Elliot spends the rest of the afternoon walking from the precinct to downtown, finding himself, eventually, at the Promenade in Battery Park City, the same area where he and Olivia came on Friday. It's day three of this oppressive heat wave, and he can't remember what it feels like to walk the city without sweating. Still, the waterfront offers a pleasant breeze, and the air is clear and fresh and forms a stark contrast against the aqua blue of the Hudson. He walks the full waterfront and back. He then kills another half-hour on a park bench staring out at the Statue of Liberty, as his little son Facetimes him from Florida, where he's with Kathy visiting her retired parents, to tell him that he lost his first tooth. Eli then goes on to inform him that he wants a magician for his birthday party. When Elliot tells him that his birthday is still six months away, Eli is nonplussed.

"Is six months a long time, daddy?"

"Well, it's the same amount of time since your last birthday."

Eli thinks this over. "But that's a long time! Can we have the party tomorrow?"

Elliot laughs. "No, buddy. You'll still be in Florida tomorrow. Besides, your birthday's in the fall, and right now it's the beginning of summer."

"Well can we have it in twelve days? That's a really, really long time."

"It is, but … you still have to wait. That's what makes it special, right? But maybe when you come back from Florida, daddy'll take you to the park?"

"Yeah!" Eli exclaims, the birthday party officially forgotten. "Can we go to the one with the big slide?"

"Sure."

"And then after, um, um, can we, um, get a pizza and a ice cream cone with sprinkles?"

Elliot sighs. "We'll see. Okay, buddy. Put your mom on, okay?"

He can't get Cragen's story out of his head. For all the times he lamented his treatment at the hands of his own father – and it was surely at the heart of the anger problems he carried over into adulthood – he never doubted either of his parents' love for him. He realizes, now, how much he took that one fact for granted; how it shaped him, how fundamental it was to his outlook on life, how it enabled him to form bonds with people; with girlfriends, with Kathy, and even with Olivia; how he went through life implicitly assuming everyone gets to take that one thing for granted. His own father, for all his rough edges and old-school discipline, was a devoted family man who had special contempt for the parents he encountered on the job who refused to take care of their children. Granted, his own father, like others of his day, presumed it was fathers, and not mothers, who were apt to neglect and abuse their children. But Elliot has no doubt that his own father would have stood up for the lonely, terrified five-year-old girl in the closet.

He realizes the ignorance of the remark he made to Cragen, that "plenty of cops" had shitty childhoods. Shittiness is not all created equal. His own childhood was imperfect, messy, often rough and unfair. His mother was mentally ill and unpredictable; his father a womanizer and a chauvinist and often a very mean drunk. And though his father at times crossed lines that today might be considered unacceptable, Elliot would not classify his father as having been abusive. And he drank because everyone drank, because it was the social, gregarious thing to do. But not to escape his responsibilities as a parent. And when his mother's condition incapacitated her for long stretches, it was his father who stepped in, made meals, took him to school, to activities.

He wonders how it is that in fourteen years of knowing his partner – of knowing her likes, dislikes, insecurities, quirks; of thinking about her, thinking he understood what made her tick; of needing her, loving her – that he's never once considered what it was like for her to live through her childhood.

Olivia is sitting on the courthouse steps waiting for him when Elliot arrives to pick her up. Though it's early evening, it's still over ninety degrees outside and the June sun is bright and hanging low and beams straight down onto her. In the jeans she just bought and a fresh yellow boat neck t-shirt, her face is flushed and her eyes droop with exhaustion.

He bends forward and kisses her lightly on the lips. "How'd it go?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Testimony prep or counseling?"

Elliot pauses. "Both."

"Therapist, I think I like."

He plops himself down onto the stairs next to her. "Yeah?"

"His name is Lindstrom. He's experienced. I'd sent other victims to him in the past, got good feedback. He doesn't do … you know, cookie-cutter cliches."

"I'm glad." Inwardly he's cringing, though he can't quite say why, at her casual admission that she, too, is now a victim.

"But it's going to be a long process." She turns to look at him, eyes bright. "We talked a lot about you."

He frowns. "Me? Why me?"

"He asked about my family." She pauses at the look he gives her. "In the context of whether I had any, you know, support system."

"I see."

