Prompt #55: "It was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together, and I knew it. I knew it the first time I touched her. It was like coming home… only to no home I'd ever known. I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew it. It was like…magic." — Sleepless in Seattle
Tiny Little Things
~oOo~
Elliot cut the engine and opened the door. A cool wind blew over his cheek as he stepped out of the car and he was glad for the skull cap keeping the top of his head warm. And dry, he thought as he glanced up. It was raining. Not hard, just enough for the air and the ground to be wet. He walked swiftly around the car, opened the door, and offered a hand to help her out. He'd done it a hundred times before, maybe a thousand times over the last twenty-five years. Even subtracting their ten years apart it was probably easily a thousand.
She took his hand and he stepped back to make space. Olivia leaned toward him as she exited the car. Her feet were solid on the pavement, her head pitched down to avoid the rain. Her hair stood on end in the damp air and her fingers were cold and stiff in his hand. His grip tightened reflexively to warm her up. She pushed the door closed and tipped forward onto the crowded sidewalk. He felt her weight, knew he should move again but he missed this. The two of them standing too close together in the afternoon rain.
…It was early in their partnership. Just weeks in, maybe their fourth real case. They were still working out a rhythm, hadn't figured out how to stand together. He didn't put too much effort into it because he didn't think they'd last, didn't think she'd last. She was smart and tough and kept pace with him better than anyone else he'd worked with. But she was posh, white collar in a sea of blue. And she was overemotional about the job. He thought she'd burn out within the year. All the empathetic ones did. He knew he wasn't easy to get on with either, having been told so plenty by his peers, his family, his wife. It was hard to imagine she'd be the one to break through.
They arrived at the scene and he walked over to open her door. She jumped up just as he reached out to help. It wasn't the first time they touched—they shook hands when they were introduced. But it was the first time he noticed what it felt like to touch her. They bumped into each other and he grabbed her arms as she fell toward him. For a fraction of a second, he held her whole weight. He smelled her hair, her skin, heard her suck in a breath. Something flipped inside of him. He didn't notice right away and didn't admit it for much longer. But that was the moment.
Olivia adjusted herself in his arms, set back on the sidewalk before he could move, tapped his forearm in thanks, and turned away. She was nonplussed by the whole thing, focused on the work. Her eyes flickered to the waiting victim, shivering under a blanket beside the ambulance. He knew Olivia would ride with the girl and take her statement while he debriefed the officers first on the scene and the others canvassed for witnesses. He'd meet her at the hospital—he made a mental note to bring coffee for the drive back to the precinct—and they'd work the case. They'd get the bad guy. She wasn't going anywhere, she was as committed as he was. As passionate in her way as he was in his. She was his equal, the partner he'd been waiting for. They were both too much, but not together. Together they were just right.
Their partnership grew from that moment with tiny tendrils of connection flowing out in every direction. The threads of a relationship that tied them together and tied them in knots. Threads that frayed, that slipped, that were hacked with knives of time and pain and shame and loss and fear, but were never cut all the way through. Their relationship was not a tapestry, not a quilt, not anything pretty or simple or kind or complete. No, they were a tangle of half-finished projects, a security blanket dragged from home to home, worn and thin and patched and retrieved from the trash more than once.
When Elliot was a boy, maybe five, six at most, he had a stuffed rabbit he loved. He carried it everywhere. After his brother poked fun he started hiding it under his sweater, but he still brought it wherever he went. One night his parents were having a blowout. It was loud and he hid in his room, curled into a ball on his bed. His rabbit inadvertently pushed up against the light attached to the wall next to his bedframe. The lightbulb made the fabric warm and it soothed him. When the warmth faded, he put the toy against the bulb on purpose to warm it back up. But this time he left it too long and the bulb burned the rabbit's face off. Elliot was inconsolable. He'd destroyed the only thing that made him feel safe. His mother patched the rabbit, sewed a cloth over the burned hollow, and helped Elliot draw a face, but it was never the same.
Elliot and Olivia touched too often to remember, too often to matter. Every day, for years, for as long as he could remember, in a hundred different ways he silently said I love you and hoped she didn't hear.
Their fingers brushed together—when they shared a meal and she stole his fries, when he handed her a coffee, when they both reached for a file at the same time. Their fingers brushed together and it was like electricity every time.
They existed side by side in a parade of hallways, cars, sidewalks, roofs, hospitals, parks, courthouses, back alleys, interrogation rooms, morgues. They favored the center of the elevator, elbows or shoulders touching. They didn't always need to be so close, often enough they were alone in the small space. But they stood together the same.
