Wednesday Evening…
After Lemons to Lemonade, Olivia takes the rare opportunity for self-care. Once she and Elliot get back to the condo, she changes into a cashmere sweater and jeans and hits the streets. Her first stop is her favorite spa where she gets a manicure and pedicure.
"What color are you feeling today?" Asks the nail tech.
"Surprise me," Olivia tells her.
She ends up with Navy blue polish with specs of glitter called "stargazer blue" on all her nails save for her ring fingers. Those are silver. Olivia doesn't hate it but it will be the last time she doesn't choose for herself.
Her next stop is the salon she frequents. She doesn't dare utter the words "surprise me" to Jacqueline. The woman's a styling genius but she can get a little crazy with the scissors if she has a "vision" in mind. Thankfully, the ideas she has for Olivia just leave her with honey blonde highlights, a middle part and some new bangs.
"I love it," she beams.
"I don't know who he is sweetie," Jacqueline begins. "But heaven help him."
"This is for me," Olivia asserts. "Can't a girl just wanna feel good for herself?"
"Absolutely," the stylist says. "Look out New York, Olivia Benson's coming."
The captain laughs as she pays the woman and it feels good. Outside the salon, she angles her face up to the warmth of the sun, inhales and heads to Central Park to see the beautiful leaves. She finds her hot apple cider and even enjoys a cinnamon scone with it.
She people-watches for about an hour before deciding to move on. When she sees Hitchcock's Rear Window playing at an old theater, Olivia knows how she'll be spending the rest of her evening.
It's nearly ten o'clock by the time she gets back and gasps upon entering. On the foyer table is one of the largest bouquets she's ever seen. She immediately steps closer to inhale the scents of the orange roses, maroon Asian lilies and yellow gladiolus flowers. A card is nowhere to be found but she notices a sticky note on the side of the brown glass vase.
"Dinner is in the fridge if you want it" - Patrick
Olivia should've known her former partner wouldn't give up without a fight. It was never in his nature.
After she moves further in the condo, her eyes are instantly drawn to the living room on her left where a captivating fire is going beneath the mantel. But her stomach leads her to the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator, she immediately finds a plasticware container with another sticky note attached.
"Pulled pork crepes w/mango bbq sauce, cheddar potatoes au gratin"
"Now he's just fighting dirty," she thinks.
Next to her dinner is a mixed green salad in a bowl and bottles of white, red and rosé chilling alongside it. After five minutes in the microwave, Olivia grabs a fork, the bottle of rosé and sits at the counter. She moans at the first bite of just how damn good it is.
"Glad to know the recipe turned out so well," Elliot says behind her.
"God Elliot, you scared the shit out of me," she tells him, putting a calming hand on her chest.
"Sorry," he offers. "Figured you noticed my suit jacket and know I was here."
Olivia turns to see him in a stark white dress shirt, rolled at the sleeves, dark gray slacks and a black tie. To his right she notices the matching gray blazer laid over the back of the sofa.
"It's okay," she says. "I should've been paying attention."
She doesn't do that as well when he's around. Doesn't check behind doors or listen for out-of-place noises. Because Elliot's always done those things. Her physical safety was never in question with him there.
"So…the food?"
"It's amazing," she admits, continuing to eat. "I would've been good with leftovers."
Elliot shrugs and grins.
"Wanted to try something different," he explains. "I'm all caught up on paperwork," he adds. "Did two hours in the gym, checked in with mama and the kids so—
"—You got bored," Olivia concludes, taking a sip of wine.
"I got bored," he admits. "I never was great with downtime," he goes on. "Your hair looks...nice."
With her back to him, she smiles. When he turns to leave, she stops him.
"What's up with the suit?"
"Went to Mass," he answers, turning in her direction. "Thought I could use some guidance on a few things."
She assumes it's his version of her need to talk to Dr. Lindstrom.
"I understand," Olivia says. "And the fire?"
"Got cold."
If she were to go into his room, she's 100% certain she'd find any blankets folded neatly inside his closet. And she has the feeling he doesn't sleep in much more than his underwear.
"Right," she tells him. "And the flowers?"
He shrugs again and turns in the direction of his bedroom.
"Thought the place could use a little pretty," he tells her. "Goodnight, Liv."
"Goodnight, Elliot."
Thursday Afternoon…
Olivia spent the morning in her room reading an Oprah's Book Club novel she'd added to her list last year. Elliot tried to entice her with the smell of bacon, blueberry pancakes and his Italian dark roast. She walked out, made some toast, grabbed a cup of his fancy brew and beelined back to her bedroom.
