from earlier in the evening still rang in my ears like a warning sign each time Elliot and I were near one another. I couldn't sleep with him – I wouldn't sleep with him. It wouldn't be fair to betray Amanda or Carisi like that, especially given the strain my breakup with Cassidy put on their friendship. I tried to ignore Elliot like the plague, admittedly to no avail.

Why's that?

I have too much baggage. And, 12 hours ago, I thought I was pregnant by my louse of an ex-boyfriend.

Doesn't everyone? From the outside, Elliot Stabler seemed perfect. After spending the last few hours with him, studying his mannerisms, and hearing stories from when he and Carisi served in Kuwait together, including the infamous tale of when Carisi saved Elliot's life, he seemed like an incredible guy. That was just the surface, though – what could he possibly be hiding?

Why aren't you married? I was tipsy and had difficulty controlling the words that spewed out of my mouth. It was an honest question. He was older than Carisi by nearly a year. He wasn't bad in the looks or personality department. Why hasn't he settled down?

Why aren't you? Because I couldn't find anyone emotionally available. Because everything good in my life always ends. Because every guy that I have ever been with ends up destroying me. Because I didn't allow myself to be happy and knew deep down that I couldn't be satisfied with one person until the last days of my life. Because I couldn't depend on anyone but myself.

Because I didn't know what true love looked like or felt like.

Why did you become a Marine?

Why did you choose to work in sex crimes?

I didn't care to discuss any details of my life, big or small, with him. After this weekend, he would retreat to his cozy, suburban home in Queens, nearly 30 minutes away, and be out of my life just as fast as he entered it.

I told myself I would have one drink, switch to water, and take Amanda back to her hotel room when she was ready to call it a night. Until then, I would continue to undress Elliot with my eyes and show little to no interest in our small talk.

One drink turned into closing the bar down.

I sit up on the hotel bed in a haze. My memory past four drinks is fuzzy at best. I have a hard time registering what time it is at first. Darkness still covers the noisy city outside, and the lights from the downtown scene trickle into the pitch-black hotel room. My body feels like I've gotten hit by a semi-truck.

Looking down at myself, I notice I still wear the same clothes from the night before. That's a good sign. My leftover makeup is smeared across the polyester pillowcase, and my mouth resembles what I'd imagine swallowing a handful of cotton balls would feel like.

I look a few times around the bedroom of the hotel suite, unable to make sense of what is going on. A chilling feeling sets over my body as I hear the sound of the mattress on the pull-out couch creak and the heavy breathing that follows. It takes me a few moments to realize that I'm not alone. Frantically, I stand up from the bed and begin to fumble around, tripping over the king-sized bedpost, letting out a sudden ouch fuck as I feel my toe throb. I check the side drawer beside the bed, and seeing it lay empty makes my stomach churn. I didn't lock up my weapon last night. I notice my purse and suitcase are nowhere in sight, and the wave of nausea intensifies. I knew better than to get drunk to the point of oblivion. I let my guard down and added that to the list of reasons I was feeling sorry for myself.

The thoughts begin running a marathon through my mind: did I go home with someone last night? Elliot and I were flirting pretty heavily at one point — we had difficulty keeping our eyes and hands off one another. Did I manage to flirt with another guy, too? Was I even in the same hotel room as Amanda? She would look at me if I wasn't there by the time hair and makeup started.

I couldn't believe that this was happening.

I go into the bathroom, hoping that splashing cold water on my face will jog my memory, but I come up empty. The pounding headache is making it hard to concentrate. Look at you. You're a mess. From a distance, I can hear what I think sounds like snoring. It is a noise I am unfamiliar with, and I realize that my worst fear has come true. I lock the bathroom door behind me, place my back on the heavy door, and sink to the cold tile. I place my knees to my chest and bury my face in my hands and begin hyperventilating.

Great. I couldn't believe it. I did take someone back to the hotel last night. Did we hook up? No. I shake my head. I would have remembered. I wouldn't have woken up with my clothes still intact. Maybe what's-his-face I did hook up, and I just put my clothes back on because I didn't have anything else to wear. Why was this stranger not sleeping next to me when I woke up? Did I kick him out of bed? Was he pouting because I refused to sleep with him?

"Liv?" I hear the stranger ask in a groggy voice. I sigh with relief and clutch my hands to my chest when I recognize the deep, husky tone.

Fuck.

God, please don't tell me I slept with Elliot fucking Stabler.

I give myself a few moments to calm down before emerging from the bathroom. "Hi," I tell him as I stroll back to the bedroom and open the door to the living room. I plop down on the bed, sitting cross-legged on the pool of white linens. Elliot sits upright on the pull-out sofa and rubs his eyes a few times before letting out an obnoxious yawn. He lifts his arms and stretches out his perfectly toned chest. The butterflies have returned for an encore as I make eye contact with him on his short walk over to the coffee maker atop the mini-fridge. He's dressed in nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs that hug every inch of his lower frame, and I can spot several tattoos inked across his skin that were hidden by his suit yesterday. "Good morning, El."