He looked up from his work to see her pinch the top of her nose, between her eyes, and he made an excuse to stay late. They shared takeout and he only agreed to head home when she looked less peaked. He brushed his thumb across her forehead to check for fever the same way he did with one of his kids. He pressed a hand over her wound, her blood stuck to his skin. His fears and his feelings swirled so fast, so strong, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. All he could do was hold on.
They fought, too. Over nothing, over everything. She turned her back and he grabbed her arm to stop her from storming away, stop her from getting too far while still pissed with him. She shook with anger and he let go but she stayed.
The first time they were half naked and they embraced skin to skin and it was his fantasy in reality except it was still a fantasy. A game for the job. He went home and fucked his wife and pretended he was someone else. Someone who wanted to be there. Someone Kathy loved.
They kept each other in line—he was more of a burden to her, he knew, remembered the feeling of her hands on his shoulder, his elbow, his chest. Her breath was hot on his skin as she implored him to stop. To hold it together, to let it go. But there were also times he pulled her back to keep her from going too hard or too fast. His grip was tight but not rough, just trying to slow her down, keep her calm. Sometimes she listened and other times she got mad. He stayed at her side either way.
They arrived separately to some boring event for the brass neither of them wanted to attend but she was gorgeous and he cleaned up okay and she took his arm to avoid falling down in her heels but he never saw her wobble. Not that night, not ever.
He pulled off his shirt, wet with blood and sweat and tears, and threw it to the ground. His bare chest heaved with the grief of the day, the week, the month. She peeked around the locker, eyes bright with concern, and his body reacted without him, simultaneously aroused and alarmed. He choked on a sob and she closed the space between them, pulled him into her arms with no judgment and more care than he ever deserved.
Her hair fell in her face and without even thinking he reached out to tuck it back over her ear. He bumped her fingers, raised to do the same. He opened an umbrella, nodded for her to join him under it and she took his arm, tucked herself close. He smiled when her son said he knew who he was. His heart swelled as he shook the kid's hand.
The memories kept coming. The front stoop, the back porch, the dinner table, the kitchen counter. His hand on her back, a steady presence. Her hands flat on his chest making his heart beat faster. Their knees drifted together as they sat on the steps in the dark. Their shoulders touched when they sat half back to back, half side by side, and shared looks no one else understood. A language all their own.
All those years as partners they didn't need words. But then he left her without any. He used to see her every day and then only in his mind's eye. He avoided learning where she was or what she was doing or anything real, anything true. He wished the best for her and he consigned her to memories and daydreams and wistfulness from the other side of an ocean.
"El?"
He blinked. Based on her tone he suspected she'd said his name more than once while he was lost in memories. They were still standing too close and the rain was picking up. He stepped swiftly away from the curb and pulled her with him to shelter under an awning.
Olivia looked up. "Are you okay?"
"Are we okay?" he said in a low shaky voice.
She peered at him with confusion and concern. He closed his hand tighter around hers.
"Did you ever have a favorite toy growing up? A doll or a stuffed animal…Blanket, pillow." He shrugged.
Olivia's confusion grew. "No. I didn't really have toys. Just books."
Elliot nodded. "I had this bunny rabbit," he said. "I burned its face off." Olivia raised her eyebrows. "Accidentally. Mostly." She laughed, smiled at the picture of a very young Elliot in her mind. "Mama helped me give it a new one."
"You can always fix things."
Her eyes sparkled with affection. He felt the prick of tears.
He nodded. "Yeah."
"We're okay," she assured him.
"Okay."
She frowned. "Elliot. What's wrong?"
"This job, it takes a lot. You know that." She nodded. "But OCCB is different, too, it's…meaner. It takes a toll. Being under…"
Undercover he was immersed in the scene of whatever depravity he was working to end. He was surrounded by the worst parts of humanity, knowing that one slip could destroy everything. Not just the operation or the case. If they found out he was a cop they'd kill him. But if they found out who he was, they'd kill everyone he loved.
They'd go after Bernie, who he used to say didn't know him at all but now he feared knew him better than anyone, even when she didn't remember. They'd go for his kids. For Maureen and her two boys. Kathleen, who always told him the truth even, or especially, when it hurt. Lizzie, his sensitive artist, and Rich, who finally grew out of his anger, the anger Elliot knew he got from him. Eli, his baby, just starting to figure out who he was, who he wanted to be. Elliot knew all too well that seventeen, eighteen, nineteen was too young to make decisions for the rest of his life. Eli still needed him, especially after losing his mom, losing the life he understood. Eli still needed him and he wasn't there.
And Noah, the kid he slotted next to the rest automatically. Elliot considered Noah one of his brood because he was Olivia's and whatever else Olivia was or was not, she was family. And whatever did or did not happen between them, Noah was family, too.
