Prompt #15: Elliot finally explains the story behind the compass. It's a love story of course.

Why engrave such things on a compass?

~oOo~

"A compass. Elliot… this, this is beautiful. Thank you. Is this…supposed, uh, to lead me somewhere or…to something?

"Lead you to happiness, Liv."

"Well, I, um, I sure as hell am gonna try."

"Me too…partner."

And, with that, he's gone. I realized a second too late that maybe he wanted to clasp the necklace around my neck or that I should be doing the stairs four by four to prevent him from leaving the building. Or me, again. More importantly, I should be down the stairs when the elevator stops, to tell him, finally, that I'm ready, that life is indeed short, and that I was worried sick of losing him back in the diner and, then, in the woods. I can't deny any of this but, for some reason, I stay put and clasp the compass on by myself. His lingering touch just a centimeter away. His voice just perceptible. His lopsided smile just fire branded in my head as during all those past years. Sometimes, I really hate myself.

It takes Fin just a day and a half to start nagging me about the pendant. "New piece of jewelry?" We are at a crime scene because Velasco is still wandering his sentiments for Muncy while Bruno is still assessing our unit (I doubt it will ever end). Anyway, we are at a crime scene and it isn't unusual that Fin and I discuss our world while checking out CSU's work or some peculiarities of the scene; our conversation is often about the daily plan, the hideous CompStat or something related to the DD5 piling up. Sometimes, something more personal comes up. So it doesn't bother me talking about the compass…maybe only accepting the consequences that go with it.

"Yeah." And I try to remain vague but Fin can't and won't be stopped.

"Did you buy it on your own? On a whim?"

"Captain, I may have found something," says an officer. Saved by the bell, thank God. I leave Fin to his doubts and his speculations, trying to brace myself for the future third degree. And while I juggle between McGrath's boring call and talking with the witnesses, some remote part of my brain is allowed to go there, to accept the consequences—the compass means something more important than just happiness. It means that my happiness is strongly connected to Elliot, it means that last night I slept with it and it didn't bother me, instead, it gave me a sense of peace, of security that I only had one time in my life, with another one of Elliot's gift. Another necklace. A part of me that I thought I lost, therefore, I gave the pendant away. Now, that sensation, that lingering touch is with me and it seems it can remodel me without changing me. Clearly, telling all of this to Fin could be problematic on so many levels—he could die of a heart attack knowing that his bet will be finally collected; he could go around and open that big mouth of his; he could make fun of us for a very long time and I would be forced to leave him run the unit all the weekends for eternity. Finally, when the loud voices around me descend to a background sound and I look at him through the blinds, I have to add something to my previous list—telling Fin will be cathartic, just as a sister who confides in a brother. So, balancing precariously on my not-so-good hip, I open the door and call, "Sergeant." It takes just a few seconds for him to be in my office.

"Liv, do you need something? Update on the vic? Some ice for that hip of yours?"

"Check. And future check. In the meantime, the compass was a gift."

With his head tilt and a sly smile, he asks, "From whom?"

"Do I really need to say it?"

"Only for me, please."

"Elliot's."

"Now, I think I'm speechless." He puts his hands in his pockets, another smile. "I think I need to lie down. My head is spinning."

"Don't be so full of yourself. We are trying to rebuild our partnership."

"Uh-uh. Liv…do you want me to be honest?

"Please."

"I don't think El is aiming for a partnership."

The moment is broken with the entrance of a possible new vic, escorted by Velasco. Fin and I both shake the importance of what has just transpired off and he tells the young Hispanic girl to sit down.

"So, why are you here?" Life goes on as always.

It was indeed another victim, Eileen—abused from 15 to 19, when she faked her own death to escape her tormentor. Even if I trusted her word, we needed to vet her and what she said. It took only six hours but it bore some gifts—tomorrow we will roll to the last known location of the brothel and, maybe, with an inch of fortune, we will be able to make some arrests, connect the dots, and catch the head of the organization.

I'm about to shut off the computer when the well-known ping of another email kills all my joy. With a sigh, I shift the weight from the bad leg to the other and I wait for the email to open. The sender is unknown and, for a brief second, I panic. What if is a threat? What if is something bigger? In these days, one is never quite sure. But then, I read the first word and I know.

