"You ever worked in a bar before?" Cassidy asked him skeptically.

"Sure," Elliot answered easily. "My father's brother had a place, I used to work there in the summers." And hated every minute of it, not the work but the shitty fucking attitudes of the college kids who came and spent their parents' money there. He didn't mention that part to Cassidy, though he kinda got the feeling the guy would understand. In his old life, his real life, he hadn't known Brian Cassidy long, and he'd always felt the kid was a little dumb, a little reckless, but he'd liked him well enough. Elliot wanted to like this Cassidy, too, but there was something dark and angry in the man's eyes that Elliot did not remember seeing in the boy he'd known a quarter century before.

"Ok, that's good," Cassidy said. "You're playing barback today," he continued. "You know what that means?"

"Keep the bar stocked and clean and stay outta your hair?"

"You got it."

Elliot could do that. It wasn't like the Waterfront was doing a lot of trade just now, anyway; they opened at noon but he didn't expect to see many customers until after quitting time. That's why Cassidy wanted him in now; work the early shift, learn the ropes, and not make any real money since the good tips wouldn't start coming in until after 8. It might not be such a bad way to pass the time, though. Looking after the bar, meeting the customers, hanging out with Cassidy for a few hours 'til Olivia came to pick him up. Really it was just nice to be somewhere that wasn't the library or Olivia's apartment or a goddamn police station.

Behind the bar Cassidy had drawn up a stool for himself, and he was sitting popping peanuts in his mouth while the bar's one lone customer nursed a beer in a corner booth and Elliot inspected the glassware, making sure everything was clean.

"So," Cassidy said, his mouth full of peanuts. "Where you staying?"

"For right now I'm on her couch," Elliot said. He didn't specify which her he was talking about; he knew he didn't need to.

Cassidy grunted, and by that sound alone Elliot could tell the man wasn't pleased.

"How the fuck did you swing that?" Cassidy asked. "She's not exactly the warm and fuzzy type."

"How would you know?"

That had been scratching at his brain, the last day or two. Back home, where he belonged, he knew that Liv and Brian had stayed in touch, were still friends after a fashion, and here in this world Olivia and Brian were friendly, too. Or maybe friendly wasn't the right word; Olivia said she hadn't talked to Brian in years, but he'd given her clothes for Elliot when she asked, given Elliot a job when she asked. Not exactly the kind of thing a guy did for a random friend he hadn't heard from in years. But maybe, just maybe, the kind of thing a guy might do for a woman he loved.

The look Cassidy leveled at him was grim and utterly devoid of humor.

"I don't know you," he said. "I don't want you here. I gave you a job because she asked me to, and I'll give that woman anything she wants. But listen to me. You put one toe out of line, you hurt her, and I'll fucking kill you."

Something like guilt twisted low in Elliot's belly. This wasn't how he'd intended to start his new acquaintance with Cassidy, picking fights and getting the man's back up. He wanted to do a good job, and he wanted to get along with one of the few familiar faces he'd encountered since he arrived in this place. It was apparent he'd just touched a nerve, with Cassidy, and he needed to put a stop to the trouble that was brewing here before it got out of hand.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad you're looking out for her. Hand to God, Cassidy, I'm not gonna hurt her. I just want to look after her. Same as you."

"Better not be the fucking same," Cassidy grumbled, and then he threw another fistful of peanuts into his mouth.

This may be harder than I thought, Elliot told himself.

It had been a long, strange day. The call came in some time around noon; Melinda, confirming the DNA test results. The body in the morgue and the man sleeping on Olivia's couch shared the same DNA, and it all matched what the department had on file for Detective Elliot Stabler. The man was telling the truth. Either that, or he'd somehow managed to hack the DNA database and interfere with Melinda's tests. Funny, but the alternate universe thing seemed more likely.

Those test results had festered in the back of Olivia's mind all afternoon. The last piece of proof - or the closest she was ever going to get to proof - that Stabler was who he said he was. That everything he'd told her about himself, about herself, was true. He came from a world where Olivia was loved, where she had a child, and now he was in this world, watching her with hungry eyes. Stuck here, according to Munch, who was the closest thing to an expert on this madness they could find. Elliot Stabler was stuck here, in limbo, with her.

She'd bought him a Metrocard, dropped him at the library with his assurance he'd make his way to the Waterfront for his first shift at noon, with her assurance she'd pick him up around 6, after they both got off work. And just like that it seemed to her that they were slipping into a sort of routine, waking up together, going to work together. Only it wasn't a routine, not really; nothing about this was normal. There had been a moment, when she'd dropped him off at the library, her sitting behind the wheel, when she'd watched him shoot that soft, sideways smile at her and thought about him sitting on her bed earlier in the morning, cock hard as a rock and eyes burning through her, and Jesus, every part of this situation was confusing. The things he said, the way he made her feel; everything had been turned upside down in a matter of days.