"Morning." He smiles flirtatiously at me from a few feet away as he opens one of the bags of instant coffee grounds. "You always this noisy in the morning?"

"To be fair…." I say in a low tone, "…I didn't know it was you in here, and I, uh, well…."

"You were looking for what, Benson? Your gun?" He chuckles. "Is that how you wake up all the guys you spend the night with?"

"Very funny," I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out as he mimics. How did he know? How could he read my mind like that?

He didn't even know me! We were barely even friends. I did think he was a stranger at first, mainly because I swore to my partner that I wouldn't bring him home last night.

"All of your things – including your gun and badge – are in Amanda's room across the hall," he points as he finishes pouring a bottle of water into the coffee pot. He turns on the switch to begin the brewing process as the pungent aroma fills the room. The internal panic and re-tracing halt, my mind quiet for the first time in weeks. Elliot walks over to the corner where his suitcase has been tossed and unzips one of the smaller pockets. He pulls out a branded drug store bottle and empties the contents into his hand, and walks back to where I'm seated. "Here, take these," he urges as I hold open my hand. He grabs a bottle of water from the mini fridge and tosses it on the foot of the bed. "I'm sure your head is killing you."

"Thanks," I chirp as I throw back the aspirin and take a hearty swig of water. I let a few moments of silence pass between and watch as he takes a few sips of water from his bottle. "I hate to ask…."

"Here we go," he jokes.

"Did we… ya know…"

"Sleep together?" he asks, taking the words out of my mouth. He shakes his head. "No, you were too drunk to even stand in the elevator."

"Jesus," I mumble under my breath, trying to rid my mind of the words he just told me. "How did I get in here then?"

"Carisi and I carried you in," he says matter-of-factly, taking a styrofoam cup from the small stack next to the coffee maker. He points for a second, and I nod, graciously accepting his offer. "You were too long to carry over my shoulder, and I didn't want to spook you."

"Spook me?" I question. Great. In all 5 minutes, he's gone from caretaker to asshole. Too long. What does that even mean? I raise a brow, and he ignores my comment, pouring coffee into the small cup. "To tell you the truth," I begin as he hands me the cup, and I thank him as he sits on the foot of the bed. "To tell you the truth, I don't remember anything past 9:30."

"Oh? Is that so?" he says sarcastically. "Well then," he gets up from the bed and places his coffee on the nightstand. "Let me refresh your memory." Elliot grabs the television remote off of the top of the TV, holds it to his mouth, clears his throat, and begins to sing the chorus to Bob Seeger's Night Moves.

I bury my head in my hands and shout, "I am so embarrassed!" into my palms, masking my face as it flushes crimson. When I unbury my face, I notice that he's now at the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard. "I am so sorry you had to deal with that version of me last night."

"Oh, stop." He waves me off and takes another sip of his coffee. He notices how uncomfortable I look in my still cross-legged position and motions for me to sit next to him. I move towards his body and sit beside him on the duvet cover. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer to his bare skin. I can feel the electricity from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I probably shouldn't be doing this. I wouldn't want to give him the wrong impression. There's that voice again. How do I turn it back off? "I had a lot of fun with you last night, Liv." He notices the worry on my face and allows me to rest my head on his shoulder. It's strange how my body melts with his, almost like a missing puzzle piece. His hands find my way to my mess of brunette hair, and he runs his fingers through it. "It was harmless fun. Your best friend is getting married today, and I understand you helped her plan this whole thing. You deserve to let loose every once in a while, detective." I deserve many things, but letting loose is not one of them.

I smile and lift my head from his shoulder to stare into his eyes. "I appreciate everything that you did for me last night."

"I'll have to think of a way for you to repay me," he winks.

I rest my head back on his shoulder, and he pulls me closer to him. My hands find their way to his thigh, and I can feel his heart begin to race. A small laugh escapes my lips at his comment. "I also appreciate you not crossing any lines that you shouldn't have last night…."

"Oh, Liv," he breathes into my hair and follows it with a small kiss. "I would never."

"I see it every day," I remind him. My fingers trace the seam of his Calvin's, and I feel my shoulders relax.

He gulps down the rest of his lukewarm coffee before continuing the conversation. "I'm not like most guys. I have an immense amount of respect for women. Would I have liked to sleep with you? Absolutely. You're a knock-out, and you have an amazing personality. I've never met someone like you. You're beautiful, and I enjoyed our time together last night… even if you don't remember all of it, I do. And trust me, you were not in the right mind frame to make consenting decisions last night. I didn't even want to change you out of your clothes."

