AN: OMG this is a long chapter. I'm sorry. But...hopefully it's worth it. ;)

Chapter 7

September 1992

Manhattan

"It's never just coffee," Olivia, thought and overthought.

Olivia was a cautious person. She worked hard, played by the rules, strived for perfection, was loyal to the few people she trusted, and had above-average instincts. She wasn't the type of woman who pined for any one man nor did she allow herself to fall in love easily. Not that she didn't keep herself open to the chance of falling in love. She certainly did. It's just that with love came trust, and Olivia trusted few. People who knew her well, called her stubborn.

"That's Olivia," her mother would say. "Stubborn as a mule. Nobody can push her into something if she's not ready."

For a whole two weeks Olivia put the letter inside of her bedside end table and after all of the back and forth about meeting for coffee or not meeting for coffee.

"I have a hard time believing you have the willpower to forget about that letter," Alex told her after a week. "What are you afraid of."

She merely answered ",I'm not ready." But it was a fear.

This fear paired with years of her mother beating the patriarchy down her throat, was the root cause of her 'stubbornness' for sure. Her whole life she was told by her mother and her grandmother and their female friends, and by the actions of the men in her life, that men were not to be trusted. That men only thought about sex. Her mother would go into great detail about how men look for women and girls to prey upon and rape. That they're animals. Instead of debutante balls and daddy daughter dances, Olivia was taught how to walk down a dark street with all of her senses. Instead of perfume she was gifted mace at the young age of 10. She stopped counting how many times her mother showed her how to hold her keys between her knuckles, so she could stab any man that tried to attack her.

"Shoot for the eyes first and then the gut," her mother would say, usually after getting back from the bar. Her breath reeking of booze and her words slightly slurred. "Kick him in the balls. Scream. Scream for your life. And always remember to scratch the skin. Get the DNA under your fingernails. I wish I would have done that. I just sat there though. I froze. Never freeze, Olivia. Fight. I wish I would have fought your father, and then I wouldn't need to teach you these things…."

These were the bedtime stories Olivia was raised on. Not fairy tales with beasts turning into prince charmings and intelligent beauties giving them a second chance, or happily married Mermaids who grow feet and have perfect children on an island with a castle. Always that men would ruin her life by getting her pregnant and leaving her physically and financially drained, alone, and powerless.

So yes, the letter sat in that bedside table for nearly 3 weeks, until one day, she felt the need to act on it.

On this particular morning she had already seized the day with a 4am call to the police academy for hard-core physical combat training, which she passed with flying colors. She kicked open her door around 10am, sweating from head to toe in her now pristine living room with its brand new ikea furniture and modest personal touches. She downed a huge glass of orange juice, noticed her new arm muscles, took in her bright sunny apartment, and she felt empowered by it all.

"I don't need to write a letter or show up unannounced for coffee," she thought. "I'm gonna call him."

Maybe it was the endorphins or the extra vitamin C, but without a second thought, she found the number for the 20th precinct in the Yellow Pages, asked the front desk for Elliot Stabler.

"Stabler," he said like a true detective from some kind of 1980's crime show.

"Hi," she said in her light, fresh, sweet voice. "Elliot, it's Olivia…..Olivia Benson, you wrote me a letter-."

He dropped his pen. "Liv!," his voice changed from serious cop, and morphed right back to that high school boy in the chevy impala. "You got my letter!"

"I got your letter," she beamed, feeling good about her choice, and comforted by his warm reaction.

"How did you get my number?"

"Eh…the phone book," she froze, nervous for a moment..

"Right. Who's the detective now?"

She lightly made an agreeable sound, and then nervously wrecked her brain for the next right words. "Wanted to see you see if you were still…um…if you want…if you were a…?"

"Let's grab some coffee and catch up," he finished.

She sunk into her couch, thankful he was on it, and beating herself up for not pre-thinking what she was going to say.

"Yes," she immediately answered. "Let's do that."

"Ah…tell yeah what, can you meet up this afternoon? I'm in court until one o'clock today, and things are slow for me after that. Can you do 2?"

Her eyes grew wide. She wasn't expecting him to say 'today.' She caught a glimpse of her wild sweaty hair in the mirror and panicked, but she had plenty of time, she thought, so yes.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Great, there's a french cafe right on the corner. See you there?"

"See you then…or there-"

"Can't wait," he replied with intense enthusiasm.

"Me too," she blushed.

"See you soon."

They both smiled and placed the phones and their heads down like that was the most difficult thing they would do all week.

