The quiet of Elliot's house was almost oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the security system. It wasn't new—he'd always been cautious, protective of his family—but now it felt like a reminder of the precautions Olivia wasn't able to take in her own home. The cameras he'd arranged for her apartment were up, though, their lenses fixed and ready to catch Daniel if he came back. It should have felt like progress, but the waiting—the not knowing when or if he'd make his next move—was unbearable.
She sat on the edge of the guest room bed, her fingers absently running over the surface of her duffel bag. CSU had been thorough at her apartment, but it didn't matter. There were no new leads, no tangible evidence to confirm what she already knew in her gut. Nothing about Daniel's visit could be proven, except for the unsettling feeling that he'd been there, in her space, touching things he shouldn't have.
She'd been in the guest room for nearly an hour now, her eyes drifting over its details. The soft, neutral tones of the walls, the neatly made bed with its crisp white duvet, and the vase of fresh flowers on the dresser all exuded charm. Even the faint scent of lavender and soap in the air added to the feeling of quiet care that seemed to fill every corner of Elliot's home. The walls were dotted with family photos: smiling faces frozen in happy, sunlit moments. The space radiated warmth and a sense of belonging, the kind that only years of love and care could create. It was a beautiful house, the kind of place she might have imagined building for herself in another life.
Olivia's place, in contrast, was neat, sure, but it lacked personality—a place to crash between shifts, not a true home. Her furniture was functional but impersonal, her walls mostly bare except for a few framed pieces she'd hung out of obligation rather than sentiment. It hit her now, with a pang she hadn't anticipated, how little her apartment reflected her life or who she was. Lately, she'd felt that emptiness in other ways too. It wasn't just her space that seemed lacking—it was her. Maybe it was everything that had happened with Daniel, the way he'd invaded her life and left her questioning her her boundaries, even her sense of self.
Here, in Elliot's home, surrounded by all the things that made it unmistakably his, she felt like an outsider. A guest. Residual.
She couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, of being someone's responsibility, someone's problem. Especially with Kathy's polite but unmistakable reluctance lingering in every interaction. Olivia felt like a guest who had overstayed her welcome before she'd even unpacked. The distance from her apartment was supposed to bring her relief. Instead, it only magnified the discomfort of being here—surrounded by the kind of domestic peace she didn't belong to, her own life a mess she couldn't escape.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. She looked up to see Elliot standing in the doorway.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her sit perched on the edge of the bed, her duffel bag still clenched tightly in her lap. He raised an eyebrow. "So, what's the plan here? You gonna carry that thing around the whole time, or are you actually going to unpack?"
Olivia glanced at the bag and then back at him, her lips quirking in a half-smile. "I was thinking of making it my emotional support duffel."
Elliot snorted, stepping closer. "Liv, you've been here for an hour, and that bag hasn't left your side. What've you got in there, anyway? Gold bars? A body?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," she shot back, her smile fading a little as she glanced around the room. It really was nice; everything felt curated, warm, and inviting. It wasn't just a house, it was a home.
She gripped her bag tighter. "I'm not sure unpacking's worth it. I'm not staying that long."
Elliot rolled his eyes, sitting down on the bed beside her. "Liv, you're not squatting in some stranger's place. So, unless you've got plans to solve all this Daniel stuff by tomorrow, maybe set the duffel down."
She sighed, shaking her head. "I just...I don't want to get too comfortable. This is your life, your family. I don't belong here."
Elliot leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "First of all, you're not a guest. You're Liv. You're family, whether you like it or not. Second, Kathy and I both want you to be safe. So, you staying here isn't up for debate. And third—" he paused, a faint smirk tugging at his lips—"I don't think the duffel can take much more of your death grip."
That earned him a genuine laugh, small but real. She set the bag down at her feet, though she didn't move to open it. "Fine," she said, leaning back against the pillows. "But I'm not unpacking until you guarantee me a better pillow. This one's lumpy."
Elliot grinned. "Now you're just being picky."
"You bet," she shot back.
He hesitated, his grin fading, then asked quietly, "You good?" His eyes didn't quite meet hers.
Olivia's smile faltered. She let out a breath, her gaze dropping to her hands. "I don't know, El." A pause hung in the air before she added, her voice low and unsteady, "No."
Elliot studied her. "Wow. I didn't expect you to admit it."