"That's really…." I sigh as he begins to run his hands down my arm. "It's nice to hear that for a change. Thank you." He smiles back and places a small kiss on my neck. Don't start something you can't finish, Stabler. "If it's any constellation," he tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear and kisses the same spot on my neck, "you're pretty handsome yourself."

It's his turn for his face to flush. "That feels nice to hear. Thank you."

We allow time to pass us by, enjoying the silence between us and the simple acts of cuddling we portray to one another. It feels nice to be in someone's arms; feels nice not to be alone with the thoughts in my mind for a change. He motions for another cup of coffee, and I agree to one more before I sigh heavily. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," he replies. "I have a few things I gotta take care of in the city before I go back to work Monday morning."

"Homicide, right?"

"What?" he asks, a little confused as he overfills one of the cups, causing it to spill a bit. "Sorry, I'll get that," he says about the mess.

When he returns to bed with two cups of coffee, I take a few sips and set mine back on the nightstand. He sinks back against the headboard, and I place my head on his chest. He kisses the top of my hair and begins to run his fingers through it once more. "You work in homicide, right? In Queens?"

"Not anymore," he replies. "I'm retired."

"You're like… 34," I bellow.

"I haven't been in the NYPD since 9/11. I re-enlisted." That's right. Carisi mentioned that's why they haven't seen each other in a few years. "I just got back from Iraq two months ago."

"Wait… you're like a… a combat marine?"

He nods his head and takes a sip of his coffee. "Infantry. 2nd battalion, 27th division. I'm a gunnery sergeant."

"What's that mean?" I ask.

"I'm my unit's operations chief. I train, do operations, and do tactical advising. Kind of like a captain of a police squad." He nods his head. "You asked me last night why I wanted to be a Marine. When I was 18, I would have told you I did it to gain a purpose in my life. I was lost growing up. Now, I would tell you that I re-enlisted because I have a personal vendetta against everything that happened on 9/11…."

"I think we all do, El," I reply. "I was there that day."

"Your vendetta isn't like mine. Trust me," he says. "Mine has a deeper meaning."

"Mind sharing with the class?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's a long story."

"And one that we don't have time for." I look over at the alarm clock on the nightstand—6:42 AM. "I should probably get going. I have to shower… and I need to eat something."

"We could go get breakfast in the lobby if you'd like," he says into my hair. "I have a spare pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt you can borrow. I don't have to be showered and in my tux until 10."

"I wish I could," I sigh heavily. "I wish I could… believe me. You're so sweet, and I appreciate everything you did for me, and you're so…."

"I know," he breathes. "We can't do this because our best friends are getting married today, and falling for you would be… wrong."

"So wrong," I joke back, stealing another glance at the clock. "I really do have to get going."

"I'll walk you to the door," he offers, as we both get up from the bed. I crouch down on the floor and retrieve my heels that have been kicked under. Elliot places his hand in mine, and we walk to the hotel room doorway.

"Thank you again. For the hundredth time," I tell him as I gain a grip on my pumps. "This was nice."

"Are you sure you can't stay and grab breakfast with me?" I shake my head. "Come on; it's not like I'm asking you to marry me. It's just crappy hotel breakfast."

"Elliot… it's so much more than that," I say, sighing and letting my heels fall to the floor. "You know it's so much more than that."

"How so?" he asks as he moves closer to me.

"You don't feel it? The connection between us. We just met yesterday, and it feels like I've known you my whole life… but…."

"But what?" he asks, reaching out his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind it. My chin nuzzles down on his hand.

"Amanda says you're trouble," I whisper, biting my lip.

He smirks and takes me by the belt loops of my romper to pull me closer. "So, what if I am trouble?"

"This is a terrible idea."

"We're having fun."

"I just…"

"You," he tells me, "just got out of a pretty serious relationship, right? That's what you were babbling about at the bar. I haven't been with anyone in a few years. Let's have fun. Be my date to their wedding tonight?"

"Ooh, Elliot Stabler… asking me on a date."

"No, Olivia Benson. You're taking me on a date. Wining, dining, and…."

"Don't finish that statement," I joke to him as he laughs back. "I really shouldn't be doing this, though."

"Amanda will never know," he smirks.

I shake my head. "I can't. It's bad enough we spent the night together last night! Last night was supposed to be time for her and me to spend together as one last hoorah. We were going to do face masks and drink boxed wine and watch horrible romantic comedy movies and talk through everything for today and catch up on sleep because I haven't fucking slept through the night in weeks. No, instead, I suggested us going out for drinks, and we were out too long, and she's probably furious at me right now, and I'm never going to hear the end of it from her, and I…."

No sooner did that last word leave my mouth than I felt his lips crash on mine, pulling me away from my current rant. His lips were so soft. He cups my head in his hands as the exchange intensifies. I pull away and smile a bit. "You talk too much, Olivia Benson."