Partner,

Writing letters is not my pièce de résistance, as you know, but I think I owe you an explanation. I first thought of this particular gift in Italy in 2016. I was in Sardinia, as a part of an op, and one night, wandering, I came upon this beautiful handmade jewelry shop. Even in the dim light of a September evening, with an annoying breeze blowing, I was hooked. Mind you, not by the twinkle or the grandeur of the place, but by a tiny object, a real compass with a quote engraved—Trieste è la città, Lina è la donna. Probably you and your damn academic knowledge will point out that the author is Umberto Saba and that it was written for his wife. Whatever. I only remember thinking that if I had to link a person to a city it would always be you and New York. But then I asked myself, why engrave such a quote on a compass? I think that by now I have the answer. Maybe, you have it too.

"Do I have it?" I mumble in the semi-deserted office. Closing my eyes and trying to do the same little game, New York is definitely Elliot. Maybe, I have the answer, too.

~oOo~

-Two and a half weeks later-

I'm currently cuddling the newest Carisi, this time a boy, while Amanda is venting about the lack of education of some nurse who, in her opinion, works in this specialty without having any comprehension of babies. But, deep down, she's complaining about Carisi and the fact that he slept seven hours straight while she had to feed Nicky three times. Deep down, she isn't complaining at all, and why would she? Nicky is really perfect. I'm caressing his very pink and very soft skin, inhaling the unique smell of a newborn when his hand gets stuck on the necklace. A wave of terror passes through me. I hope to God he isn't strong enough to pull and send it in a million pieces. At that exact moment, Amanda emerges from the bathroom and comes to my rescue. "Nicky, are you being good to your godmother?"

I smile. "He's the best. For now. I got a feeling that he will be spoilt rotten."

"No doubt. Jesse is planning to give him all her trinkets and all my mum's attention, claiming she is now a big girl."

"I miss it, Noah being a baby."

"You say so only because you hadn't had the pleasure to actually deliver him." I know she isn't trying to cause me pain but I really can't hide a note of disappointment. I tried everything to have that specific type of joy but it wasn't in the cards for me. Not that I'm complaining…I have Noah, and Jesse, Billie, now Nicky… I only guess it's strange. She doesn't let me dwell in my sorrow because, ever the detective, she asks me, "Is it leading you to joy?" It being the compass.

"Well, I like to think it is."

"Is it a big home with that bald man of yours, built by his own very large hands?"

"Amanda!" I fake embarrassment.

"Do not change the topic! Yes, I'm currently a very hormonal lady but a girl can watch… and, Jesus, Liv… in all honesty, why wait? Didn't you two wait long enough?"

"As I told you, I envisioned more than one time, even in the last months, a life with him. A life in which I really have joy."

"Why do I sense a but coming?"

"Because there is. What if I've done enough on my own, what if I saw too much of the world and its obscenities, what if I'm not cut out for joy and I will only be able to destroy?"

"You? You, of all people, are a destructor? Liv, do you sleep enough? Did you see what you have done in all these years? You reconstructed me, Nick, Cragen, and God knows how many others. You, my friend, are a healer, not a destructor. And even a healer needs their cocoon of joy. Trust me."

"Now I sound like a hypocrite."

"You said it, not me…and for what is worth, I thought the same for a very long time."

"What changed?"

She rolls her eyes. "Of course the babies, my husband, the one and only stubborn and catholic Dominick Carisi, but, most of all, I changed. It was like a butterfly effect—one tiny change, particularly the absence of constant leftovers in my fridge, and all my world went upside down. Good change."

"You are telling me I need to really learn how to cook?"

"Nah…try and catch a guy who knows how to cook."

"Ah ha."

~oOo~

I've just arrived in the hall of my building when the doorman, with a mischievous smile, gives me a bouquet of twenty peonies. Apparently, it came with a note attached.

I can't resist the curiosity so I unwrap the letter while in the elevator.

Partner,

Now that you know where the compass came from, I will explain the engraving. J is for joy.