Her brow furrowed slightly, and he gave her a small, lopsided grin. "Usually, I get Olivia Benson's patented 'I'm fine.'"
She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, it's been a rough week for keeping up appearances."
"I get that." He leaned back slightly, his tone light but his eyes serious. "But you don't have to shoulder it all by yourself, huh?"
Olivia's gaze dropped, her fingers tracing a loose thread on the pillowcase as she spoke, her voice quiet. "It's not about being alone. I just can't stand that this is happening—he's invading my space. Touching my things. It's disgusting."
"It is," Elliot said plainly. "And it's not something anyone should have to deal with. But you're dealing with it."
"Am I?" she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. "Because it doesn't feel like it. I feel...stuck. Like he's got all the control and I'm just waiting around for the next thing he's going to pull."
Elliot frowned, sitting up straighter. "You're not stuck. You're taking steps. Cameras are up, CSU's been through your place, and every little thing we document moves this forward. It might not feel like much now, but it adds up."
She hesitated, her expression softening as his words sank in. "I just—this isn't how I do things, El. I don't wait. I don't react. I act."
"And you will." His voice was calm but firm. "But right now, this is how we act. By setting up the pieces so we can stop this guy. It's not passive—it's strategy."
Olivia didn't reply immediately, but the tightness in her posture loosened just a fraction.
"Besides," Elliot added, the humour creeping back into his tone, "you're not exactly great at sitting still. I'm sure you'll find ways to keep things interesting around here."
She shot him a look, one brow arched. "I think the lumpy pillow is interesting enough, thanks."
He chuckled, standing and stretching. "Fair point. I'll see what I can do about the pillow situation."
Her lips twitched into a faint smile as she watched him head toward the door. "Thanks, El."
"Anytime," he said over his shoulder, disappearing down the hallway.
The knock at the door was soft but firm, and Olivia knew it wasn't Elliot. He'd never knock in his own house. She hesitated for a moment before calling out, "Come in."
Kathy stepped inside, holding a pillow with a floral case—probably pulled from a linen closet, one of those extras saved for guests. Olivia straightened up, brushing invisible wrinkles from her shirt.
"I heard you didn't like the one in here," Kathy said, her tone pleasant but just shy of warm.
Olivia's cheeks flushed. "Oh, no. That was a joke. I wasn't serious at all. The pillow is fine. Really."
Kathy smiled faintly as she crossed the room, placing the new pillow on the edge of the bed. "Elliot said you mentioned it. He can be literal sometimes."
There it was. A harmless statement on the surface, but Olivia felt the sting beneath it—a reminder that Kathy was privy to details about her that Olivia hadn't offered directly. It wasn't the pillow; it was the subtle line drawn between them, the unspoken reminder of where Olivia stood in relation to Elliot's life. She wasn't sure how to respond, so she nodded lightly, her hands folding over the blanket.
"Thank you," she said quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "This is really kind of you."
"It's no trouble," Kathy replied, but her eyes landed on the duffel bag on the floor and the corner of Olivia's holster sticking out from its half-zipped top. "Though, I have to admit, this is...different. Having you here."
"I know." Olivia shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of Kathy's gaze. "Believe me, I didn't want to impose. I can leave if it's too much—"
"No." Kathy cut her off, quickly but not unkindly. "You're not imposing. Elliot would never forgive himself if something happened to you. He wants to keep you safe, and I understand that."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with implication.
"Well," Kathy said, brushing her hands against her jeans as if dusting them off. "If you need anything else, just let me know."
"Thanks," Olivia said again, wishing she had something better to say.
Kathy lingered in the doorway, her arms crossed. "He's been worried about you for a while, you know. Maybe he doesn't always know how to show it, but...he's got a soft spot for you."
Olivia forced a smile, but it felt tight, unconvincing. "I know. I just..." she trailed off. She didn't know how to explain what she felt without sounding defensive or brushing off Elliot's concern. Acknowledging it meant stepping into a vulnerable space she wasn't ready to inhabit, especially not with Kathy.
Kathy nodded, her expression unreadable, before stepping out of the room. The silence that followed was heavy, leaving Olivia with a sense of unease. Kathy's words had been simple, but they carried weight—an observation that bordered on a warning. It wasn't just about Elliot's concern; it was about how much space Olivia was occupying in his life, a fact that she knew didn't sit well with Kathy. Olivia felt as though she was being quietly measured, found wanting, and dismissed in the same breath.