It appears his love language is food. Her waistline won't survive it. A few hours later and he's knocking on her door. She dogears the page in the middle of a good plot point, takes a couple of steps to open her door and finds her former partner clad in a blue Henley and jeans.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey, Liv. Just got a text from Bell," he tells her. "Jet and the team are on their way over to get the place outfitted for tomorrow."
Elliot notices the polish of her toes then tracks it to her fingers.
"Nice color," he tells her. "Goes well with your pajamas."
Olivia looks down, just now realizing she's still wearing them. They're maroon with gray piping. You would think it was lingerie the way his eyes took her in, quick enough to be subtle about it.
"Thanks," she says, folding her arms against her chest, and leaning along the doorway. "You could've just texted me."
"Haven't really seen you all morning," he points out. "Wanted to make sure you were still alive and well."
"Despite your continued attempts to put me in a food coma, I'm fine," she quips. "What's their ETA?"
He looks at his watch.
"About an hour. They're gonna stagger their arrivals so it doesn't look suspicious in case the perps already watching," Elliot tells her. "But don't change on their account, I think this," he says, gesturing. "Is a good look on you."
Olivia just shakes her head and closes the door.
Forty-five minutes later she emerges dressed in an emerald green silk blouse, black slacks with matching blazer and her hair is in a loose ponytail, accentuating her bangs. Inside the kitchen she finds the counters covered with sandwich and veggie trays, an assortment of chips and dips, non-alcoholic drinks (because technically they're all still working) and a tray of oatmeal, cranberry, walnut cookies, Elliot among the spread.
"Did you make all this?" She asks, taken by surprise.
"I'm not fast enough to beat Bobby Flay," he says, smiling. "I ordered all this on the NYPD dime under the guise that we're having a little get-together to sell the cover," he adds. "I did bake the cookies though."
"Course you did," she says, removing her blazer to hang over one of the counter stools. "You could've told me we were trying to sell a party," she adds. "I wouldn't have dressed like I was going into the office."
"You look nice, Liv," he says, with a shrug. "You always do."
A doorbell they haven't heard until now, sounds through the condo, startling them both and saving Olivia from having to respond.
"I'll get it," Elliot offers.
He opens the door to find Ayanna and Jet.
"Hey Patty," Bell says, grinning. "Where's that gorgeous wife of yours?"
Jet shakes her head and pushes past him, a backpack over her shoulder.
"Where's the music?" She asks. "There's no party without music."
Once they're inside she waves at Olivia and gets to work. Minutes later, Billie Eilish's "Bad Guy", begins to play on Bluetooth speakers. Jet bops along as she plants her bugs.
"I see you're still in one piece," Bell says to Elliot. "She must have a saint's level of patience."
"Why do you assume I'm the one that's hard to live with?"
"Because you're a man," she tells him, snagging a stalk of broccoli from the veggie tray. "I'm strictly going off history and statistics."
Olivia laughs as she overhears.
"Hey, Ayanna."
"Captain," she greets. "He's not giving you any trouble, is he?"
Olivia holds his gaze over Bell's shoulder.
"Nothing I can't handle," she answers before meeting the sergeant's eyes again. "Any movement outside the building or the therapy offices?"
"An audiovisual company hired by Lemons to Lemonade to outfit their other seminars and retreats," she answers, pulling a tablet from her purse. "None of them has a record except for a guy named, Eric Spires."
Olivia takes the tablet for herself, scrolling through his criminal history.
"Pretty tame," she comments.
"It was, until Jet dug into some expunged charges from his high school days," Bell tells her, moving on to the chips and dips.
"When he was a sophomore, he was charged with the attempted rape of his English teacher," Jet reveals. "He stayed after school to get tutored and ended up beating her until she was unconscious," she adds. "If it wasn't for the vice principal hearing her screams, it could've been a lot worse."
Olivia passes the tablet to Elliot to see their perp's face and pedigree.
"Let me guess," he begins. "His rich parents made it all go away and moved him to another school, in another district."
"Sounds like you've done this before old man," Jet comments.
"And the kicker?" Bell says. "The vice principal was married to the English teacher."
"And an M.O. was born," Olivia tells them.
The doorbell sounds throughout the condo again.
"I'll get it," she says.
This time it's Reyes and Velasco waiting in the hallway.
"We heard there's a party," Reyes says. "And clearly you need a better DJ."
He comes in and heads straight for Jet, trying to talk her into changing the music.
"Come on. Nobody's gonna believe two old uptight white people listen to Billie Eilish," he asserts. "Especially Stabler."
She smirks and shakes her head before opening her backpack.
"Plant these cameras and I'll consider giving you access to my Spotify," she bargains. "Make sure you angle at least one of them towards the sofa."
"I'm just here for the food," Velasco says, quickly moving to the kitchen. "All I've had today is the sergeant's horrible coffee and a granola bar from the vending machine."