Olivia went back and forth about what to wear. Empowering business suit seemed too intimidating. Casual flowy dress seemed too much like a date. Fall sweater and slacks, too family Christian book store. Nice jeans and her favorite grey T-shirt, too casual.

Half of her closet was piled on the floor, until finally she chose a tight white cotton shirt that both hid and exposed all of her curves remaing sublte and not slutty, trendy mustard slacks, her favorite belt, and a casual maroon cropped flannel jacket. Light makeup, red lip, boots, and she was ready to run into Elliot Stabler for coffee.

Which she did, a little too well.

The French Cafe

Two minutes before 2pm.

"Liv?"

She heard his voice and whipped around.

"OHP!," Elliot yelped.

"Oh my god!," she freaked.

There, right outside of a cute little french cafe where Manhattan's wealthiest and Midtown's tourists casually sipped their fancy drinks in "I heart New York" T-Shirts and fashion forward apparel, Olivia held two mugs of full coffee, and somewhere between looking for an open table and catching him in the corner of her eye, she piled right into his chest, spilling boiling hot foaming cappuccino all down the front of his white work shirt and his only good tie.

She quickly placed the half empty mugs on a nearby occupied table and grabbed napkins from a stuffy woman sitting at it.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," she dabbed his shirt.

"It's okay…a little hot," he said, holding his briefcase away from the drippage and trying to help dab with his other hand.

Even after all these years, he was just as she remembered him to be, except more refined.

His face was more chiseled now. His hair at a clean-cut length fit for a detective in his late twenties. She could tell he was in shape even though his suit coat was a little big on him, and his eyes. His eyes could have eaten her alive they were so pretty.

She nervously grabbed all of the dirty napkins from his hand. "I should have waited for you to get here, but I had this picture in my mind that I would guess what you liked to drink and it would end up being your favorite drink, and that would add some magic to the afternoon."

Elliot held her gaze. She was cute and funny, and it had been so long since he'd seen her, that he wasn't expecting that. They very suddenly got lost in each other. The connection was hypnotizing and she could feel all of her nerves slow down to a ripple as they both stood taller in the magic of the moment.

"You made the coffee disappear. That was pretty magical," he slowly grinned, and they both busted out loud in laughter.

The woman at the table scoffed.

"Your shirt is ruined."

"It's just a shirt," he brushed off.

"And your tie," she went to touch it, and he grazed her arm. An electrifying sensation for both of them.

Time seemed to move in slow motion. The city was loud and buzzing all around them, but they may as well have been alone.

"I have other ties," he assured her.

The woman hogging the table next to them grumbled, fully annoyed that they were standing so close to her table still. She stood up. "Here, just take the table. You're practically sitting on me anyway, Why not?!," she huffed and collected her things and left.

Elliot looked at Olivia for a moment and they stifled a laugh as she stomped away.

They then sat and waited for one of the waitstaff to come take their order.

Elliot was uncomfortably wet in his now coffee stained suit shirt, but he didn't dare show it, and she made it easy for him to forget about it.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered her.

"Let's try this again," he flirted.

"The second time round is a charm? Wait that's not it," she scrunched her nose unsure.

"Third times a charm. Second time round…. is better than no time around at all…Is that a quote ? Is that Shakespeare?," he tried to remember.

"Ah. No. Maybe you're thinking of 'Tis far better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all."

"That's a lot to take in before we even have coffee," he laughed and she responded in suit.

"Romeo and Juliet is highly overrated anyway, our version of second chances is more my speed," she replied with her soft wit.

He enjoyed that she was sharp and full of wit. Just as he remembered she was, only more striking and confident. And still sweet.

Her tan skin was glowing under her brown hair that was now cut short and pulled back behind her ears. She was unlike the other women he'd ever been with.

"You cut your hair," he said seemingly out of nowhere.

"Ah," she touched it surprised that he would remember her hair. "Yes, I did."

"I like it."

She was about to make a joke about her puffy cheeks, but decided to do better for herself and let that bad comment from her mother go.

"Thanks," she proudly responded instead. A sultry smirk fell across her lips.

They both sighed and took the 7 second conversational pause. Then ",So how are you-" at the same time.

"You go first," Elliot gestured. "How are things? How's life?"

"I…geez…where do we even start. It's been so long. I can't believe I'm sitting here with you."

"Same," he smiled. "You graduated college?"

"Yes, I live in the city now."