She sat back down on the bed, staring at the new pillow. Somehow, it only made her feel more out of place, like she'd disrupted the fragile balance of their household. She leaned back, sighing, and let herself sink into the mattress. She wasn't sure what felt heavier—Daniel's shadow still looming over her or the unfamiliar weight of being someone's charity case.
The smell wafting up the stairs was intoxicating—something rich and warm, probably Kathy's pot roast. It mingled with the soft hum of voices and the occasional clatter of silverware being set on the table. Laughter floated up, light and easy, and Olivia felt her chest tighten.
The sounds were so inviting, so achingly familiar in a way that wasn't hers to claim. She could almost picture it: the family around the table, Elliot pouring drinks, Kathy orchestrating the meal with the grace of a 1950s KitchenAid ad. The laughter, the teasing, the hum of voices weaving together in the warm, familiar cadence of family. It was everything Olivia had never had, everything she'd always wanted but never been able to touch, not for all the wanting in the world. But that was just her own imagining—an unformed dream built on fragments of longing. Indulging in it had always brought her a fleeting sense of comfort, escape. Now, hearing it unfold downstairs, so full of life and connection, she felt the truth of it settle like a weight on her chest. It hurt. It hurt so completely.
She wasn't part of it. This vision was a reality, a living, breathing thing, and it belonged to someone else. The ache was sharp and overwhelming. It wasn't just the loss of a dream, the quiet mourning of a future that might have been if Daniel had been who she'd thought he was. No, this hurt more. It was the painful recognition that she had tried, again and again, to tap into that dream for herself. She had reached for it, only to be turned away—rejected by circumstances, by timing, by people who couldn't or wouldn't want the same things she did.
A house filled with love and laughter. Children whose voices filled the quiet spaces. A man who loved her unconditionally, who wanted all of her, even the messy, complicated parts she worked so hard to keep hidden. She'd longed for it, fought for it, and watched it slip through her fingers, time after time.
And now, hearing it unfold downstairs, so full of warmth and belonging, she felt the sharp pang of exclusion. Someone else was living that life while she was still on the outside, forced to watch. It made her feel profoundly lonely, profoundly sad, as though she'd been left standing in the cold, pressing her hands against a window she couldn't open.
She pulled back the blankets and curled onto her side in the bed, pulling the duvet over her shoulder, trying to shut everything out. If she stayed quiet, still, maybe they'd forget about her. Maybe they'd just let her remain here, in this small, quiet space where she didn't have to face the truth of her place in it all. Still, the voices downstairs rose and fell, a background hum she couldn't tune out, no matter how much she tried. She pressed her eyes shut tighter, willing herself to disappear, to vanish into the dark of the room where no one could see her, no one could expect anything from her.
After awhile, the door creaked open. She didn't move.
"Liv?" Elliot's voice was low, almost hesitant.
She stayed still, her breaths measured and steady. She felt the shift of air as he stepped inside.
Elliot hesitated, his presence filling the room.
"Hey," he murmured softly. "Dinner's on the table."
Olivia remained still, pretending to be asleep. She knew he was watching her for a moment, but she didn't dare open her eyes. She heard him sigh softly.
"You're really out, huh?"
Then, he stepped closer, and she felt the faintest touch of his hand on the blanket. He pulled it up, adjusting it over her shoulders with a softness that made her stomach tighten.
Elliot lingered, but only for a moment. After a beat, he exhaled softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "We'll figure this out."
She felt her throat tighten, tears stinging behind her closed lids.
He paused by the door again, then spoke one last time, even softer than before. "Sleep well, Liv."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Olivia stayed still, her face pressed into the pillow, as tears soaked into the fabric. The sobs came in quiet, jagged bursts, her body shaking with each one as she struggled to keep them contained. She pressed her fist to her mouth, biting down to stifle the sound, but the force of it still shook her whole frame. Each breath came in shallow, broken gasps, and the effort to hold back even as she felt crushed by grief made her chest ache. The smells of dinner and the sounds of family laughter drifted up the stairs, and she cried silently, completely, feeling the ache of both longing and loss in equal measure.