Three days into the search for the suspect, she's still wearing the burgundy dress. It's an all-hands-on-deck situation. She's been holding down the fort at the precinct while her team's in the field, and Fin's been popping back whenever possible, reminding her to eat and sleep. He's sitting at his desk, watching the clock tick toward midnight when the elevator doors open, followed by the cadence of familiar footsteps.
"Elliot," Fin begins as his former coworker waltzes into the squadroom with bags in his hand—clearly, a large order of takeout. "If you're looking for Liv, she—"
"She okay?" Elliot interrupts, a hint of panic in his voice as he scans the space.
"Calm down, she's fine," Fin answers, settling Elliot's nerves. "In her office snoring after a long day."
Elliot huffs with a smile, "C'mon, Olivia doesn't snore…" and Fin raises an eyebrow.
"How would you know?"
"Not like that, Sergeant," Elliot quickly responds, careful of fueling the rumors. "She's my partner. I'm used to her, uh, sleeping habits."
"Like?"
"Like…her head always drops to the right when she nods off in the car. And she always—"
"I know, know," Fin interjects, "I've been around, too, in case you've forgotten. A lot more time than you, if we're being honest." It rips at the scab on Elliot's soul, a wound of his own making; he takes a sharp breath, letting pain give way to gratitude as he looks back at the Sergeant, one of the few who had never failed her. He starts to speak, thoughts swirling with remorse and appreciation, but Fin doesn't have the time for Elliot Stabler's mea culpa and swiftly changes course—
"How about that thing she does with her nostrils?"
She doesn't, Elliot thinks, and he's sure of it, his mind replaying the last time they shared a bed. They had, until that night, stayed on their respective sides—their hands, the only point of contact. But he had woken to the sound of sheets rustling as she turned into his frame, and for the first time, he had felt her arms slide around him and stay. Her head had fallen to his shoulder and she had breathed softly, intoxicatingly in his ear as he slowly wrapped her in his embrace. In the stillness of the morning, his body had learned her warmth and he wondered how he'd ever survived a day without it.
"She doesn't…she doesn't do anything with her nostrils," Elliot finally responds, puzzled.
"Right, just testing you," Fin laughs before pointing him toward Olivia's office. "Why don't you go wake her up and tell her the good news?"
"What news?"
"They just got the perp. Bringing him here in five."
• • •
She's sprawled out on the couch, feet dangling over the edge, when she hears the click of the door and a low, welcome voice.
"Liv. It's me."
She keeps her eyes closed for a moment longer, holding onto the feeling of it in case it's just a dream, but she hears him moving toward her, feels him kneeling at her side.
So many times in his absence, she had ached for this, waking instead to the relentless beep of her alarm, or worse, clutching her chest in the middle of a nightmare. Slowly, though, she turns and her gaze finds him staring back at her. There he is with his blue eyes and stubble, looking like he's discovered the newest wonder of the world. She almost lets herself reach for him, pull him closer; she can practically feel it, the sensation of his lips in her hair, on her cheek, on her own. But she catches sight of her surroundings, feels the spring of the couch in her back, and she sits up, shifting her legs to the floor. He stands and then sits, sinking into the cushion next to her.
"They found the suspect. On their way now."
Her body almost jolts forward, her brain on autopilot.
"Where's Fin? How long until they—"
"Olivia," he says gently, brushing her fingertips.
She pauses and he doesn't need to say more; she decides to take the minute he's offering, her body releasing its tension, melting into the back of the couch.
"Got you some food," he mentions, and she notices the bag on the floor. "I know it's late but I figured—"
"Thanks, El," she replies, grateful, but she hungers for something other than food. Their knees bump, like old times, and she can see her younger self sitting on that stoop, silently wishing that his arm would drift around her back and he would hold her.
This time, he does. She shivers at the contact, the welcome heat of his hands, realizing her body had spent too many years growing used to the cold.
"You chilly?" he asks, tracing the goosebumps on her skin.
"I'm fine."
She can practically hear his brain, repeating—
Like hell you are.
"Temps dropping outside," he continues, his hand traveling lazily into her hair. "Gonna be in the fifties tomorrow." He would offer something of his to wear, but he's only in a Henley and he doesn't think she'd be too thrilled at the thought of him leaving her office and marching shirtless through the 1-6.
"Really, El. I'm fine. Always keep an extra blazer around," she smirks, catching his eye. "Just in case."
"Ah, the backup blazer," he nods, smiling softly.
"Learned my lesson a few decades ago, right?"
She remembers the conversation from Thursday, the sunset and the french fries, the question left on the table.
"El…about the other night. I—"
Suddenly, there's a flurry of noise from the squadroom and Fin's head appears in the doorway.
"Liv, they're here."
He notices, though, the rather cozy position they've taken, and can't help himself.
"Sorry, Stabler, cuddle time's over."
Elliot and Olivia lurch apart.
"Fin, we weren't—" she starts.
"Yeah, yeah," Fin laughs. "Just like you weren't all over each other dancing at my non-wedding." And then, under his breath, "Wait till Munch hears this one."
There's no time for the goodbye Olivia would have wanted. She's quickly pulled into ten different conversations; Elliot waits for a moment at the periphery, in awe of the Captain she's become and the woman she's always been. She catches him on the way to interrogation—
"I'll text you," she whispers, and it pains her not to tell him what she's thinking, the answer that's been lingering in her mind for days. But Muncy's at her side and Velasco's waiting with the suspect on the other side of the wall; she takes one last glance at Elliot before turning toward the two-way mirror, hoping he can see the hint of a smile in her reflection.
Elliot makes his way toward the elevator, and his doubts start to get the best of him.
Fin, we weren't.
We weren't.
We aren't.
He finds himself tempering his hopes, wondering if this, in fact, will be her final word on the matter of them. If someday soon, she'll take his hand and put an end to any questions of what could be. If, perhaps, they're destined to continue as they are—two friends who can laugh and share meals and keep each other warm on the coolest nights. He knows he's protecting his feelings at this point, but he reminds himself of the early days after his return, grasping at the frayed edges of a bond he had broken. Her forgiveness, alone, was a gift he never imagined he deserved. And her love, in any form, is his bounty.
But halfway down the hallway, his phone's already buzzing in quick succession with three texts from Olivia.
El
Just wanted you to know
The other night?
He stops in his tracks, eyes fixed on three dots pulsing as quickly as his heart.
It was a date.