"Because … you've been an integral part of … this … recovery period." As he continues to stare, she waves her hand. "In a good way, Elliot! I just meant, I told him how good you've been to me. How grateful I am that you're here."

He gently bumps his body sideways into hers. "Oh, Liv."

"What?"

"I don't want you to be grateful. I just … want …" He struggles to articulate what he means to say. It's not a favor, it's that I love you.

He hears her inhale, exhale. And then there's a soft hand on his shoulder, rubbing it. "Okay, look. Let's start this again. How was your day?"

He realizes the fruitlessness of his mission to make her see the light. Better to let this go. Maybe in the course of counseling, she'll finally come to understand why he's really here.

"It was nice," he replies. "I took a long walk. Haven't done that in a long time, you know? Oh, and Eli lost his first tooth."

"Oh yeah?" She thinks. "He's, what, five-and-a-half right now?"

"Yeah, exactly that." He chuckles. "'Course, that didn't stop him from pestering me about his next birthday party. He wants the same magician we got him last year. It doesn't occur to him that maybe he already knows all the tricks."

Olivia laughs. "He's a lucky kid. He'll remember these things later, Elliot. That you made him these parties. Not every kid gets parties."

He freezes, wondering if she doesn't have a little ESP at the mention of birthday parties. Fifth ones. Of children who get parties, and those who spend their birthdays in the closet. And then he wonders if she even remembers how she spent her own fifth birthday. If being in the closet was a normal part of her childhood, if that's how she spent a lot of her days, birthday or not.

Luckily, though, she has moved on. She eyes the three plastic bags at his feet. "What are all those? Did you go shopping?"

He looks down, having forgotten he had been carrying them. From left to right, he points. "That one is stuff of yours Cassidy dropped off at the precinct. And those two are more cards and gifts that you received."

She stares at the bags, awestruck. "You shlepped those around the city on foot all afternoon?"

"They're not heavy."

He feels her soft fingers cup his bicep. "Still. Thank you."

He rummages through the third bag and pulls out a box of Belgian truffles. "From your desk. This time I remembered." He hands it to her, grinning.

She snatches it from him. "Oh my God, these are the best. They're addictive, though."

"Hopefully they're not melted," he adds, realizing that in this heat, it's a distinct possibility.

She bats a hand. "Ah, it's fine. They taste just as good. Just a little messier."

He smiles at how excited she looks. "What about testimony prep? How'd that go?"

Olivia sighs. "That … will be difficult. I hope … I don't know, I hope I can get through it."

"If anyone can, you can." He pauses. "Speaking of which." He takes out his wallet, pulls out the manila mini-envelope. "Your gold pendant."

Her breath hitches at the sight. "Cragen got it out of the evidence locker?"

"Guess so."

She reaches behind herself to put the necklace on, but stops short, wincing.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says quickly. "Just, uh, hard to bend that way. The ribs, you know …"

"Here, let me." He reaches behind her, struggles with the tiny clasp, his fingertips tapping at the nape of her neck. When he's done, he looks down at her, takes her in. She seems to have zoned out. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

He wishes he knew what she was thinking. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." The word comes out in a huff.

He takes a moment to look her up and down more closely. "Liv, are you feeling all right?"

She nods, slowly. "I am. But I'm … tired."

"Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

"Actually, I thought we might get some dinner."

At this, his eyes light up. "Really?"

"Yeah. I think I'm pretty hungry."

"Counselling's working already," he says, half to himself.

She shoots him a glare, but can't hold it long enough to prevent a warm, if languid, smile.

He springs up and turns around and offers her his hands, which she accepts. He hoists her to her feet, steadies her as she stands. He strongly suspects she's feeling lightheaded. Which is no wonder: she hasn't eaten in days. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Just need this damn heat wave to be over already."

Code for "no," he thinks, worried. "Is anything hurting? Please, tell me the truth."

"My chest." At his alarmed reaction, she qualifies herself. "Not worse than usual. It's been achy the whole time. Surgeon told me there'd be a lot of pain."

He frowns. "This is the first you're mentioning it."

"Didn't want to whine."

He sighs. "All right, come." He nods downwards at the sidewalk on Chambers Street, where there are a handful of pushcart vendors selling pretzels, hotdogs, nuts. "Let's get some water, yeah?"