You are joyous, even if you think you have to annihilate this aspect of your character seeing the line of work you have chosen. But I saw you joyous and the memory alone makes me joyful. It was your first year at SVU and Munch was blabbing about the JFK murder. It was your first rodeo with his extravagancies, not in the slightest mine. I was clearly fed up but you kept egging him on, without a care in the world. If I recall correctly, it was on a very sultry day in August. When I finally snapped and went to buy ice cream, I overheard you saying, "It was worth the work. Now, I can have ice cream." You laughed. You actually laughed at my back. And I felt happy for you. After that, even if the day went to hell and I changed three shirts due to the abnormal heat, I felt happy. Even now, when I think of that particular moment, I can't stop my brain from going to John Keats' quote (yes, I pick up one or two pills of your knowledge). "A thing of beauty is a joy forever—its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness." You can't be nothingness, partner, so won't our partnership.

God, I swear he has a bunch of cameras on me all the time in order to make these deliveries in very specific moments. Or, maybe, and rather simply, he is really my partner.

~oOo~

-4th July-

Unexpectedly, I was able to escape the city with Noah for the festivity. Usually, we aren't big about the 4th, a burnt dinner at Fin's or a picnic with Amanda is our standard, but this year, having everyone else be otherwise busy, I put in the request for a week of past holidays and I rent a small but lovely house near the sea. If I'm honest, near a particular part of the coast, the one that once accommodated Bernie's house. Anyway, it's nine in the evening and we are eating fish and chips lying on a beach towel, waiting for the fireworks. Noah is speaking a mile a minute until he abruptly stops.

"Noah, what's wrong, honey?"

"Mom…is it new?"

It amazes me how he hasn't noticed for almost two months, even if we spend every meal facing one another, and, then, out of the blue, the compass can hold his attention for a good five minutes. At last, I fidget with it and answer. "Actually, I've been wearing it for a while."

"It seems like a compass but the letters are all wrong."

"It's a compass of the heart."

He's tilting his head as if I'm going crazy so I must clarify. "Sometimes, even if we think we have all the answers, we don't. In that moment, we have to trust someone or something enough to bring us home."

"Like the time when Uncle Ed saved you?"

"Something like that." A sting goes directly to my heart at the only thought of how Ed had been precious in that moment, in that period, if I'm being honest. Ed—the only person Noah remembers well enough to compare him to a dad. The only person more stubborn than me. The only person with whom I envisioned a future. The only person who would be royally pissed off by my sentiments for Elliot. Lost in my own thoughts, I struggle to follow Noah's line of thought—who is getting all suspicious of me. "Mom…are you having problems at work? Or with someone? Are the BX9 back?"

"Whoa, Noah. Where is all of this coming from?" He goes all quiet and stares at the sea. I wait for him.

Only when the fireworks make their loud pop heard, he starts talking again. "If you want to be saved, it's like in your dreams. You are always scared in your dreams."

I hug him tight enough to obtain a complaint but it's vital that he understands. "Noah, I'm not in any danger or in the eye of some members of gangs. I'm really trying to give us a secure and peaceful life. And…my dreams are just that. Dreams."

"So why do you need saving?"

"Because, you little detective, your mother is an overthinker and maybe she just needs a little push to do something free in her life."

"Such as?"

"I'm working on it. It's like a treasure hunt. The compass is pointing me in the right direction."

"You know, right, I can help? I've become so good at orienteering."

"I know."

We stay in comfortable silence for a while, his curls illuminated by the colors of the fireworks, my eyes fixed on his head, pressured too much by my own problems. Maybe that case worker of so long ago was right—I wasn't fit to become a mother.

"Mom…"

"Yes, Noah?"

"I think that compass should bring you to Elliot, like in Tay's song This Love. When he's around, you are so much happier and you don't feel scared, even if you are chasing very bad guys. After BX9, I was scared of your nightmares but Elliot was there and you slept all night."

I didn't sleep, at all. Scared of my present and my past. But, in those few minutes in which Elliot shared the kitchen with me, I felt at peace. Not scared. Not bruised. Not anxious. I felt only…

"It's like Elliot has a cure for it all. Maybe it's because he has all of those kids."