"You look tan. Did you do a summer trip?"

"Yes. Europe. And you are also tan."

"Active duty in a desert. Nothing fancy," he twitched, and she picked up on his signal to not ask, and pulled things back to her.

"Well, I just got back from three months in Europe," she began the small talk. The conversation was light and easy. She spewed out a long monologue about her trip and ended with Euro/dollar conversion which was clearly when she lost him, and then took a deep breath and slowed down her speech to finish with.

"Oh, and I just finished my second week at the police academy."

That immediately made him perk back up. "Oh, wow. Good for you. Two weeks in. You sore?," he joked and then looked around at the cafe hoping a staff member would come soon take their order soon.

"I'm getting my ass kicked."

"I would have never pegged you for an NYPD type the first time we met."

"What'd you think I was going to be a lawyer," she joked, but his eye brows lifted hinting that the answer was 'yes.'

"Lawyers are part of the problem. I'd like to be part of the change."

"Well then, I think you are where you needed to be," he winked.

"You…," she started to say, but paused trying to edit her words in just the right way. "You actually said something to me that night about being a detective, and it changed my life forever."

"Did I?"

"You did, and…I guess it stuck. I hope that's not too…strange to hear," she added, because he was staring now, and she couldn't tell if he was intrigued or appalled or freaked out.

He was intrigued, though. And intimidated. Here was this beautiful woman in front of him, and this was the second time she reminded him that he saved her. His bruised confidence started to question it all. Why did she remembered something that he said to her 8 years ago? And he could live up to that memory? He was the star of the football team back then. Prom King. He had everything going for him then, and now he was almost floundering. Also, he didn't know her. She may think this is a date. Is it a date? Or did she just want to say a friendly thank you? They were both flirting pretty heavily and coffee hadn't even been ordered. Should he be flirting back? She appeared genuine regardless of it all.

Suddenly she lifted her chest as she turned to find a waiter. His eyes fell to the lace bra under her tight white shirt. Did she know he would look? Did she want him to see the lace? He realized she turned away from him because he took too long to respond. He snapped out of it.

"Nah, I don't think it's strange," he said and meant it. But now he obsessively started reading in all of her body language. When she turned back to look at him, he lifted his arm to the table and flexed subtly to see her reaction. Her eyes flicked to his bicep and then she touched her hair and the nap of her neck.

"Okay, she finds me attractive," he thought to himself, still keeping a calculative wall up.

"Thank god, you don't think it strange. I'm going to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect at this meet-up. I had a backup plan to get out early if you ended up being weird or if we couldn't find anything to talk about."

"Oh," his eyes grew wide in jest. "I'm glad I'm not weird!"

She scrunched down in a silly way. "Ug! That's not what I meant."

"She's being physically silly. She's having a good time and laughing at my jabs," Elliot mentally noted.

"I just mean," she stifled a laugh. "That it's been 8 years. And sometimes the things I remember from my youth, as I'm sure you can relate, aren't as sweet and charming as they once were. So to bring up the 'you saved me' stuff. I didn't want it to sound cheesy and old and strange."

His lip curled up into a half smile trying to prevent himself from a guy laugh. "She likes me." he said with conviction to himself.

"You. Cheesy. No," he jabbed at her. "I hope that first part means that I'm sweet and charming and not something old and strange like the Gremlins."

She laughed hard. "Oh the Gremilins movie is bad! That monologue about Santa being her father stuck in the chimney..."

"Nope. Just absolutely terrible script writing," he made a disgusted face, and relaxed his anxiety. If nothing else, he could make her laugh and he could work with that.

"Look," He got serious. "Like I said in the letter, I'm glad you chose the right path. It's rare that a woman listens to anything coming out of my big dumb mouth, so...I'll take your old srange comment as a compliment," he ended with a lilt. The corners of his mouth curved up.

She tossed the last of the napkins at him.

"You're lucky I don't have any more coffee," she jabbed back.

"I think maybe the waiters all saw what you did to me earlier and have banned us from buying any more."

She laughed again. He was on fire. He sat up straighter now and let his doubts subside.

"So you want to be a detective?," he continued.

"It's all I think about," she nodded, holding his eye contact.

"Your two weeks in at the ol' academy. You have Bill Harris as your hand on hand combat instructor," he asked.

"I do, you know him," she asked.

"I sub in for him sometimes for extra money."

"You teach combat?," she brightened up.

"I do. I love it. How's your choke hold?"

