"Dad! Dad!"

He hears Kathleen before he sees her, shouting over the bustling airport crowd. He's happy to see his daughter, though part of him wished Olivia had been able to pick him up. Of course he understood; Noah came first.

This is who they are now: a widowed father of 5, mainly adult children, with an ill mother under his care; and a single mom of a pre-teen and busy NPYD Captain. Those obligations come first and fill their time, even if he'd just rather hide them away from the world and spend the entire week only with her.

The entire flight back, Elliot brainstorms about how he will approach Olivia. He accepts that finding time to be alone on this visit is going to be difficult, if she even wants to be alone with him. He's certain he can take her out on a date at least once, so long as her work cooperates. But he wants to do more than eat dinner with her. Now that they've opened the door to more, he's ready to blast through it. He wants to date her, and he wants to kiss her, hold her, make love to her. He's not foolish enough to expect that last one on this short visit. Her readiness for more doesn't necessarily mean that she's ready for more physically. But a man can hope.

"Hey, Kathleen." Elliot greets his second oldest with a hug and a kiss on the crown of her head. He doesn't know what he'd do without her. Kathleen happily agreed weeks ago to spend the entire summer at his place, helping with her grandmother and younger brother. And she's doing so without a single complaint.

"Let's get your bags and go. Grandma is making lasagna."

Elliot lifts a brow, silently asking, You left your grandma home alone to cook?

Kathleen answers his look. "The aide is there. She comes twice a week, extra if we schedule it. I figured today was a good day for a little extra."

Elliot squeezes his daughter a little tighter before pulling back from their hug. "You're right. Let's grab my bags and get out of here."

He lets her drive as he pulls out his phone and texts Olivia.

Just landed

Katie's driving me home

Let me know if you can come over for dinner

Ma's making lasagna

Olivia's phone dings four times in rapid succession as she drives down the interstate. Noah hasn't stopped talking since she picked him up.

Noah stops mid-story about an impromptu dance-off to ask, "Are you going to get that?"

"No, baby. I'm driving."

"Doesn't the car read them?" He's right, but she has a feeling that it's Elliot who's messaging her because his plane was due to land about an hour ago, and she doesn't want to risk anything being overheard by Noah just yet.

"It can, but I want to hear more about your time at camp."

Smiling, Noah resumes his story, then moves on telling his mom about making s'mores by a campfire.

It's nearly two hours before Olivia responds to Elliot's messages.

Noah and I just got home.

We are doing a movie tonight.

Rain check?

Her heart clenches. Elliot's only back for a few days, a single week before he's jetting off to Colorado with Eli. She wants to spend time with him, though she's not exactly sure how they'll interact now after their letters. She knows fear, more than her desire to watch Footloose with Noah, is keeping her home tonight.

His response comes through before her phone screen goes dark.

Tomorrow?

I'll cook

Bring Noah

She has to face fear sooner rather than later, and she only has a few days to do so. Bracing herself, she replies:

We'll be there.

Olivia regrets her promise to join Elliot for dinner as she and Noah stand outside his apartment door. She doesn't know how to do this, eat dinner with her kid and his kids and his mother after what they've written.

They've made promises and commitments on paper. She doesn't want to take them back. She does want more. But she didn't know that more could potentially start so soon. She thought she had weeks, maybe months to really consider how to handle these changes in their dynamic.

She needs more time to mentally adjust to this change on her own before she faces him and their family. She's not ready to walk into his apartment and pretend that nothing has changed, that a cataclysmic shift hasn't occurred, as they share dinner with an observant audience. Nor does she know how to engage with Elliot as more than partners or friends.

"Are you gonna knock, Mom?" Noah's voice pulls her from her thoughts.

Olivia shakes her head. "Uh, yeah… yes," then she corrects when she sees the wine and brownies in her hands. "Actually, why don't you knock?"

Grinning, Noah knocks a silly pattern on the front door. It opens quickly, and Kathleen stands on the other side.

"Come in. Dad's stirring the sauce. It's very serious stuff," she adds with an ornery grin, hugging Olivia tightly and grabbing the brownies from her hands.

"I bet."

Her stomach drops when she sees him, and she thinks she might combust on the spot. Elliot's back is to her as he stands at the stove. He looks so strong, his muscles visible, rippling underneath the soft fabric of his shirt– a blue linen blend– as he stirs a wooden spoon. A white lined dish towel rests over his shoulder next to the light blue collar folded at the base of his neck. She's never observed him like this before. Domestic. And very attractive. Sexy, if she dares to think that way.

"Sit, sit." Elliot grins at her over his shoulder. "This is almost done."

Ignoring his command, Olivia instructs Noah to go sit on the couch with his phone until Eli joins them. She walks up to Elliot, resting her lower back against the counter next to the stove.