"Maybe. But I'm sure I would be okay if only you were present, too."

"Now you are becoming sappy, Mom."

"Nah…it's just, I love you to the moon and back."

"Yeah…definitely old and sappy."

"Noah Benson! Do you know I have ice cream to finish the evening and now I'm thinking I will eat it all on my own?" I try to sprint to the house but he is decisively faster. And I feel exactly the same way I did that night—at peace, in love. The only difference is the recipient of this love.

~oOo~

Despite the repetitive sound of the sea, I seem to be unable to sleep. After the third try, I give up and go on the patio. It's 2:23 am and all I think of is that damn night in my kitchen, how I felt safe and yet, not ready. What has possessed you, Benson? The phone chimes in my pocket. A message.

Partner,

The 4th of July has always been a strange day for me. During my childhood, my father invited over a lot of his co-workers and, even if mom and he were fighting, they always put on display a loving family. Then, when I had a family of my own, the kids were so many that we were always overwhelmed. In a good way, of course, but we didn't have time to elaborate on who we were to each other. In the last few years, I felt even stranger. Lonely, of course, pissed, very often, lonesome, just as frequently as the previous one. In this remote part of the country, all my emotions are highlighted. Today, I was in a long and futile stake-out, longing to take off the edge. At some point, I saw your ornament—Liv, Love, Laugh. I remembered a long stake-out of ours in which you kept changing the radio station in order to listen to Higher Love. The lyrics are with me even today.

Think about it, there must be a higher love

Down in the heart or hidden in the stars above

Without it, life is wasted time

Look inside your heart, and I'll look inside mine

I've looked in my heart. And you? Oh, L is for love.

I answer even if I'm well aware that the burner from which the message came is long gone. My message is simple. "I don't want to waste any more life." Maybe, in the end, this love will come back to me and I'm ready.

~oOo~

-22nd August-

Ayanna stopped by the office yesterday to ask for my assistance in this case and I quote, "Without Stabler's expertise in SVU questions, I have to rely on you, Captain." So, here I am in an OCCB interrogation room with a girl, Rita, who's asking for her Count of Monte Cristo. Elliot saved her and her baby a couple of years ago and now she's in trouble again but she trusts only him. We've been going in circles, again and again. After the third cup of tea, more like water with a hint of tea, something changes. She looks intently at my pendant and, then, she's talking. Really, she's filling me in on information about her new pimps. There are always new ones. Of course, after her breaking, we have to follow what she gave up.

The day goes by with medical examinations, a rape kit, coordination with my squad back in Manhattan, two different triangulations on the bad guys managed by Detective Slootmaekers, and five arrests. It's a victory. I'm about to inform Rita of our success when one of our bangers accuses her of homicide. Just what the kid needed! I try to run interference with Sergeant Bell, reminding her that we are talking of a victim, maybe self-defense but the defense attorney has already called Homicide in. I need to know the truth.

"Rita, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Yes." She seems small, maybe even more so for her accent.

"We caught them."

"Now I can see Gabriel."

"They're accusing you of homicide." She goes silent. Oh, boy, here we go.

"If you did it in self-defense, I'll try and help you." They threatened Gabriel, I understand her but a jury may see it differently and it's unlikely that Carisi will be able to do anything. Gabriel can't be an orphan or a ward of the state. She went through hell to save him. She deserves a chance. And the only person I can think of… well, it's a mess. Exiting from the interrogation room, I'm met by the anxious looks of Ayanna and Jet. Really, Jet is pouting.

"Anything we can do for her?" My silence betrays me. "Captain?" Bell is now urging.

"I think…her only shot for freedom and custody is Barba."

"That Barba?" asks Detective Slootmaekers with a venomous tone. My nod tells her everything.

"If you give me his number, I can spare you…" starts Sergeant Bell.

"I will call him."