"Fin tells me you guys are keeping up with the caseload," Olivia says. "You too busy to eat?"
"Nah," Velasco tells her, spreading mustard on a club sandwich. "Between him and Bruno it's running like a well-oiled machine," he says. "And Churlish is still green but she's pulling her weight."
"Good to know."
"It's my own fault," he says. "Muncy kept me on the phone until late and I didn't wake up early enough to grab breakfast."
Olivia looks at him skeptically.
"On the phone. Right," Reyes chimes in from across the room. "You were just tellin' me that—
"—That I'm so proud of how well she's doing with the D.E.A.," he interrupts, trying to save himself. "But that the whole squad misses her."
The captain smirks as Jet and Reyes approach.
"We don't know which bedroom he'll choose," Jet mentions. "So we need to put cameras and mics in both."
"That's fine," Olivia tells her. "Jet, come with me."
"Show me your new digs, Stabler," Reyes says, looking around. "This is nice," he adds. "Why don't I get UC gigs like this, boss?" He throws out to Bell as he follows Elliot to his bedroom.
"The next Upper West Side victim pool you match is all yours, Bobby!" She yells, shaking her head as she reaches for a turkey and cheese sandwich.
An hour later and Reyes and Jet have agreed the Quinns would likely be listening to Rock classics like The Eagles and Creedance. It's why Hotel California is playing at a tolerable volume.
Elliot and Velasco stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the Hudson, discussing the Jets vs. the Giants, their starting lines and how they'll perform this season.
Ayanna and Olivia lean against opposite counters in the kitchen.
"This is actually nice," Bell tells her. "Maybe we should get both our squads together once this is all over."
"Not a bad idea," she agrees. "But with our caseloads, at least on my end, I don't know when we'd find the time."
Bell eyes her skeptically.
"How has it been, being here with him?" She asks.
"We work, we eat, we check in with our families, we sleep," Olivia tells her. "That's all."
"Forgive me if I'm overstepping here, Captain," she begins. "But your dynamic seems…off."
"What do you mean?"
Bell looks over Olivia's shoulder at Elliot with Velasco.
"Normally, when the two of you are in the room, you sort of…
"Sort of, what?"
"Gravitate towards one another," Ayanna tells her. "Sometimes finishing each other's sentences," she adds. "It's half awe-inspiring, half creepy."
Olivia smiles and reaches for a bottle of water.
"We're fine."
"Uh oh," Bell says. "I haven't known you long, but I do know you're 'fine' means the complete opposite," she points out. "And usually when two people go out of their way not to be near each other, they're trying to hide either of two things."
"Which are?"
"They're either fucking or fighting," she colorfully answers. "Excuse my French."
"Wow," Olivia says, taking a longer drink of her bottled water.
"And you don't look relaxed or happy enough for it to be the former so…," she begins. "What did he do?" Bell asks. "Because that big ass bouquet is kind of hard not to notice."
The captain shakes her head and draws Ayanna deeper into the back of the kitchen near the pantry.
"He and I were partners for twelve years," Olivia informs her.
"Didn't know it was quite that long but he did say you'd gotten very close in that time."
"We did," Olivia nods. "There was no affair, not a physical one at least," she admits. "But the lines got…blurry sometimes."
Bell scrubs a hand over her face.
"I'm sorry, Olivia. If I knew doing this would be triggering for you I—
"—It's okay," she tells her. "I've known Elliot nearly twenty-five years," she adds. "I should've realized we couldn't spend a week alone without discussing our pasts," she admits. "He left without telling me he was retiring, and didn't respond to any of my messages so I pressed him to finally give me an answer as to why."
"I'm guessing he doesn't come out good in this story."
Olivia smiles sadly.
"No, he doesn't," she admits. "You'll be getting a formal request after this case is over to use Brooklyn SVU from now on," she informs her. "It makes more sense logistically anyway."
"Damn," Bell says. "He must've really fucked up," she continues. "He's gonna be hell to work with if you kick him to the curb forever. Any chance he's gonna make amends by Monday morning?"
"He's definitely trying," Olivia admits. "He cleans without me having to ask and cooks damn near every meal."
"Did he really bake those cookies?"
"Yes," the captain answers. "He's become Wolfgang Puck in a matter of days," she adds. "On top of the flowers, I came home last night to a crackling fire, the kind of dinner I usually have in restaurants and my choice of wines chilling in the refrigerator."
Bell just smiles and leans against the pantry door.
"What's that look about?" Olivia asks.
"You called it home," the sergeant points out. "Clearly the man's doing something right to earn his way back into your good graces."
When the music changes to Tom Jones, she starts moving out of the kitchen.
