AN: It was weird using the past tense as novelists do. I'm not a novelist. I shall henceforth be writing in present tense. Thanks for reading.
In anticipation of feeling like she's abandoning Noah for an entire week, they spend the whole Saturday prior together, guiltily indulging him in anything he wants to do or eat for the day. He gets his favorite chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, Chinese for lunch, thanks to his discovery of Brittany Spears' music, a matinee show of One More Time and pizza for dinner. That night she didn't simply climb into bed. She fell onto it and passed out.
The next morning…
"Bye, Mom," he says before running past Fin to play with his PS5. "See you next week."
"Hey. Where's my hug?"
Noah grudgingly walks back, gives her a two-second embrace then returns to his uncle's video game oasis.
"Thanks Fin," she says. "You sure you can handle him for a whole week?"
"Feed him, take him to school, drop him off and pick him up from dance practice then make him wash his ass," he counts off. "I got this."
She takes a breath and exhales.
"Just…keep my kid alive til Saturday, Sergeant," she tells him. "And thank Phoebe for me."
"Will do but…"
Olivia already knows what he's about to ask.
"What, Fin?"
"You and Stabler looked like your old selves on that last case we all worked together," he begins. "I get the feeling that's because both of you have avoided the deeper shit."
He's not wrong.
"Things go better that way. But we can handle it," she assures him. "Not the first time we've been under as a couple."
"For a few hours at a time, Liv," he reminds her. "You didn't have to live with the man or pretend to hash out your feelings," he adds. "And when you inevitably get on each other's nerves, you can't just avoid him."
"I'll deal with it."
"You tell him about Lewis?"
Olivia doesn't respond but gives him a look.
"I'm gonna take that as a, no."
"Hasn't come up."
"It's not something that would," Fin says. "And I get it. He doesn't deserve to know dick about anything he missed after he blew town," he goes on. "But if you plan on…changing the dynamics of your partnership any time soon, you're gonna have to tell him."
"What makes you think I'd even want to change our…dynamics?"
His eyes drop to the compass necklace.
"How many women do you think Stabler's given jewelry to in his whole life?" He asks. "And when was the last time you took that off?"
Olivia conveniently eyes her watch as if she has to be at their fake apartment at a specific time.
"It's just another op on another case, Fin," she tries. "Nothing has to change."
He shakes his head as she opens his door, stubborn and in denial as usual.
"Whatever you say, Cap."
Thankfully she doesn't have any luggage to haul. Her and Elliot's things were picked up and placed in the condo. If anyone was watching, it wouldn't look as if they were just moving into the building.
Olivia is first to arrive, thankfully so, she thinks. It would feel weird to "come home" to Elliot looking all domestic, beer in hand, watching the NFL Sunday Package. She decides to peruse the place and get settled before he arrives.
It's a single level with two bedrooms, one with a huge walk-in closet the other with an en-suite. Thankfully she doesn't have to decide which is hers because all her stuff is in the latter. The view they have of the Hudson River through the floor-to-ceiling windows is breathtaking, the eat-in kitchen is well-equipped with a sub-zero fridge and chef's oven, and she loves the fireplace beneath the big screen in the living room, hardwood floors and pops of color throughout. Olivia's going through the amazing job Jet did making their couple's photos look so realistic when her former partner comes through the door.
"Honey, I'm home."
"Original."
"What? No kiss?"
"You wish, Stabler."
"It's Quinn, remember," Elliot points out. "You're Antonia Pietro-Quinn and I'm Patrick," he reminds her. "I think I'll call you Toni."
"Great," she says moving into the kitchen. "I'm very Italian and you're very Irish."
"Right, we met at the United Nations."
She laughs as she pulls out ingredients for chicken stir-fry.
"We did not," she says, unpackaging and rinsing the chicken. "Don't pretend you haven't read our covers word for word, Elliot."
He slides onto one of the barstools to watch her work.
"True," he admits. "I own a commercial development company and you're a founding partner at one of those white shoe law firms."
"I know that, Elliot. I did my homework too," she quips. "What I don't know is what we're supposed to talk about at this first session."
"Guess you didn't do your homework as well as I did then," he says, briefly standing to pull a folded pamphlet from Lemons to Lemonade from his back jeans pocket. "Because according to this, it says our first session will be working on communication."
"I remember the topic, Elliot," she tells him as she browns the cubed chicken. "I mean what complaints will Antonia and Patrick have?"
"Same as any other marriage," he answers. "I don't listen, you talk at me instead of to me and both of us would rather not talk at all than endure that."
He rounds the counter to join her, pushes up the sleeves on his steel blue Henley and begins washing his hands at the sink. Olivia can't help but watch. The vascularity of his forearms, the strength of his hands has always drawn her attention. She nearly burns the chicken when she stops stirring.
"Liv?"
"Yeah?"
"I said, is there anything I can do to help?" He asks, now smirking.
Clearly, she's been caught.
"You can dump that bag of frozen veggies into a pan," she answers. "Once they thaw, I noticed a bottle of teriyaki sauce on the fridge door," she continues. "About a quarter of a cup should be good."
Elliot has a slight grin on his face as he follows her orders.
"What?"
"What, what?"
"What's that face your pulling?" She asks.
"I'm not pulling a face, I just…last I checked your specialty was take-out," he answers. "Now I'm having a hard time not saying, 'yes chef'."
Olivia smiles as she continues to cook the chicken.
"Those communication issues," she begins. "You and Kathy?"
"Sometimes," Elliot tells her. "What about you and Tucker?"
She momentarily stops stirring.
"You—you know Ed was Ed Tucker?"
"I am a detective after all," he says. "Give me some credit."
"Don't forget a perpetually jealous ass," Olivia quips. "Who told you?"
He shrugs.
"Have my ways," he offers. "So, was that a yes or a no on why you and 'Ed' broke up?"
She takes a deep breath, exhales and decides to be truthful despite the fact that it's none of his business.
"He was ready to retire, wanted me to think about doing the same," she informs him. "He didn't pressure me but once that seed was planted…"
"You felt like the expectation was always gonna be there."
"Yeah," she nods. "At minimum I thought all the times I had to cancel on him would become a hell of a lot more noticeable," she adds. "At that point I had even more time than I do now before mandatory retirement. We were just in two different places I guess."
Elliot laughs as he stirs.
"That poor dumb bastard."
"Come on, El," she starts. "The man is dead."
"Sorry. I just meant he didn't know you all that well if he thought you could just abandon something you're so passionate about."
"Right. He should've dated someone more like you."
"Not my type," Elliot jokes, moving to the fridge for the bottle of teriyaki.
Olivia's quiet as she dumps the chicken in with the vegetables. He turns to find her stoic as she leaves him to finish.
"I'm gonna go wash up and change."
When she turns to leave, he stops her.
"Hey," he says. "What just happened?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"Liv."
She stops on the opposite side of the counter.
"You talked about me not being able to abandon something I'm so passionate about but…that's exactly what you did and I never understood how or why."
Elliot lowers the flame on the stir-fry and covers the pan with a lid for it to simmer.
"If you think you're ready to hear my answers then I'm ready to talk," he offers. "After dinner?"
Olivia nods and backs away from the counter.
"After dinner."