~oOo~

I called. He accepted. Now we are talking to Rita in a very cold atmosphere. A lot has shifted and now there's this giant hole between us two. I'm not used to it. For Rita's sake, we make it work and we plan a defense. When I exit the interrogation room, I feel as if I've aged 30 years and not 30 minutes. "Great work, Captain!" Detective Slootmaekers salutes me. She is however cut short by a snarky remark from another member of the unit. "If you called that chemistry…"

"I apologize for him. I rather think you were amazing in there. As always, you put the victim first. Stabler is really right about you." I'm about to ask for more details when Rafael appears.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Of course."

We find a quiet and withdrawn spot in the office.

"I thought we weren't on speaking terms."

"The case required you. I trust you, you know?"

"And if it wasn't a case?"

"Eventually, I would have called you."

"When?"

"At 84?"

He half-smiles. "Seriously, Olivia…"

"We can agree to disagree, Rafael. But, once upon a time, you said to me that I've brought colors into your life. You did the same. I'm better because of you. And…in all honesty? Life is quite dull around here without your grandeur."

He lifts the tablet with the paperwork on it in the air and starts going out. "See you, Liv."

"See you, Rafa." Trying to gather my thoughts, I caress the pendant but I'm put out of the reverie by Rita, who is now standing a few feet from me.

"He said that he knew a woman better than him, more righteous. I thought he was joking. Now I know he wasn't."

I'm a bit confused about the "he" in question. I'm about to ask her, but she continues talking.

"I knew he was talking about you when I saw your pendant. He was drawing it while talking about that mysterious woman. He was right. You and my attorney aren't friends and yet… I get to see Gabriel again. Thank you." I lose all my chances to deepen the conversation because witness protection is upon her in the next few minutes and she's gone.

Stunned, I ask Sergeant Bell where I can fill in my reports. "You can use Stabler's desk. You have the same strange aura."

"Aura?"

"Just…ignore me and use Stabler's desk."

Not knowing the password to Elliot's PC, I decide to go old style, needing only a pen and a piece of paper. Knowing Elliot, his first drawer on the left should be stacked with a pile of untouched paper. He likes to doodle while in deep thought during an investigation. Well, old habits die hard and I find what I was looking for. On top of the pile, however, there's a little note written in his quite unreadable handwriting.

E is for equanimity, your second name, partner.

~oOo~

-18th October-

It's almost six months of Elliot being undercover and in two days it will be his birthday. Maybe these are reasons enough to visit Bernie. Maybe, the grandkids haven't visited her often enough and she could use the company. Maybe, and more realistically, I'm trying to make excuses for my driving up to the nursing home instead of being at work. The real reason behind it all is that the last months made me realize that I'm more than ready but I can't act upon it. It's kinda frustrating!

Lastly, very deep down, I always considered Bernie's judgment like a maternal one, and, boy, I need it like the air I'm now sucking in.

"Bernie, can I come in?"

"Who's I?"

"It's Olivia."

A sudden bustle in the room convinces me to open the door. Maybe I upset her. My worries go away when she smiles big time and embraces me.

"Finally, someone who came here to keep me distracted!"

"I'm very happy to have come, then. So how is it going?"

"Well, dear, as well as one can expect. I'm old and I'm losing my memories…but today is a good day."

"I'm glad to hear it." I'd like for her to sit but she is, on the opposite, quite spirited.

"Do you fancy a walk, Olivia dear?"

"If you're up to it."

"I'm old but I'm not yet dead. Come on."

We progress slowly but I don't mind it. In fact, I rather like it.

"You should tell me something and try and distract me, you know?"

"I'm really bad companion. Any topic in particular?"

"Can I be blunt?"

"Should I be worried?"

"Nah they're just words. Have you spoken with that hot-headed son of mine?"

"Not lately, no. He's undercover."

"Right…Well, when he returns, play hard to get."

Not the advice I was expecting or, really, seeking.

"Don't you think we waited enough?"

"Sure. In my opinion, almost too much. But, dear, don't let your compassion become his home."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"As of now, he doesn't deserve you. You showed compassion to him his entire life. Did he do the same? With Lewis?"

"Elliot doesn't know about Lewis."

"Exactly my point. You can't let your compassion work for the both of you. If, and only if, he understands it, I will be happy."

"Why don't we go back? It's rather chilly out here."