At the bottom of the steps, Elliot buys two bottles of Poland Spring water from a hotdog peddler, a graying, rail-thin Arab gentleman who looks to be in his late fifties.

As Elliot hands the man a five-dollar bill, the vendor shakes his head, refusing it. "Cannot take your money."

"I'm sorry?" Elliot asks.

But the man's focus is on Olivia. "You don't remember me, Detective."

Olivia looks startled. "I'm so sorry," she says. "Please, remind me?"

"Five years ago, my wife Fatima, she was assaulted outside my brother's deli on Houston."

Olivia gasps. "Oh my goodness, yes, Mr. Abdullah! I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you. How is she, your wife?"

"She is okay, yes. Much better, thank you."

"Please, wish her well for me."

As Olivia turns to go, Mr. Abdullah stops her again. He stares at her with deep gray eyes. "Detective, she still talks about you. You were so kind. She never forgot that."

Olivia looks flustered. "I was just doing my job, Mr. Abdullah."

"No, no," he asserts. "You were the only one who talked to her like human being. You are very special lady."

Olivia blushes fiercely. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just glad she's doing better and that we were able to get the guy. She was very brave to come forward."

As they head to the subway, Elliot glances back at Mr. Abdullah. "Were you working with Fin on that one?"

"No, with you. You don't remember him?"

Elliot wracks his brain. "There've been so many."

"It was November, 2008, a few days after the election. The deli was on Houston and Avenue C, the guy held her at knifepoint, raped her from behind in an alley. We got him because he left a fingerprint on the dumpster, which the vic remembered and told us to look for."

Elliot looks at her in awe. "How do you remember all this?"

She shrugs. "I remember all our cases together."

They've decided on a small bistro called Chez Maribel tucked away on a side street equidistant from each of their apartments on the Upper West Side. The plan for after dinner is for Olivia to rest at his place while he, in turn, goes to hers to fetch the things she needs. He's not thrilled about leaving her alone, but he estimates he can be in and out in less than an hour. And there's no other alternative; she had suggested she could wait in the lobby of her building while he goes up to her apartment, but he vetoed that: never mind that her lobby has no place to sit; there is no world in which he'll let her step foot anywhere near the scene of her assault.

Olivia appears to be in a good mood, less sad, more vibrant than he's seen her in days. He's delighted.

And, she's eating. A salad, part of a chicken burger, fries.

Not a lot, but enough to constitute a proper meal.

All in, it's a good sign.

Still, Elliot is haunted by Cragen's story. The tragedy of it, the fact that Olivia knows nothing of it. He wonders how her life would have turned out – if he ever would have met her – if she had been adopted by the family that wanted her so badly.

As much as he believes she has the right to know, he understands why Cragen withheld the story. Telling her would hurt her deeply. He can't do that to her; especially now, when she's in so much pain. It would surely damage her relationship with Cragen and tarnish the memory of her mother. He can't be responsible for that. One day, he thinks. One day he'll tell her. At the right time.

But he knows that that's a copout. The more time that passes, the harder it will be to explain why he waited. He sees, now, how Cragen could have let fifteen years pass.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks suddenly.

"What?"

"You look so pensive," she says. "Like you're negotiating a trade deal with China in your head."

He chuckles lightly. "Nah. Trying to remember my computer password."

"Uh-huh." He knows she doesn't believe him, but she doesn't press it.

"How about you?" He notices that she, too, had grown unduly quiet the last few minutes.

"Same. Computer password."

He stares at her for a second, a twinkle in his eye. "Care to share?"

She takes a second to reply. "My mother."

He freezes, but recovers before she can notice his flinch. "That's a lousy password," he deadpans.

She swats him playfully. "Idiot."

"Anything specific?"

She sighs wistfully. "Just … I don't know, I guess this whole experience has made me think more about what it must've been like for her. I wonder if she would've recovered more fully if she hadn't gotten pregnant with me."

Inside, he's raging. At the idea that Olivia could be so forgiving, could still feel so much empathy for the woman who showed her so little love. "Liv, don't go down that road."

"I know, I know. I guess I'm just appreciating how lucky I got."