There were other families. His team. His sergeant, Ayanna, was the partner he needed. She called him on his bullshit, reined him in when she had to, and gave him a place to land, a task to do, a problem to focus his restless energy. Reyes had his own young family, just like Elliot back in the day. And Jet, younger than most of his children but the kid sister he wished he had. Though he wouldn't wish his family on her or anyone. She reminded him of when he was starting out, of Olivia when he met her. He worried about her heart in the same way. Plus Fin, who he worked with all those years, who stayed with Liv when he disappeared. Fin took care of her, was and is her rock.
He even worried about Amanda, whom he barely worked with, but he was the one who brought her back in. And she had a husband and two—no, three kids, young kids. And maybe they were only tangentially related to him, but they were definitely important to Liv.
And Liv, well, Liv was at the top of the list of people he loved and everyone knew it.
"—is hard on you," Olivia said, filling in the blank.
Her voice dragged him out of the spiral. He blinked and shook his head to remember what he'd said, the sentence she was completing. Being undercover is hard on you.
"Yeah. But I'm good at it. I'm good at pretending. And compartmentalizing. And—I'm good at convincing myself everything is okay, that I'm where I'm supposed to be. If it's hard it's—necessary."
Liv didn't move but her whole manner shifted. She was always so good at reading people.
"And it's worth it because we get the bad guys. The worst guys. You and me both, we…"
She nodded understanding.
"That should be enough."
"No," Olivia said with fierce conviction.
He frowned. She grabbed his cheeks between her hands and forced him to meet her eyes.
"No," she said again. "For years, for so many years I believed that. I based my whole identity on this job. It's not healthy and it's not fair."
It was his fault. Not all of it but he contributed. He held her back from finding someone to love because what she thought she wanted wasn't available. And he let it happen because he didn't want things to change, either. He wanted to have her even if he couldn't. It wasn't healthy and it wasn't fair. And then he abandoned her.
He swallowed, choking on shame. "I'm sorry, Liv."
She shook her head. "It wasn't just you, just us. I took this job to make up for a crime that had nothing to do with me. I think you did, too." She chewed her lip. "I think that's why we worked so well together. And we did, El, we worked well together."
He nodded, validated her truth.
"And for a while that was enough. But I got older and I got therapy—" She laughed at the admission that no longer scared her, or him, for that matter. "And I realized allowing myself to want, to have more wasn't turning my back on the victims. And it wasn't turning my back on you, on the years that we had or the good that we did."
Elliot felt tears behind his eyes, but he forced himself to stay focused on her words, to stay focused on her.
"It was just letting myself have more."
"You deserve whatever you want."
"It's not about what I deserve," she said. "There's no metric of good I can accomplish to get what I want. There's just a million tiny little things that happen."
Elliot's lips curled up, her words mirrored his spiral of memories.
"And some of them were awful."
His smile immediately fell away.
"Some of them were so bad I thought I might never get over them."
Elliot felt sick. He tried to pull away but Olivia grabbed his arm.
"But I did. The bad things don't define me. Not the ones that happen to me and not the ones that I help people through." She took a breath. "And more of them were good."
She turned him back toward her and pressed him to look her in the eyes again.
"And those million tiny little things that happen, those are the things that make life real."
~oOo~
Valentine's Day was in the middle of the week this year. But Elliot probably would have sent the flowers to the precinct whatever day it was because she was at work more than she was at home and he wanted them to brighten her days. He picked out a dozen white roses. Red would scare her, and pink, too. Yellow made him think of hospitals and all the other colors seemed fake. Kathleen tried to tell him about flower symbolism or whatever once, but he didn't want to overthink it and he hoped no one else would either. White was pretty and felt right.
He sent flowers to Bernie, too, and all three of his daughters. And Noah because the kid liked flowers, and then Eli, too, because why should gender matter. But he sent one to Rich's girlfriend because he knew his older son would prefer that.
He sent a bouquet to Ayanna, to Jet, to Amanda and her family, and to Phoebe by way of Fin because, like Rich, Fin would rather the flowers be for her. And he could tease him about it. And they'd make Liv smile. He didn't send any to Velasco or Bruno because he didn't know them, but he considered it. He wanted Liv to know he cared about the people in her life, because they were a part of her, too. The way his team was a part of him. Reyes got flowers with a note to keep them or give them to his wife, whatever he needed. A silent nudge. He didn't send flowers to Vargas, though. Eff that guy.
He started the day at Kathy's grave with a bouquet for her, too. Pink because it meant something to her and took nothing away from the living. He didn't visit the cemetery very often but the guilt didn't consume him this time and he felt lighter when he left.