"It's really a warm enough day. Is the truth scaring you?"

In silence, we return to Bernie's room and, then, we sip floral tea talking about Eli's new girlfriend. As I'm heading out, Bernie says, "You are forgetting your letter, Olivia."

"What letter?"

"Here"

Again his handwriting. This time, in a letter. Considering our records, maybe I should tear it up. However, it really feels like a treasure hunt, by now.

Partner,

This letter is maybe the most important and difficult of all. With this, I ask you for forgiveness for all my mistakes, old and new, probably also for the future ones. I well know that it's unjust of me because you poured compassion towards me from the very beginning but also because, every time you forgive me, you diminish yourself a little. It's in your nature and, after today, I'll try and not abuse this wondrous faculty of yours ever again. In fact, I'll learn how to be like you. After Kathy's death, when I wasn't sleeping, I read a lot. Kundera stuck with me. "For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes." I want to be able to be a home for your pain, for your hopes, and for your worries every day. I want our lives prolonged by a hundred echoes of laughter and love but, now I know, there must be space also for your weaknesses.

I really can't play hard to get, Bernie, I'm sorry.

~oOo~

-31st December-

I'm hosting a big fancy dinner for New Year's Eve. I must have been under the influence when I decided it. I really can't cook and the weather is conspiring against me to not provide me with my orders from a delicious restaurant. What I will give to my hosts for dinner? I check the table, already laid out, trying to will the food to appear.

While shouting at Noah for him to keep Swift's New Year's Day at a proper music volume and for his assistance, while trying to find some recipe simple enough to make, I remember the very first New Year's Eve at SVU. I was working, obviously, trying to give Elliot and the others a break during the holidays since they had family. After 2 am, I concluded that, maybe, even perps take a vacation for the first day of the year. I'm still holding that thought after all these years since nothing really bad has ever happened on January 1st. By 3 am, I decided to catch some sleep in the bunks and, as I was sitting up, a phone call came in. Ignoring the desire to shut down my brain for ten minutes or so, not thinking about Serena and her last tantrum due to alcohol, I answered.

"SVU. This is Detective Olivia Benson. Can I help you?"

It was Cassidy doing a prank. I hated him a little and I was adamant in not talking to him for at least two weeks. I was explaining all of this when the floor creaked—someone was joining me in the otherwise empty squad room. When I saw Elliot with a silly New Year's Eve hat on his semi-bald head and a bag of leftovers in his left hand, every ounce of spite toward Cassidy vanished. Then, I thought that, maybe, the miracle of New Year's Day could go on a little longer. We didn't do anything in particular. We talked, we ate, we talked some more and, occasionally, we were blessed with a firework or a popular jingle on the radio. It was simple and yet homey. If I'm being honest with myself, it was lovely. Maybe the first reason that led me to love him, even today.

I stop mid-step and I change my route. Having reached the closet, I open our box and search for that same hat. At last, my hand grabs it, on the bottom of the box. I put it in the middle of the table.

~oOo~

It remains in the middle of the table during our messy and long dinner; it survives baby's cries, battles with breadcrumbs between Noah and Jesse, even a spill of wine. I have to remove it only for the desserts and the table games that go with them, until the ball drops.

We kiss our happy new year with wishes of good health, happiness, and less work and I can't stop thinking of you. Maybe I'm too obvious about missing you, but no one says anything. At least I think so. When the kids have been asleep for a long time and coats have been distributed, Cragen uncovers all my nostalgia.

"I haven't seen that hat in a quarter of a century."

"Cap…"

"But I still remember that Elliot looked really silly fast asleep in it."

"I long for those days."

"Nah…look where you are."

"Still not where I'd like to be."

"If I haven't lost all my detective's instincts, it seems you are close enough, though."

"I miss having you around. You have always been so wise."

"I like being somewhat of a Yoda. Now, Luke Skywalker, can I give you some advice?"

"Always."

"You long for him and it's time you tell him."

"I want to but he's undercover."

"Well, try and read this letter at least."

Cap doesn't know how I am grateful for it. I correct—he knows. His eyes say it all. Now that I think of it, he could be in on this strange conspiracy from day one.

