October 19, 2021
" 's a nice kitchen," he said, a little lamely, spinning slowly on his heel with his hands full of groceries, taking in his surroundings and feeling more awkward than he would have liked.
Some time in the last six months Olivia's little family had moved into a new place, and the new place was nice. Nice, in that expensive, classy way Elliot's tastes had never run - oh, he'd learned a thing or two about wine and tailoring in Europe, but he was still the same blue collar Queens boy at heart, and Liv had always been an uptown girl, and it showed now, he thought. The rich colors, the fancy backsplash, the under-the-cabinet lighting - the sheer number of fucking cabinets, in this neighborhood? - the space, so much room to move, more than she'd ever had in any of her previous apartments - the ones he'd seen, at least - the whole effect was one of taste, class, sophistication, all those words he associated with Olivia. She'd always been a classy girl, even when she was sitting next to him in the sedan with her feet on the dash and a battered leather jacket around her shoulders. The place suited her, but he felt uncomfortable in it, felt himself too big, too brash, too much for a kitchen that pretty, for a woman that lovely.
He'd told her he was gonna cook and she'd said she was gonna let him and now she was sitting on one of the little stools on the other side of the island, watching him with an uncertain expression on her face like she could tell he was uncomfortable, like maybe she was, too, like she didn't know what to do about it and he didn't either, and goddamn it, he thought, why does everything have to be so hard?
It was just Liv. He was just cooking dinner for Liv. It would be impossible to count the number of meals they'd shared, the number of hot dogs he'd purchased for her, the number of lei mein orders they'd passed back and forth between them; eating together had been a part of their relationship from the very beginning, a comfort in the ritual of it. But he'd never cooked for her. Never stood in her kitchen, touching her things, preparing a meal he meant for her to eat. He'd never stood in front of her knowing that if he could just be patient, if he could just be gentle, if he could just hold himself together for a couple of hours he'd be able to sink himself inside her.
But that's why he'd come, at least in part; she'd known what he was asking for and he'd known what she was offering when they agreed to this. That moment in her office; Christ, he'd been seconds from sliding his hand down her pants, desperate to feel her, and she might have let him, he thought - he hoped - and now he was here, in her home, in the evening, and he'd promised to feed her kids, and after, she'd told him, after, we can…
We can.
Fucking finally.
They were close, now, so unbelievably, marvelously close to falling together, to crossing the final line that kept them apart from one another, to opening their hearts to one another, to loving each other, wholly. They were close, now, and he never thought they would be and now that it was happening he didn't have any fucking idea how to act. He wanted to kiss her again, but he was worried if he touched her now he wouldn't be able to stop, worried he'd push her back against the island and she'd pull away because she knew better than to try to fuck him in the kitchen when her kids were on their way home, would be there any minute. He was worried it would wound him, to hear her tell him no. He was worried she might change her mind, that she might have changed it already, that the last hour or so spent schlepping through the grocery store and back to her apartment might have given her doubts enough time to resurface, and then what would he do? How many times was he gonna have to try to convince her to just let him love her? Would anything he did, anything he said ever be enough?
"Thanks," she said.
He was half-hard just from looking at her and he could hear the echo of her moans in his mind, the way she'd responded to his touch burned on his brain, short-circuiting his good sense and all he could think about was the supple curve of her ass in his hands and yet there they were, standing around talking about her kitchen.
"Look, Liv," he started to say, but before he could get the words out the front door was opening, and her family was coming through it in a whirlwind of voices and flying backpacks.
Cassidy had picked the kids up from school, kept them for the afternoon doing God only knew what, and now he'd brought them home, now he was standing in Olivia's doorway with his gaze bouncing back and forth between the pair of them speculatively.
"What's up, Stabler," he said.
"Hey, man," Elliot answered.
"Brian, can I talk to you?" Olivia said, jumping up from the stool, rushing across the apartment to catch Cassidy by the arm, dragging him out into the hall where they could talk in private. Probably she meant to put a stop to any smart-ass remarks from him before he made them, and Elliot couldn't blame her for wanting to talk to the guy alone, but she'd left him behind with both of her kids, who were even now making their way over to him. Noah seemed excited, blue eyes bright and a wide smile splashed across his face, but Mia was scowling, her face like a thundercloud.
"Mr. Elliot, are you staying for dinner?" Noah asked him, clambering up onto the stool Olivia had only recently vacated while Mia stalked around the island, eyeing the groceries Elliot was laying out on the worktop.
"I am," Elliot told him. "I'm gonna cook for you guys, if that's ok."
"Whatcha making?"