He wishes she wouldn't talk that way. That she should measure luck by the yardstick of not getting pregnant during a brutal assault and rape is perverse. Never mind that pregnancy is rarely something even the rapist intends. It's an accident of biology that such an outcome should have any causal connection to this particular crime in the first place. When he thinks about it, it's as arbitrary as if being the victim of fraud were to also sometimes lead to paraplegia.

Her resilience is exemplified by her refusal to bask in her victimhood, but the other extreme – downplaying and even flat-out denying the legitimacy of the pain she's in – is not healthy either.

"Liv, do you ever think about … the existential aspect of your mother's rape?" He hesitates. "What I mean is … how do I put this? Are you … glad that you were born?"

Olivia's face darkens. "That's a weird question, Elliot. Are you glad you were born? I mean, all of us owe our existence to the fluke of our parents having sex on some particular day under some particular set of circumstances. And it's sort of hard to imagine not existing."

"I know. But your parents didn't … have sex. When you talk about your mother, it's always to lament the … horror of what happened to her, as if your conception was like an injury she sustained. And I know it was traumatic for her at the time, but … I guess what I'm trying to say is, do you ever consider that your existence means something to the people in your life?"

Her eyes narrow. In anger, but there's something else: a quivering of the chin. He has touched a nerve. "I feel like you're getting dangerously close to suggesting that my mother's rape was a good thing."

"No," he replies quickly. He thinks of Mr. Abdullah, of his reaction to seeing Olivia. Elliot was equally responsible for solving Mr. Abdullah's wife's case, but it was his partner whom the man remembers so fondly. "Just that … something good could have come from something … evil."

Cragen's right, he thinks. She can't not go back to SVU.

A shadow passes over her face; she looks down at her plate. "Look, El, I appreciate the point you're trying to make, but right now I'm too raw to have an intelligent conversation about this. You can't imagine the disgust I feel just at the idea of being pregnant with Lewis' child."

"I'm sorry," he offers. "That wasn't where I was going with the question."

"I know," she says, her voice softening. "I don't want you to walk on eggshells around me. It's just … that's all I've thought about for three days. That if this had to happen, then at least it did when I was, you know, pushing at the limits of the biological clock."

He slices the air with his hand, karate chop-style. "Forget I said anything. Let's talk about something else."

She nods, takes a full breath. "I think Lewis is going to escape." This time there's no tremor to her voice; she states it as a matter of fact.

Alarmed, he looks at her. "Why? What did Barba say?"

"He said that Lewis might get transferred to the psych ward at Bellevue."

Elliot grimaces. "But he won't escape, Liv. It's still maximum security. Prison escapes are exceedingly rare."

"Did you get a gun?"

He knew this was where she was going with it. He takes her hand, shifts his chair closer. "I talked to Cragen. I'm getting one, I promise."

She meets his gaze, her eyes wet. "Thank you. I know you think it's crazy, and maybe it is, but thank you for … indulging me on this."

"Can I get you folks some dessert?" interrupts their perky server named Pete.

Olivia starts. "Um, maybe we'll look at a menu?"

"You got it!" replies the cheerful twenty-something, and scurries off.

"You want dessert?" Elliot asks with surprise.

"Maybe," says Olivia, a glint in her eye.

Elliot clears his throat. "Look, Liv. Let's say he does get out, or he escapes. We'll have notice. Someone will alert us. And he doesn't know where you're staying."

"I know," she states, her voice cracking. He sees how hard it is for her to admit that she's scared. "I know all this. Believe me, I've thought it all through, the logistics, the possible ways he could find me. But enough people have recognized me at that hotel, El."

"We can relocate. There are a million places we could go. And no matter what happens, I won't leave your side."

She reaches out, rubs his upper arm. "I know. I know you won't."

"But you're still scared."

She considers the statement. "You have to understand something. Even if I weren't scared, I would be right to take precautions. You don't know this guy like I do. Elliot, he'll kill you in a heartbeat. He won't even think about it. Forget reasoning with him, forget negotiating, saying shit like, 'you don't want to do this, you can walk out of here, I need you to put the gun down.' We got stopped by a trooper on the way to the beachhouse. All the cop did was ask for his license. The second the guy showed the slightest suspicion, Lewis shot him. It happened in a matter of three seconds."