"I'm a horrible friend," I remind him. Flustered, I say, "I ruined everything."

"You are not a horrible friend. And, Liv, you sure as hell didn't ruin anything," he assures me. His stature is strong as he towers over my 5'8 frame. "Who do you think your accomplice was last night?" My eyes grow wide. "You think you got up on stage and sang that Bob Seeger song all by yourself? Amanda was just as fucked up as you were."

"Oh my God," I tell him, feeling my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. "Who…?"

"Carisi stayed with her last night," Elliot replies, stopping me mid-thought.

"What about tradition?!" I exclaim. "El, they're getting married in a Catholic Church in a few hours!"

"They were already living in sin," he jokes. "What's one more night?"

"It's bad luck for them to see each other the night before the wedding. She's probably freaking out, and I'm not there to help her! What am I going to do?!" I bury my head into his chest and slam my fists into him as he pulls me closer to him.

He lifts my chin with his hand and brings me to his eye level. He takes the bulk of my hair and pulls it tightly into his hands, and my lips meet him as we begin to move backward to the unmade bed. He lifts my body as I wrap my legs around his waist. We fall back onto the bed, and I rest my head on one of the pillows as he begins to remove the belt of my jumpsuit. Hands in hair, tongues dancing between mouths, hearts racing, sweat pouring off our bodies from nerves and passion. He kisses my neck as I let out a soft moan. He places his hands on my breast as I kiss him more profoundly and longer, not knowing how far too far is….

Why's it matter, Liv? Are you going to sleep with this guy too?

I pull him off me and spring from the bed, feeling out of breath as I approach the door.

"Olivia," he calls out, his voice cracking.

"I'm sorry. This… was a mistake. I'll see you at the church."

He doesn't say anything more.

I don't say anything else.

He doesn't chase after me.

He lets me go.

As I make my way out into the hallway, still out of breath and just as confused as I was when I woke up, I feel my heart ache. How could I do that to him? Maybe my mom was right. Maybe I do push people away.

He has some nerve kissing me, though. Who the fuck does he think he is? Pretending to be my knight in shining armor to get in my pants? Fuck him. I didn't need this bullshit today. Brian would have never…

Brian also would have never taken care of me like that.

I also didn't fit into Brian's arms like a missing puzzle piece.

God, I'm such an…

"Looks like I'm not the only one sneaking out of hotel rooms I shouldn't have been in this morning," I hear someone say, pulling me away from the internal battle in my mind and sending the devil and angel on my shoulders running. An audible sound of a door closing echoes through the hall as I see Carisi standing outside door 1236, dressed sheepishly in a New York University T-shirt and a pair of black Nike basketball shorts.

"Good morning, Carisi," I say as I wipe the corner of my eye. He'll never assume I was crying — he'll think it's just leftover makeup. "Happy wedding day."

"Thanks, Benson," he smiles.

"How's Rollins?"

"She's uh… well, she's hanging in there." He scratches his head. "How are you doing, Ms. Karaoke Queen?"

"Like hell," I answer honestly.

"Everything okay?" he wonders.

"Oh, yeah," I tell him, offering a quick smile. "Everything is fine."

"Good," he parrots a smile back to me. "I can't have you upset on my wedding day."

"We can't have that," I chuckle.

He motions to the door of Elliot's hotel room. "He treat you okay last night?"

More than you know. But I can't say that. He'll think we had sex. "Yeah, yeah. He's sweet. He made sure I was okay."

"'s a good guy. I've known him since I was 18 years old. They don't make them like him anymore."

I snort inaudibly to myself and raise my brow. "Mhm. I don't care what you say, Dominick Carisi. I am never letting you play matchmaker for me again."

He stuffs his hands in the front pocket of his Nike shorts and looks around the hallway, laughing subtly at my comment. "I've gotta tell you, Liv. Those wedding people don't know what they're talking about. Traditions," he blows through his teeth. "I was a nervous wreck all day yesterday. After spending the night with my fiancé, though, I'm not nervous anymore. I'm relaxed… more relaxed than I thought I would be. More relaxed than I have been in a long time. It felt nice waking up to her this morning like we have done for so many years, whenever our schedules allowed. It made me feel like we were doing our routine in a way… you know, minus the puking."

"Oh, no," I cover my mouth as I laugh. "Carisi, you've got nothing to be worried about. Everything is going to be perfect."

"Am I wrong if I say I don't want it to be perfect?" Carisi asks. I shake my head. "Perfect is boring. Our lives are so chaotic that I'm not expecting them to go perfectly. I want it to be a good day. I want it to be a day that we'll tell our children's children about."

And that's the moment I knew. Of course, I've always known, but that small conversation between friends in that hallway assured me that Dominick Carisi was, without a doubt, in love with Amanda Rollins.

And if they could make it, anyone could.