She considers reaching out, touching his shoulder or running her hand up his back, but she hesitates, uncertain whether the touch would be appropriate. She grips the edge of the counter behind her instead.

"Whatcha making?"

"Pasta all'Arrabbiata," he answers in a rough Italian accent; one that's only acceptable for an American.

Olivia cocks her head questioningly. "Feeling angry?"

"Oh no, definitely not angry." He chuckles, winking at her, returning his gaze to the meal he's cooking. He tosses his cooked penne in the sauce. His back and arms flex again under his tight shirt.

Elliot steps around her, pouring the pasta and sauce into a large serving bowl on the counter beside her. Olivia can see that he has several buttons undone at the top of his shirt, the low collar of a white tank and his silver crucifix visible against his skin.

"That so?" she asks, biting her bottom lip and watching as he tops the dish with basil and grated cheese from smaller bowls on the counter. Olivia inhales sharply when she sees the empty ring finger on his left hand. She wants to ask him about it, but thinks better of it, not wanting to repeat that night at OCCB. She tells herself that if he wants to talk about this decision to forego his ring, he'll bring it up.

He closes in on her, taking a sidestep into her space, standing right next to her with the bowl still in his hands, his elbow touching hers. She can feel his warmth radiate off of him. Her eyes find his and she swears he twinkles at her, if it's even possible to control one's eye twinkles. "Liv, I'm feeling so many things right now, but anger is not among them."

She smiles at him, one that he immediately recognizes. It's the same smile she gave him in her office when they were eating Wo Hop and again when she opened his gift. It's soft, sweet, and a little shy. He wants to make her smile like that again.

He continues softly, with a nod back towards the table. "Dinner's ready. Let's eat."

Much to her surprise and delight, dinner goes well. Smooth, in fact. If anyone suspects anything new happening between her and Elliot, they don't mention it. Elliot spends half the meal asking Noah about his camp, and the boy blooms under the attention. Olivia wonders if this is how Elliot and Noah interacted on the trip back from the McCann's all those months ago. If so, she completely understands why Noah has been so hung up on seeing Elliot again. She appreciates it deeply, having been the subject of his fierce focus before.

Elliot does his best focusing on the boy as he talks, but his eyes flit to Olivia, intent on seeing everything about her, absorbing all he can before he has to leave again. He's never been immune to her beauty before, but he has been able to look away before. Not focus on how beautiful she looks when she laughs, how bright her eyes get and the small lines that show she's had a life full of laughter, and how her soft lips turn up and spread widely in a grin. This is what he'd bottle, her joy and laughter. Bottle it up and take it with him back to Rome to light up his lonely nights.

For her part, Olivia talks to Kathleen and Bernie, who shares happily about her garden interspersed with a few jabs about being babysat. Olivia even gets Eli to tell her about his upcoming semester. He's excited to have his own place with his friend. Elliot, on the other hand, tenses his jaw when Eli talks about living on his own.

After dinner, she sits outside with Elliot, a bottle of wine on the table between their chairs. Eli's back in his room doing who knows what, and Kathleen and Bernie are doting on Noah, watching a movie in the living room and sharing the pan of brownies.

"These flowers are beautiful," Olivia says after taking a sip, looking around at the greenery surrounding them, doing her best to avoid his eyes. His gaze has been too intense for her all night. She hates how she feels butterflies in her stomach each time she meets his eyes. She is too old for butterflies, especially flutters caused by Elliot, of all people.

His eyes stay on hers as she skims his transformed patio. She's in a soft, pink shirt, similar to one she might wear to work, with tight black pants and boots. She's missing her Captain's blazer. And when she turns, she sees his eyes flit to her neckline where the familiar thin gold chain might be visible around her neck. "Yeah, Mama has a green thumb."

"So, when did you learn to cook Pasta all'Arrabbiata?" Her Italian is better than his, and she falls back into their old pattern of teasing, not sure how to do anything else.

"I can cook," he answers with a small scoff of mock indignation.

She tips her eyebrow. "You never cooked before."

He cocks his head. "As you said, a lot has changed."

"It was delicious."

"Thank you."

He sips his glass, grinning, watching her.

Olivia blushes under his gaze and deflects as her stomach flip-flops. "Tell me about your work."

"Eh." He waves it off. "It's work. The case is about eight years old, but the end is so close that we can taste it."

"What is your part in all of it?" She's more comfortable with this topic. Work is safe; it's what they have always shared between them.

He acquiesces. "A few years before we came back, I wanted to work with the NYPD again. To do that in Italy involved investigating terrorism and related crime that had a base, or an arm, in New York and in Rome. This organization was trafficking guns and humans, young girls, through the Mediterranean, and has been able to avoid prosecution. Like Teflon, everything has bounced off of them. Usually because witnesses and victims are killed before they can testify."