"But that guy wasn't prepared," Elliot argues. "I am. We won't be blindsided."

She cocks her head, looks at him with a sadness that he doesn't know how to interpret. She stands up from the table, steps behind his seat. Then she leans over him from behind, wraps both her arms loosely around his neck, and rests her temple on the crown of his head.

He reaches above him, grasps her forearms, tugs gently, guiding her around his chair and pulling her sideways into his lap. He nuzzles his nose into her temple. "I'm going to keep you safe," he whispers.

She settles into his embrace. "You're the only person who can say that to me and not make me feel weak."

He holds her tight. "You're the strongest person I know." He has said it to her a million times, but recalling Cragen's words from earlier today, he realizes just how true they are. The boss she's looked up to all these years didn't have half the courage she does.

She lets herself bask in his body heat. "I'm glad you think so."

Just then, Pete appears with menus.

"Thank you," Elliot says. With Olivia still in his lap with her arm lobbed around his neck, he holds up the menu for both of them.

"Mmm," she says. "Chocolate molten cake or apple crumble?"

Elliot shakes his head. "I think I'm good."

She raises an eyebrow. "Who said I'm sharing?"

Feeling intrepid, he leans in and kisses her on the cheek, pulling her even closer. "I prefer a different kind of dessert," he whispers into her ear.

To his surprise, she leans in too, plants a warm kiss on the column of his neck. "I'll bet you do."

As she continues to kiss him down his neck, slipping her hand up the back of his shirt, he closes his eyes, allows himself to bask in the sensation of her lips on his skin, her delicate fingers massaging his back. He has missed this. He wants so badly to touch her too, to run his fingers through her hair. But this, for now, is off limits. That's okay. He can wait.

"There's something from the apartment," she starts, pulling back. She arches her neck, looks him in the eye.

"Anything you need."

"You'll think it's cheesy."

"Try me."

An embarrassed smile plays at the corner of her mouth. She takes a breath. "Okay. Do you remember those digital camcorders, they were popular in the mid-nineties?"

"Sure. Got Kathy one for Christmas one year. She recorded everything on that thing. The twins' christenings, Maureen's grad, Elizabeth's dance – "

"Right," she interrupts. "Those. My mother had one. There was some university event, a charity raffle or something, and she won it."

"Of course," he says immediately. "Just tell me where it is. I'll bring it."

"Thank you, Elliot."

"Well, I've got an ulterior motive."

"Which is?"

He grins. "I'd pay good money to see what you looked like in your twenties."

She laughs, and for the first time in weeks, her eyes sparkle too. "Hate to disappoint you, but I'm not on it."

He pouts.

"It's silly, really, but she won this faculty award, like, in 1997? It was just some departmental event, she downplayed it totally, but for some reason one of her colleagues filmed it."

"Liv, that's not cheesy at all."

"Yeah, well, it's one of the last things I have of her. She was sober that year. She was in her element at that event. She was happy. I found it amongst her stuff after she died."

He nods earnestly. "I'll get it for you. Just tell me where to find it."

"At some point I uploaded it onto a laptop, but then the hard drive got corrupted, and I've been meaning to re-upload the memory card for over a decade, but you know … never got around to it."

"I'm on it," he assures. "Don't worry about it."

Suddenly, Olivia's face falls. "Oh no."

Elliot pulls back. "What's wrong?"

"Look who just walked in." Olivia nods ahead.

Elliot glances across the room at the entrance, his face falling as he sees the familiar face. "Cassidy."

"Don't make a scene," she warns.

"I won't." He pauses, squints, eyeing Cassidy's companion, a petite girl with long, flowing brown hair that lands in perfect ringlets. The girl is wearing a tight white t-shirt and a brown mini-skirt. "That girl looks young."

Olivia frowns. "Thanks a lot."

Elliot shakes his head. "It wasn't a compliment to him. I meant, she looks too young."

Olivia cocks her head. "Actually, you're right. She barely looks legal. What the fuck, Brian?"

Lost in thought, they both stare at the couple until Elliot abruptly realizes that the hostess is leading Cassidy and his female friend to a table straight in their direction.

"Damn it," Olivia mutters.