She'd gotten him a job and a Metrocard and she had the DNA results; she could kicked him out now. Let him start to figure things out on his own terms. All along she'd said she only wanted to keep him close until she knew for sure that he was who he said he was. Well, she knew now, but the last thing she wanted was for him to leave her. The last thing she wanted was to come home to an empty apartment.

After a long day made all the longer by her inability to focus on anything for more than a few minutes without her thoughts drifting back to Stabler - to that infuriating, patronizing, gentle, compassionate, muscle-bound temptation of a man - she drove herself over to the Waterfront to pick him up, just like they'd agreed. Maybe tomorrow she'd tell him to find his own place. Maybe she'd give him a week or two to save up some cash. Maybe she'd worry about that later.

There was a kitchen in the back of the bar that didn't serve a whole lot more than cheese fries and pickles until 6 p.m., when the menu expanded to include wings and chicken tenders. Since they were both already here, she figured they could just eat at the bar; Cassidy would be kicking around somewhere, like he always was, and Munch probably would be, too. The old man didn't keep the same hours as his partner, but Cassidy never seemed to mind that too much. It'd be nice to see them both, she thought. It would be nice to among friends.

As she stepped through the door her eyes found him at once; Elliot, standing tall and proud behind the bar with a dishrag flung over his shoulder. There weren't too many customers, maybe four or five tables occupied, and Cassidy was nowhere to be found.

That's gotta be a good sign, she thought. Cassidy loved this fucking bar, he wouldn't leave Elliot there unattended if he didn't trust the man to handle himself.

"What'll it be?" Elliot asked as she walked up. He was smiling at her, and he did have such a nice smile, warm and playful, and she did like it, very much, and found herself smiling back at him. Even though probably she shouldn't. Even though that morning they'd brushed up against something dangerous. Even though there was something possessive, something wanting in this stranger's eyes that made her want to run. It made her want to reach for him, too.

"Glass of red," she said, settling herself onto a stool in front of him.

"Nah," he said easily.

"Excuse me?"

Who the fuck does he think he is? She thought grumpily.

"I'm gonna make you something special," he said. "Trust me?"

"I have absolutely no idea how to answer that."

She meant it as a joke but it came too close to being honest and his eyes caught hers, and held for just a beat too long, and her heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest. She looked away first.

"Close your eyes," he said.

"Stabler, what-"

"Humor me."

It was hard not to, when he shot her that lopsided grin.

"All right."

She covered her eyes with her hands.

"No peeking," he warned her.

"Would you just make the damn drink?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She heard the clink of a glass, then the soft sound of him setting bottles down on the bartop, then the liquid pouring out of them.

"So, how's your day, Captain?" he asked her as he worked.

"Weird," she admitted. "Good. I don't know. Got the call from Warner. Congratulations, your DNA says you're Elliot Stabler."

He was quiet, just for a second.

" 's good to get that out of the way, I guess," he said slowly.

It was, she thought. It was good. But where did it leave them? So he was Elliot Stabler; so what? What would happen now?

"All right," he said. "Open your eyes."

She did, and as she did he held the glass out to her with a flourish, and she would've said he looked silly, ridiculous, even, except that looking at him now she kept seeing the broad expanse of his chest as he lay in her bed, and there was nothing funny about that at all.

"What the hell is this?" she asked him suspiciously.

It absolutely was not a glass of red. It was a tall clear glass, like the kind Bri used for mojitos, the liquid inside bubbly and tinged faintly pink, full of ice, with a cherry on top.

"It's a Shirley Temple."

This son of a bitch. She asked for wine and he made her a goddamn Shirley Temple. He'd made it plain he didn't care for her drinking, but this was too much; this blatant disregard for her wishes, this disrespect made her want to throw that drink in his face.

But his eyes were kind, and wary, and she knew why he'd done it, and she couldn't hate him for it, even though she wanted to. His methods were brash and patronizing but there was a part of her that felt…safe, with him, somehow. Like he really was just looking out for her, like he really did just want to take care of her, like his intentions really were as good as they seemed to be. Christ, she wanted his intentions to be good.

"You ever had one before?" he asked, still holding the glass out towards her.

"Not since I was a kid." She reached out and took it before someone noticed the weird standoff they'd found themselves in. "My mother used to let me have one sometimes when we went out. It made me feel all grownup."

As a child she'd wanted, so desperately, to be like her mother. To be blonde and slight and beautiful, to be cultured and worldly, to drink red wine and talk about books while everybody listened in rapt attention. By the time she turned thirteen she knew better, though. Serena presented such a beautiful face to the world, but that mask covered something dark and sad, and Olivia didn't want to be anything like her anymore.

Maybe she didn't want that glass of wine tonight, either.

She pulled the cherry out of the drink and popped it in her mouth, and all the while Elliot watched her with something in his eyes she could not name. Apprehension, maybe; or maybe not. Maybe it was want, that made his eyes linger on her mouth, that made him lean against the bar, lean towards her. Maybe it was all in her head; maybe she was fucking crazy, after all.

She wanted to find out. She spat the pit and stem of the cherry into a napkin, and took a long swig of her drink, and to her surprise she found she actually enjoyed it.