"Rough. You are close now, though?"

"We are getting here, but I was hoping to have made arrests by now. You, uh, remember Tia Leonetti, right?"

A grimace flashes across Olivia's face as an unfamiliar wave of jealousy rushes through her. It recedes as quickly as it comes in. It surprises her, but she takes a drink to cover and nods, hoping that Elliot will continue without comment.

"We worked on this case before we left. We hit a few dead ends then, but they opened up a few months ago. That's why they asked me to come back. I have history with this arm of the organization."

She can't help herself. Her curiosity and mild rivalry force her to ask, "How do you like working with her again?"

Olivia watches as Elliot's eyes narrow, as if he is inspecting her. As if he can see the skepticism and maybe, just maybe, a hint of envy in her eyes despite the nonchalant tone of her questions.

"Don't do that. Don't—"

"Oh, don't start with me again, Dr. Stabler. I don't need your armchair psychology or commentary on my pupils," Olivia interrupts him sarcastically, frustrated that he read her so quickly. She knows that she's overreacting, at least a little. She knows that there is no reason to be concerned, not after everything he's shared. Though, it's hard not to feel insecure when your…your, whatever he is, is on another continent and working closely with another woman, another very attractive woman with whom he has some sort of history.

Exhaling, Elliot lifts his hands in surrender. "Sorry. It's nice to work with someone familiar," he answers genuinely.

Just how familiar is what Olivia wants to ask, but she bites her tongue, letting him explain further.

He's still watching her expressions closely as he continues. "Tia was a friend when I lived there before. She and Kathy got along really well. And we worked together nicely last year when she was in the city."

Olivia nods again and looks to the side, locking her gaze on a beautiful pink flower. She'd heard about Tia through the NYPD gossip line (which is hotter than behind the bleachers in middle school). Very few things are missed, and the double-crossing, newly returned prince of Organized Crime, has often been the subject of the hotline. Olivia had heard all about how Detective Stabler was working with a gorgeous Italian cop for a couple of weeks, including that they had history and they looked flirty. She had wondered then if they were hooking up, but she doesn't want to think of that now.

Tia and Kathy got along. Because of course they would. Olivia and Kathy could never quite see eye-to-eye or exist in the same space for more than a few minutes, the tension always palpable between them. Olivia assumes now it's because each woman was jealous of the other. It's only a slight consolation that maybe Kathy was never jealous of Tia. That maybe Tia wasn't as big of a threat to their marriage as Olivia had seemed to be. The small victory over Tia feels shallow.

"She showed up in my first week to debrief the case. And, well, it was nice to have someone treat me like a regular person. Not like the angry and pathetic American widower, like everyone else."

She softens at the way he exhales in defeat when he says widower. Olivia has never really considered how Elliot is viewed by others on the force, at least not how it might have changed since he's returned and how he might internalize those looks.

She knows that most of the NYPD considers her old partner a hot-head, a good-old-boy that liked to use his fists on suspects. And thinking now, she knows that after his time with the Brotherhood, many on the force still think he's dirty or a backstabber. She's also heard whispers that some think he's pathetic for never moving farther up the ranks, holding the same position he did nearly fifteen years ago. And she knows that the entire city knows that Richard Wheatly had his wife murdered and got off due to a mistrial.

But it's not until now, in this moment, she realizes that he's probably seen his fair share of pitying looks. And she knows firsthand just how awful those looks are.

It is probably nice to be seen as just a detective, as a friend, and as a man.

That's how she sees him right now—a man. She looks at him, really taking him in. She sees him. A man who has remained fit and attractive despite his age. She's heard other women gossip about his looks, back then and lately. Olivia has never been blind; she's just had to remain neutral as to his good looks. But Elliot's more than an alluring and charming man. He's a man who just cooked dinner for her and her son: one she works so well with, who she trusts with her life, who has confessed his love for her, and who is asking to be a part of her life. He's the man she wants.

And she is going to make it absolutely clear.

Standing up, Olivia places her glass on the table between them before stepping in front of him and bending her head.

He looks up. "Liv, wha–"

She cuts him off with her lips, soft and easy against his, still half open with his question. His bottom lip, soft and wet with wine, fits between hers.

She pulls back after only a couple of seconds, a soft grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I see you, El."

Before she can step back, Elliot reaches up, cupping his hand at the base of her head, and gently pulls her face back to his, kissing her again. He keeps it sweet and quick, just two, then three presses of his lips to hers.

A soft flush covers her cheeks as she takes her seat again, her glass back in hand.