The flowers for his coworkers already arrived by the time he got in midmorning with bagels and a heart-shaped box of expensive chocolates he picked up on a whim. Bell and Reyes were appreciative, Jet sarcastic to cover her embarrassment over the depth of her feelings for them all. Ayanna got two other bouquets delivered and Bobby passed out cheap Valentine cards left over from the batch his kids brought to school. Elliot smiled. He did the same when his kids were young.
A courier arrived in the early afternoon. They were working through mountains of paperwork left from the last case while Bell fielded calls and emails about next steps and assignments. Elliot assumed the delivery was for Jet, or maybe Ayanna. Even Bobby. It wouldn't be for him. The flowers weren't something he normally did. Valentine's Day mattered to Kathy, mostly because of her insecurity about Olivia. Everyone else he knew, including Liv, acted like it was a made-up and generally fucked-up consumer holiday that made their jobs harder because emotions were high, expectations were higher, and 8 out of 10 rapes were committed by someone the victim knew. He sent all those flowers because he wanted to do something nice; he didn't expect anything himself.
But Ayanna dropped the soft sack tied with a long ribbon on his desk. And then sat on the edge of it with a raised eyebrow that said she expected him to open it in front of her. Jet walked over to join them with open curiosity and Bobby pushed his chair back to get a better look. Elliot pursed his lips and looked for a card or any indication of who it was from but there wasn't anything. That briefly set alarm bells off in his head but they were in between cases. No one should be after him.
Bell noticed the look behind his eyes and nodded toward the corridor where the courier vanished. "Kid said Manhattan. 16th precinct." Her eyes twinkled. His stomach felt tight.
Elliot glanced at his team. All three brazenly watched him, clearly planning to stay until he revealed the gift. He sighed and untied the ribbon. The sack dropped down to reveal a plush rabbit. It was a soft pale brown with floppy ears and long limbs, embroidered eyes and nose, and an index card with printed instructions to heat it up in the microwave.
"You gonna explain that?" Ayanna asked, eyes still twinkling. There was nothing about the rabbit, or the bright bag the color of Pepto Bismol it came in, that said 'Stabler' to her in any language. But he had a big goofy smile on his face and it was maybe the first time ever she'd seen his shoulders so relaxed.
"Nope."
Bell shook her head, chuckling, and made a mental note to ask Olivia the next time she saw her. She squeezed his shoulder and made her way back to her office. Reyes followed her lead and turned back to his computer, but Jet picked up the rabbit to sniff it.
"Lavender," she said. "Good choice." She replaced the toy on the desk.
Elliot was curious despite himself. "How so?"
"Helps with stress relief."
He nodded understanding and Jet returned to her desk with a soft smile on her lips.
Elliot picked up the phone then changed his mind and headed to the hall with his cell. He pressed her name in his contacts and waited, hoping she wasn't in the middle of something. She answered on the third ring.
"Thanks for the flowers."
He smiled, pleased she understood it wasn't a business call. "Thanks for the uh—" He stumbled over the words 'toy' or 'rabbit' or even 'gift' and settled for repeating "—Thanks."
"You're welcome."
A quiet moment passed. He imagined her in the office, his flowers on her desk, his compass around her neck. "You busy tonight? Can I take you out?"
"I'm working," she said. He heard regret. She probably took the shift on purpose to let the others be with their loved ones. She probably worked every Valentine's, every holiday. She always had for him. And if he expected that to change he'd have to ask her earlier than the day of.
He considered offering to come to the one-six, bring her takeout, and keep her company. But he wanted to do this right. He wanted to show her they existed outside of work, that they didn't need it to bring them together, not anymore. "How about Friday?"
She fell quiet.
"Noah can come, too," he said. "He's always welcome."
"He's going to the McCanns for break."
Elliot nodded. Maureen mentioned schools were closed first part of next week. "You driving him up?"
"Yeah, after school Friday."
"Come over after you drop him off," he said. "I'll make you dinner."
"It could be close to nine by the time I get there."
"That's normal dinner time in Europe." He could hear her breathing, thought he could hear her thinking. "And you don't have to rush home. Noah's away. No work on Saturday right?"
"Not unless there's an emergency."
"If there's an emergency I'll drive you in myself." He waited a moment, took a breath. "You can stay over. I have plenty of space." Though he not so secretly hoped she'd end up in his bed. "You can languish." He heard a small laugh and smiled. "Let me take care of you," he said in a soft voice. "Please."
A full minute went by in silence, a full minute at least. Elliot's knuckles were white around the phone. Finally, he heard her breathe out.
"Okay."
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay," he said and he hoped she heard the smile in his voice. He silently said I love you and hoped she heard that, too.
The author of this SVU - Love Lead You Home story will be revealed in March