It was a little unsettling, Noah's bright, cheerful voice peppering him with questions while Mia prowled around him, circling him like a shark.
"It's - uh - it's something I learned to make in Italy. It's pasta, with scallops and-"
"Is that fish?" Mia demanded imperiously from somewhere near his elbow.
"Yeah," Elliot said, peering down at her, following the line of her little finger, pointing to the pile of shellfish laid out on the counter.
"I don't like fish," Mia told him hotly.
"I know," he said. "Your mom told me. So I got some chicken -" he held up the package to show her - "and I'm gonna make this up special, just for you."
Mia considered this for a second. From the moment he first met her it had been apparent that Mia was a prickly child, and he had wondered if her experiences with Wheatley and then the surgery so soon after might have changed her, might have made her more afraid, quieter, smaller. He was glad to see that didn't seem to be the case; so far Mia was as much a little spitfire as she always had been, unafraid to let him know what was on her mind.
"That's ok, then," she said.
Thank god, he thought.
"But why are you making dinner?" Noah asked him. Mia crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him expectantly, and Elliot began to wonder just what the fuck Liv had to say to Cassidy that would take so fucking long.
"Because I wanted to do something nice for you and your mom," he said. "We're friends, and friends do that for each other."
"Daddy cooks all the time," Mia said. "I bet you're not as good at it as he is."
There were a lot of things Elliot liked to think he could do better than Brian Cassidy, but that was not a conversation he was prepared to have with the man's children.
"Well," he said, "I'm gonna do my best, and I hope you'll like it, how about that?"
"You should be nice to him," Noah chided his sister gently. "Mommy said Mr. Elliot's the one who gave you his liver."
"Is that true?" Mia asked him skeptically.
"Yeah," Elliot said. "Yeah, I got cut open just like you did, and they took a little bit of my liver and gave it to you, to make you feel better."
Her color was good, and she was standing steadily on her own two feet, staring him down with all the imperious certainty of a little queen, and he hoped that meant she did feel better. She was about as cuddly as a cactus, but Elliot felt nothing but fondness when he looked at her; Liv could be sharp, too, hard to hold, hard to wrap his hands around, could push people away and throw words like daggers at anyone who crossed her, but he loved Liv, just the way she was, and that meant he loved those kids, too, those kids who seemed to be the two warring halves of Liv's heart, each cut out and poured out into a different body. Noah her gentleness, her curiosity, her compassion, and Mia her fire, her fight, her fear. One could not be had without the other; they were a pair.
"Oh," Mia said. "Why'd you do that?"
The front door opened again, and Olivia slipped through it, alone this time, and she stopped short when she saw Elliot, standing there talking to her kids, like she hadn't realized that's what he was doing, like she was worried about how it was going to go, and across the apartment Elliot caught her gaze, and held it, and as he looked at her he felt a strange sort of calmness settle over him. No, he didn't know what was going to happen next, and yeah, there were probably going to be some awkward moments ahead for all of them, but Liv was with him, and he loved her, and they were going to figure things out, the way they always did.
"I made your mommy a promise, a long time ago," he told Mia, though his eyes were still locked on Liv. "I told her if she ever needed anything, I'd give it to her. And that promise includes you guys now, too."
In point of fact, what Elliot had said was I'd give you a kidney, but what he'd meant was I'd do anything for you, and they both knew it, and there was no sense in pretending otherwise. Whatever she needed, whatever her children needed, whatever it was in his power to provide, he'd give it, and gladly, because they were partners, and that was what partners did. Shared in everything, always, in joys and in sorrows, shouldered burdens and traded sandwiches and offered comfort when it was needed, a kick in the ass when it was needed. And looking at her now he knew she understood, knew she felt the same.
"Now," he said to the kids, "do you guys wanna help, or do you wanna watch?"
"Watch," Noah said at prceisley the same time Mia said, "help."
"Ok," Elliot said, laughing. "Mia, how are you with a knife?"
"Elliot, no!" Liv called out, but she was laughing, too, as she made her way over to join them, coming to a stop behind Noah and wrapping his arms around him.
"Please, mom?" Mia begged her, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Yeah, please, mom?" Elliot said, and Christ, it did something to him, saying those words to Olivia, seeing her like this, knowing she was a mother, now, as she'd always wanted to be.
"If she cuts herself, I'm cutting you," Olivia told him, raising a finger at him in a mock threat.
"We'll be careful," he said. "I promise."
And he would, be careful, would be so careful, would be as careful as he could find it in himself to be, with the knife, with her daughter, with her heart. Olivia had given him a precious gift and he would not take it for granted.