After all my guests are gone, I close the door and slide down along it until I'm sitting on the floor.

Partner,

After BX9 beat you up, I reached out to that shop in Sardinia and I asked the owner to make me a compass. I didn't dare to use an engraving alluding to something which can well be only in my mind. So I decided to describe you. Joy, compassion, equanimity, love. You said that you have changed; I beg to differ. The only change I see after ten years of radio silence from me is that you become Olivia even more. And I can't wait to accompany you in this discovery every day. Now you know why the compass and not a bracelet or something similar.

I hoped to be at home by now but I trust you in finding your own way, as always. Only know that my way isn't a bit different from yours. Your compass is leading us both.

I look at the hat in the semi-darkness and I think that this link, this compass has been leading us both for a very long time. Elliot is joy, compassion, equanimity, and love, too. I only wish we could find our way together from now on. After a lot of years, I finally make a wish on New Year's Day.

~oOo~

-7th February-

I took half a day off so that I could go pick up Noah from his dance practice and, after, decide a restaurant in which team Benson would celebrate my ridiculous age. However, Noah's teacher gave him an additional task so he has to coordinate with a classmate and now, I have two spare hours to fill. I think of going back to the squad but I decide against it. I prefer taking a stroll in Central Park, maybe pampering myself with something special.

I'm comfortably sitting on a bench without the air being too chilly when I hear a grunt. Not any grunt but one that I could recognize everywhere. I open my eyes and there he is. I'd like to pinch myself just to be sure I'm not imagining things.

"Hi, Liv."

I try to speak but nothing comes out. I try again. Finally, my voice collaborates and, hoarse as hell, I can manage, "Hi, Elliot." My hand goes to the pendant, then to his hand. He's real.

"Finished your job?"

"Finally, yes."

Seeing I'm at a loss, he asks, "Can I sit?"

I nod. I'm not an adolescent. Keep it together, Benson!

"So…"

And then, I'm hit by the sudden awareness that he shouldn't know I'm here. "Following me, Detective?"

"For some time, now."

I avoid a snarky remark and instead say, "How did you know I was here? Detective Slootmaekers?"

"You underestimate me. When I called the office, they said you took a half day off and this particular bench is your favorite spot in all of New York."

"But I had Noah to go to."

"I called them, too. Being that Noah otherwise engaged, you couldn't be anywhere else."

"Maybe it's this damn compass that brings me to the same place over and over."

"So it's doing its job."

"I guess so."

"By the way, happy birthday, Liv."

"You remembered."

"I always remembered. I thought I've been clear in my letters…"

"Yeah…about the letters…how did you know when to give them to me? Was I spied on or something?"

"In this particular case, I had my moles."

"Plural? I thought only Fin."

"Nah…when it comes to you, a lot of people want to help."

"Correction—when it comes to us." I catch him by surprise so he's scraping his head, at loss for words.

"Meaning?" he says in the end.

"Meaning this compass took me on the path of happiness and so much more while you were away. Meaning you, Elliot Stabler, are joy, compassion, love, equanimity, too. Meaning, New York isn't linked only to me but to us. We are partners after all."

He kisses me and it's a lovely, delicate, little thing. Nothing I'd ever imagined. But I love little things, they are the best. I catch again his lips and deepen the kiss.

When the haze diminishes, we stay, a little stunned, on the bench. Almost casually and without real intention, I blurt out, "You explained to me everything but not the eight gemstones? What are they?"

"They have different explanations. They are the eight unanswered calls you gave me when I disappeared. I listened to them all, you know. At the time, I just didn't have any answers to give. They are the amount of days in which I could really have lost you, according to Fin. In most cases, I didn't know and I can't be sorry enough. I'm also grateful because you survived and are here. They are and always be the members of our family—eight. Everyone different and shining in his own way. You know that I'd like to consider Noah mine, right?"

I squeeze his hand and the word sappy is really working in this contest.

He clears his throat and continues. "Eight are the words with which I want to ask you one more question. Do you want to marry me, Olivia Benson?"

The author of this SVU - Love Leads You Home story will be revealed in March