Summary: Elliot is called back to finish up one of his old cases in Italy for the summer. Frustrated by his inability to connect with Olivia after working the Shadowerk case in May, he decides to write her a letter, laying it all out.

AN: Some of my all time favorite fanfics are one where relationships develop long-distance via letters or calls. I've never written one myself, but this hiatus gave me the perfect opportunity to try.

Thanks for reading! I'm really excited about this story!

If you like long distance hiatus fics and read Bones fanfiction, then you need to read Letters from Home by bloodwrites. And if you read Gilmore Girls fanfiction, then you need to read Seven Weeks by Mag68. They are both on this site.

The first letter arrives on a Wednesday; June 28th, to be exact. Four weeks to the day since Elliot left.

The simple white envelope is nestled between her water bill and last month's credit card statement. Olivia reviews her statement online, but the physical bill serves as a better reminder than any electronic note on her overstuffed Google calendar ever would. Between Noah's dance practice and school parties, for which she needs to make (buy) cookies, and Martha's days off, a simple note to "Pay CC" would be overlooked and her interest rates would skyrocket.

The unassuming envelope from Elliot, however, is more terrifying than her credit card bill would ever be. Even after that one month when she treated herself, lavishly, after making Lieutenant.

In the upper right-hand corner, in his typical scrawl, was Elliot Stabler and what she assumes to be his address in Italy.

That's where his mysterious new job had taken him—right back to Rome.

Shortly after they'd returned from Ohio and he'd given her that beautiful necklace, to guide her to happiness, he'd finally filled her in on his next journey. His former Captain from his time liaising on behalf of the NYPD with the Polizia in Italy had reached out to him and requested his return as their case neared its end. Elliot had declined the request several times, but when 1PP says, "Go to Rome," you pack your bags and go to Rome.

Olivia wonders how hard Elliot actually fought the request, how hard he fought to stay in New York, with her, for her. She doesn't dwell on that thought, though, because it would hurt too much if she learns he didn't fight for her. She believes him when he says that he did, that he pushed back and had Bell push back. She needs to believe him.

Despite two years passing since his return, they're still struggling somewhat to find themselves as a pair. They'll never be partners again (no matter how many times he says it); her being a Captain and him being with OCCB often drive them apart on cases and not together. And they haven't discussed their lost decade for them to really be friends either, at least not like they were before. Yet something is brewing between them. She trusts herself enough to want it, want him, but she knows all too well that wanting more gives Elliot the power to devastate her. And she's not sure if she's ready to risk it for him again.

She and Elliot had met for coffee two days before he had to leave. Sitting on the patio, tapping the small cup to its plate underneath, he'd anxiously told her he had to go to Rome and that his return date was unknown. He'd told her outright the trip was temporary. He'd promised her he would return as fast as they would cut him loose, but his sources still on the ground there told him the projected end date was late in the summer (though they all know how these things go, and it's rarely ever as planned).

Elliot had given her his word he would keep in touch.

That was weeks ago.

Elliot is trying to keep his promise. She knows this. But between her job, where crime seems to double in the longer days, and him working to get reintegrated to his old team, job, and city (on top of the six-hour time difference), they've been unable to connect frequently or with any depth. Calls are next to impossible, and the texts slowed so quickly before they stopped altogether. She hadn't heard from him in days.

Olivia is prepared for this. Elliot, in all his good-natured self-assuredness, is a man to overpromise and underdeliver. She knew this about him when he was making those promises, but that doesn't mean she isn't disappointed.

Or that she isn't terrified.

She is terrified. Olivia is terrified Elliot isn't coming back. Terrified that this envelope contains his gentle let down—he's staying or that he's met someone. Or worse, another letter telling her that she's imagined their re-budding relationship and, once again, what they were to each other isn't real. Her fear, despite its strength, does not cause her to give up all hope yet. She is still wearing that beautiful necklace he gave her after all, hopeful the compass is really there to guide him home.

For all of five seconds, Olivia considers tossing the envelope in the trash with the flyers and writing Elliot off for good. But she can't. Something in her, deep, deep down in her, tells her to keep the letter because it's important. She slips the envelope into her purse and goes about her night, though she pours a second glass of wine to help her ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

A few very long and very rough days push the letter from her mind completely. A case takes over, and there is no space in her brain or energy in her body to worry about Elliot. The next morning, Churlish calls her into the precinct before 5:00 a.m. Crime never stops. This time, like so many other times, it's all-hands-on-deck.

More than a week passes before Olivia is reminded of Elliot's letter.

It's a hectic Monday morning following the Fourth of July holiday when Fin sees Olivia standing, talking on her phone and digging through her purse, as he steps into her office.

"No, I'm so sorry, Martha. I could have sworn I stuck it on the fridge. Did you look under the fridge?"

"No luck?"

"As soon as I find it, I will send you and his teacher a photo."

Olivia hangs up and collapses back in her chair, huffing and pointing to herself. "Mother of the year, right here."

Fin laughs as he approaches her desk, seeing what looks to be a stack of papers from the depths of her large handbag sitting haphazardly on the corner. "What are you looking for?"

"Noah's summer class is supposed to go to the aquarium this afternoon, but I forgot to give him his permission slip. And now I can't find it," she answers as she waves to the stack of papers.

"Do you mind?" Fin asks, nodding at the papers. He starts picking through them before she gives him a sarcastic, "Knock yourself out."

He finds it quickly, lifting the sheet up, asking, "Is this it?"