"Liv," Cassidy greets, looking annoyed by the sight of her sitting on Elliot's lap. "Fancy meeting you here."

Wordlessly, she slips off his lap, slides back into her own seat. "I could say the same about you," she says, allowing a trace of sarcasm to enter her voice, as she eyes the girl at Cassidy's side. "That was fast."

"If I recall correctly, you broke up with me," Cassidy points out. He looks Elliot up and down. "And I could say the same about you, Stabler." He pauses. "Or did you have a head start?"

"Watch it, Brian," Elliot warns.

Cassidy, to his credit, puts up his hands in defense. "I'm sorry, Liv." He takes a breath, composing himself, addresses Olivia. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay, Brian."

"Yeah?" Cassidy cocks his head, looks at her with sadness. "I, uh, heard, um … I'm so sorry, Liv."

"Don't." She puts up a hand. "Please."

Cassidy nods. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"Me too," she says.

"Hey, uh, Liv, can I talk to you alone for a minute?" Cassidy asks.

"Okay," Olivia says, a little apprehensively. Her eyes land on Elliot.

He splays a hand in the air. "Go ahead. You want me to order you anything?"

Olivia looks harried as she steps away from the table. "Um, you pick!"

Cassidy then addresses his companion, without introducing her. "Holly, you want to go sit down and I'll catch up with you in a second?"

Olivia follows Cassidy to the bar area across the room, where the two stand and appear to engage in a friendly conversation. Elliot is left by himself at the table, feeling awkward that Holly is now marooned two tables over, also by herself, thumbing through her phone. He affixes his eyes on Olivia and Cassidy, watches them from afar, trying to decode her body language. She is tense but affable, as Brian does most of the talking. Towards the end of his soliloquy he places his hand on Olivia's arm, at which Elliot is expecting her to flinch. But she doesn't; instead she cups her own hand over his, then gently removes it. Elliot frowns.

Their seven-minute conversation (Elliot times it) culminates in a hug, at which point they part ways, each returning to their respective tables.

"Everything all right?" Elliot asks when she arrives back, feeling butterflies like a nervous teenager.

She keeps her voice low. "Yeah. He said he was sorry for the other day." At Elliot's puzzled look, she adds, "At the precinct. When he accused me of cheating on him."

"I see."

"He said he knew I wouldn't have done that."

"That was big of him."

"It was, but then he added, 'considering.'"

"What do you mean?"

"As in, considering what happened to me, I was obviously in no condition to engage in … cheating behavior. Hence, he was out of line in accusing me of such."

"So I guess that ruined the apology?"

Olivia gives a short laugh. "Sort of did, yeah. But eloquence has never been his strong suit."

"No it hasn't."

"I still appreciated the gesture."

"Maybe best not to overthink it."

"Yeah." She withdraws for a second, lost in thought. Eyes downcast and focused on the tabletop, she adds, "He said that he loved me. That I was the love of his life."

Elliot freezes, overcome with a sense of dread of what she's about to say next.

Seeing the look on his face, she reaches to his wrist, grasps it gently. "It's over between him and me, El. Please trust that."

"I do."

"When he said it, all I could feel was disgust."

Elliot's caught by surprise. "For him?"

She thinks. "No. Not exactly. For … the idea of … us. Being together. Like that."

He's scared to ask her. "Is that how you feel about you and me? Disgust?"

Olivia looks startled. "Not at all. How could you even ask me that?"

"Because you just said – "

"Elliot, he … didn't really love me."

For the second time in three days, Elliot finds himself in the unusual position of trying to convince Olivia of another man's love. "I think he did. Does."

But she shakes her head. "He loves … the idea of me."

"I don't think that – "

"And he was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't cheat on him literally. And even if I hadn't … if Lewis hadn't … if this kidnapping hadn't happened, I never would have. But I was still being dishonest with him. The minute you came back into my life, my relationship with him was over."

"Would you have felt that way if I would have come back before Lewis?"

She doesn't even hesitate. "Yes."

A moment passes before Elliot blinks, points a thumb behind him. "He told you he was in love with you while his date sat alone at a table waiting for him?"

Olivia laughs. "Right, her. Yeah … turns out that's his niece. She just finished her freshman year in college and she's got an internship in the city. He's helping her look for an apartment."