"Still think we need a map, huh?" he asks, still grinning foolishly.

"Maybe not."

"I saw you kiss Elliot," Noah announces as they pull off the side road, leaving Elliot's apartment.

Olivia groans. She's not ready to have this conversation with her son. She knows Noah is twelve and likely not going to be too upset if she's dating, plus she's certain he likes Elliot. But she doesn't want to scare or confuse him while she and Elliot are still sorting themselves out.

"It was gross."

She sees his nose scrunch in the mirror as he gives a fake gagging noise.

"Thanks for that," Olivia deadpans.

The disgust is not completely gone from his voice, though curiosity is stronger, when he asks her, "Are you and Elliot dating?"

There is no point in lying to Noah. Not now. "I think so."

Noah's eyes narrow at his mother. "You think so?"

Olivia inhales and exhales resignedly, trying to figure out the best way to explain the truth to him. "He's going back to Italy soon, and it's going to be a while before he comes back."

"Will you miss him?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

She flips her eyes to him through the rearview mirror, surprised at his declaration. "You will?"

Noah shrugs and looks out the window. "Yeah. He's fun."

"He is fun," she agrees.

"How long will he be gone?"

"I'm not sure. Probably a few more months."

"Oh."

Olivia picks up on his sad tone and worry floods her. She's concerned Noah might already be attached and get hurt by Elliot's distance. "Why do you ask?"

"I was going to invite him to my fall recital."

"You can ask. But he might not be back by then."

"But maybe he will," Noah counters with youthful optimism.

"Maybe. But just know that if he can't make it, it's because of the job, not because he doesn't want to come."

"Yeah, okay."

Later that night, Olivia relaxes in bed propped up against her pillows. She touches her fingers to her lips recalling their kiss.

Their first kiss. She can't believe she was the one to make the first move. It was fair, she guesses, all things considered. He had gone first with their letters, and he's already said I love you. More than once.

He didn't let her hold all the limelight though. Right as she was leaving, Elliot snagged her around the waist, pulling her back around the corner as Noah continued to the front door. Elliot pushed her back into the wall and kissed her, hard. It was still quick, much quicker than she wanted, but his mouth was on hers and open before she drew breath.

He caught her gasp of surprise, stifling it with a swipe of his tongue. Then he pulled back, whispering, "Thank you for coming." He placed another kiss on her lips before she could answer, just a quick peck, followed by one on the corner of her mouth. "Can I call you tonight?"

She'd told him she'd call him.

Pulling up his name in her phone, she tries to calm the fluttering in her stomach for the second time tonight. She's never been nervous calling Elliot, not like this. She's never kissed him before, though, so it's a night for firsts.

"Hey, Liv," he answers on the first ring.

"Hey." Her mouth goes dry, and she can't think of anything to say. But what is she supposed to say? She just saw him a couple hours ago.

"Some night."

"Yeah, dinner was great."

"You know I'm not talking about dinner right now."

His voice is different, deeper and a little rough.

Oh, she thinks. He's flirting. Her cheeks flush, and before she can even try being coy in return, he's talking again, jumping right in.

"I'm talking about you kissing me. That's never happened before."

Smiling, she touches her lips again, feeling the ghost of his lips on hers. "No. No, it hasn't."

"And, uh, how are you feeling about it?"

"Good," she answers easily.

He laughs softly, feeling far beyond good. "Just good? I've got to up my game then."

"You don't need game, Elliot." She laughs.

"No?"

"No."

"What do I need, then?"

"I don't know," she huffs exasperatedly, bashfulness creeping in without her permission.

"Is this weird?"

"Is what weird?" she counters.

"All of this—you, me, the letters, kissing?" She can hear his teasing grin.

"A little," she admits, apologetically.

"Maybe if we kiss more, it will get less weird."

"God, El—"

He chuckles at her discomfort. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just—"

"Weird," he offers.

"Yeah."

"Well, I've given my suggestion. What's yours?"

"I don't have one."

"Then I guess we better use mine."

"Maybe so," she agrees softly, still not sure how she's ever going to adapt to this turn in their relationship.

"Tomorrow?" he pushes.

"Tomorrow, what?"

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

"It's Tuesday. I work." She looks at the clock. It's late. She should already be asleep.

"After work then?"

"I promised Noah a visit to a park around the corner. He's gotten really into rollerblading. You can join us there."

"Do you rollerblade?"

She laughs at the question, as if there was a chance in hell that she would strap herself into inline skates and skate around a park at her age. Maybe 25 years ago.

"Good. I was worried about your ankle."

"You remembered that?"

"I remember everything, Liv," he says sweetly. "I better let you go so you can get some sleep. Text me the name of the park when you're headed that way."

"I will. Good night."

"Night."