"That's my cue," Bell says.
"Not a fan?" Olivia asks.
"Not even a little," she answers, grabbing a cookie on her way to the door. "Jet? Time to go."
The young detective says her goodbyes then joins her boss on the exit train.
"We won't turn on the surveillance equipment until we have a visual of the suspect," Jet informs them. "See you tomorrow night."
Half an hour later, Velasco and Reyes are walking out with what's left of the food.
"Thanks for the invite, Mr. and Mrs. Quinn," Velasco says opening the door. "I'll be sure to get those blueprints to you by end of business tomorrow."
"See that you do," Elliot tells him.
The music changes to Al Green's' "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart" and Reyes simply winks at the elder detective before leaving his colleague alone with the captain. Elliot shakes his head and locks the door behind him. The song is over six minutes long.
He finds Olivia in the kitchen, cleaning up.
"I can take care of this if you wanna get back to your book," Elliot offers, collecting the bottles and putting them in the recycling.
"You coordinated everything," she points out. "This is the least I can do," she offers, trying to pull a trash bag from his grasp.
"I got it, Liv."
"No, I got it."
They pull and tug until Elliot's leaning against the counter and she's standing impossibly close. Her breath hitches. His heart beats a little faster. Both ignore their body's response to the other's proximity in favor of getting back to cleaning. They drop the bag then bend to try to pick it up at the same time, butting heads.
"Ow!"
"Shit," he tells her. "I'm sorry, Liv. I think we both know how hard my skull is."
"It's okay," she says, rubbing her forehead.
"Let me see," Elliot tells her, putting his hands on her face without thinking.
He tilts it in the light, gently moving her bangs with his fingertips to survey damage that doesn't exist.
"It's fine," Olivia rasps, again realizing just how close they are.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, not talking about the head butt. "I'm so sorry."
"It's—
"—No, Liv. I hurt you. And it was stupid of me to compare you leaving for a few months and knowing why, to being ghosted for a decade without explanation," he asserts, voice raspy and emotional. "I know I can't fix it just please…don't walk away."
Elliot drops his hands from her cheeks and pulls her into an embrace. She hesitates for a few moments before wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him back. At some point they begin to sway.
Then they're just slow dancing in the kitchen.
Olivia closes her eyes, inhales his clean, musky scent as he rubs a warm, soothing hand up and down her back. If the sun came up and she was still in his arms, it wouldn't be a disappointment. It's a moment she never saw coming and doesn't want to end.
When the song does come to its inevitable conclusion, all is quiet. She doesn't know the protocol for what to do after intimately slow dancing with someone you're trying to stay mad at but failing miserably, so she pulls away.
"I'm uh, gonna get back to my book," Olivia tells him.
Apparently, Elliot doesn't know the protocol either so he takes a step back.
"I can finish up here," he offers. "Not much left to do with the way tornadoes Reyes and Velasco sucked up all the food."
"True," she says, managing a small grin.
Elliot watches as she walks away but gets an idea.
"Liv?"
"Yeah?"
"I'll be watching Dateline on the sofa in a little bit," he tells her. "If you finish your book and want something to do," he offers, hopefully.
"I'll keep that in mind."
When Olivia gets back to her room, she takes a breath and admits to herself that she wanted that dance as much as he did. Despite all that's happened, everything she's learned, she always misses him, misses the "them" they used to be when he was her best friend. And now, for the first time, there's the possibility of more.
"Damn shrinks," she mumbles, sitting to unzip her boots.
Between Lindstrom and Maurice, she's leaning towards forgiveness where Elliot is concerned. She doesn't want to punish him for months let alone years. Olivia knows she can be petty but she's never been that damn cruel and heartless. That kind of alienation would hurt her as much as it would him. Not to mention, the man would likely get himself shot or worse while she's making him atone.
And the fact is, Olivia also loves and misses working with him and the innate closeness she's never shared with another person. It's a once in a lifetime type of thing that she doesn't want to lose. If an intimate relationship doesn't work, then she can at least say she wasn't too chickenshit to give it a try.
She has enough regrets.
An hour later, Elliot has the kitchen back in order, he's checked in with Bernie and the kids, grabs a beer and heads for the sofa. He's in a white tank and gray sleep pants, legs crossed, feet on the coffee table waiting for the second half of the Dateline episode to start when he hears the creak of her door to his left.
Olivia emerges, face clean of makeup, hair on her shoulders, donning the pajamas he admired earlier, a blanket draped around her body. Without a word she approaches and sits with a few inches of space between them, leaning her head against the back of the sofa where his outstretched arm rests.
"What did I miss?"
Elliot reaches for the remote and rewinds the episode back to the beginning.
"Not a thing, Liv. You're just in time."