She nods and exhales, thankful that Fin found it. "That's it."

He places it on the desk in front of her so she can snap a photo with her phone before nosing through the rest of the papers. "I'm surprised they still do paper permission slips. I thought everything was done—What's this?"

"What's wha—" Olivia stops as soon as she looks up, seeing the forgotten envelope in Fin's hands.

"What's Stabler sending you?" He holds it up so the overhead light shines through, as if he would see something beside a sheet or two of paper.

She gives a forced, noncommittal shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Have you opened it?" Fin sees the answer to his question when he flips the envelope over. "Why not?"

She scoffs. "In case you haven't forgotten, Elliot and I do not have a good track record with letters."

Olivia had shared with Fin a little about the letter that Elliot had given her when he first arrived back—not by choice. When Elliot collapsed on her floor that night, she didn't know who else to call. Eventually she and Fin were able to get Elliot to Ayanna's apartment. But Fin had sensed she was bothered by more than the middle of the night arrival of her drugged former partner. The next day she shared what had happened, what secrets Elliot had revealed while he was under the influence.

Fin just shrugs. "That was before. This is now."

Olivia snags the envelope from Fin. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Fin takes a seat across from her, shooting her a look that says he's not buying her act and is ready to wait this out. "You know exactly what I mean. Before, he was married, and then grieving, and he hadn't seen you in ten years. His life was a mess; he was a damn mess."

"And he's not one now?" she asks, throwing him a look of her own.

Fin chuckles and concedes, "Stabler will always be a bit of a mess. I think that's something you like about him. I just mean, a couple years have passed, and you guys are friends now, right?"

Olivia nods, looking at the envelope in her own hands. Her eyes are full of curiosity and fear. "Yeah, we are friends." The word felt foreign on her tongue.

"That's not convincing."

"We are friends. It's just before he left, I think we were…" She pauses and shrugs, trying to find the right word. She hasn't talked to Fin, or anyone (other than her therapist), about how things had shifted between her and Elliot. Not that night in her kitchen, and not that fleeting moment in the urgent care in Ohio.

"Seriously considering becoming more than friends?" Fin supplies.

"Something like that," Olivia admits. She's not shocked that Fin read right through her. Fin replaced Elliot as her longest relationship with a man many years ago. And it was Fin who invited Elliot to her ceremony, knowing before she did that their relationship was on hold rather than over.

"And then he took off, leaving you here alone and confused and second-guessing everything."

"Something like that," she confirms again with a solemn nod.

"Look, Liv, I will never understand you two. I like the guy sometimes, and I see that you two have something special. You always have. I've never understood it, but it's there. There's no denying it. And in my eyes, he has been trying, really trying. Maybe this letter is him still trying from across the globe."

"But a letter? We have cellphones. Why doesn't he just call or text?"

"I think you are going to have to open that to find out."

That night after she puts Noah to bed (or rather lets her pre-teen play video games in his room until 10:30 p.m.), Olivia finds herself sitting at her kitchen island with a glass of wine, a letter opener, and the envelope. It takes her nearly an hour to open it.

June 18, 2023

Olivia,

If you've gotten this far, then I'm a lucky S.O.B.

I wanted to text you this week, but I was afraid of distracting you from work. Or, at least, that's what I told myself when I couldn't think of what to say.

It's not that I don't have things that I want to share with you. I do. It's just casual texting doesn't feel right. Not for us. We always do better in person. My therapist (yes, therapist. Shocker, right?) once suggested that I write you a letter. He didn't know about our history with letters. I think you understand why I didn't follow his advice on that one.

But I promised you when we had coffee that I would keep in touch. I want to keep my promise. Not just for you. For me, too. I want to be in touch with you.

I'm ready for this job to be over. I can't tell you much more than I told you before I left, so I'll leave out the case details. But so much has changed in three years. Most of my team is new and the city feels new. Italy is not for me anymore. And coming home to an empty apartment here is so lonely, more so than at home. I've had time to reflect on myself and my life, and I don't like everything that I see.

Reading that back, I realize that I don't sound too good. But I'm not going to erase it. I want to be honest. I'm working on being more open and direct about my feelings. (My damn therapist again.) I'm not sure if I like it, and sometimes I'm not always sure what I'm feeling, but I think you deserve honesty, Liv. And so do I.

I am good, though, really. I'm just ready to be home, and I have a feeling it's going to be a while before this job is done. It's not as close to being wrapped as I was told it was before I left.

I'm frustrated that I'm here now because I felt that you and I were finally back on solid ground. I felt like I was starting to have a place in your life again. I want to belong in your life again, Liv.

I've thought a lot about you and me a lot over the last couple of weeks. We've overcome so much. I know there is so much more ground for us to cover. But working with you last month just felt right—like old times. And like something more. Like we are starting something.

A new beginning of sorts. I want a new beginning with you, Liv. We deserve one. For real this time. On our own terms.

I know that it's shitty writing that in a letter while we are on different continents. But we both know timing has never been my strong suit.

Maybe we can make this work for us. Writing letters will give us the space to be bold and say what needs to be said. I can't imagine what you need to get off your chest, and I want it all. The good and the bad. I want to hear everything.

Most of all, I want us to sort out this thing between us. I know you said you weren't ready before; you were afraid that it wouldn't work out. But I know that we can be a good thing, a very good thing. I know that we will work out.

If you've read this entire letter, then you've already given me more than I deserve, and I don't want to press my luck.

So, I'll just say thank you and I hope to hear from you soon.

El