"Oh…ha, 2 weeks in. Not great. I can ace all of the protocol tests they want to throw at me, but the physical combat moves, are my cryptonight. If there were a tutor for that, I'd probably take it," she sighed.

"I'm sure you're not that bad," he said giving on final attempt to call over a coffee maker.

"Should one of us get coffee at the counter. They look busy," Olivia pronounced.

Elliot bit his lip for a moment in deep thought, he was inspired by the combat remark, and looked down at this shirt. "Fuck it, you know what? Let's get out of here. I got an idea."

"Oh, okay," she said ready for him to take the lead.

She followed him into the building next door.

It was an older building, like a library with spiraling staircases and old elevators. It had character like it had seen some things, an energy that many of the old New York buildings had.

He signed her in and led her to the third floor.

"The 20th precinct is the only police station hidden from street view, because our building is historical and the rich donors like to pretend crime doesn't happen in their neighborhood. But we have an incredible gym because of those donations. I'm gonna change out of this shirt and let's practice your moves."

"My…moves," she was suddenly taken aback.

"Your hand to hand combat moves. You said you wanted a tutor."

"Oh, sure."

"I'm the best tutor in town, baby," he made his eyes brows dance and she laughed again.

Elliot opened the door to homicide, and the rich donors weren't that far off, it looked dead. Half empty old wooden desks, an occasional phone ringing, and the muffled voices chattering about the floor.

He touched her arm and pulled her into the unisex dressing room. "You want to change your shirt too?," he asked.

She'd never been in a unisex locker room before. "Ah, sure?"

They were the only ones in there. There were a few bunk beds and a line of lockers on the back wall.

Elliot turned away from her and unbuttoned his shirt and ripped it off.

"Oh, he's undressing right there," she thought to herself, unable to figure out where to look.

"Gah, I had to get the coffee shirt off. No offense," he joked.

"None taken. Should I be in here," she asked him.

"Yeah yeah. It's fine. This homicide unit is basically a bunch of fat old guys. It's like me and my female Sergeant Jo, that basically uses it. Otherwise, nobody but the after hours defense class is coming in here to go to the gym. Which is a crime."

He tossed her a navy NYPD shirt. "Here. Put that on," and turned away from her again as he stood in his locker digging around shirtless in his bag.

He was in amazing shape, and had a Jesus tattoo. She took note of it, and how comfortable yet polite he seemed standing half naked in front of her.

She turned away from him, and pulled her jacket and shirt off.

"I must say, this sure is the most interesting coffee date I've ever had," she jabbed.

"Shit it was a date," he thought and then.

"Oh, I'm an-," he turned to look at her in response, and there she was in her white lace bra, her tan skin and it's cleavage for his viewing pleasure. "-Ass," he finished, blinked, and turned his eyes away.

She grinned to herself and pulled his shirt over her head.

"I should have asked if you were comfortable with this," he added on. "I wasn't even thinking."

She tucked the shirt into her pants and lifted her brows at him. "I am now," she flirted and looked at the gold around his chest..

She noticed right away at the cafe he wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but there around his neck was a chain with dog tags and a gold wedding band. It gave her great pause.

This whole conversation the entire hour, was all about her. She hadn't gotten any information about him.

She sat on the bench next to him while he changed and organized his locker.

"So what about you, Elliot Stabler? What have you been up to all these years? Here I am yammering on and on about me."

"Me? Ah nothing to talk about. Work and work. Went to Military school. Went to Queens community college. Trying to climb the latter. This precinct is difficult to get into. I'm only here because my dad knew a guy. But I'm not getting enough cases to level up. Probably going to transfer soon. But that's just shop talk. Nothing as interesting as Europe and college upstate and having coffee with the boy who saved you from becoming a high school drop out, barefoot and pregnant with Burton."

She slapped his arm playfully. "Not funny, but you thought about me, because you remembered Burton's name."

His face was awefully close to hers now. "I may have been jealous."

The door opened into a gym with a padded area, and he lead the way.

She mentally danced around how to ask about his relationship status. This would be so much easier if he had just been on any of her internet searches. Let a page that tells a girl what she's dealing with. Loner guy who likes basketball, dad jokes, and beer or married with kids the rest doesn't matter. "I'm sure there's something interesting you do when you leave this place at night."

"I read a lot. I just read Teddy Roosevelt's Biography."

"Really?"

"Yeah. No," he joked again. "I don't read."

She shook her head and laughed again. "Seriously, what do you do?"

"I work out. I listen to music. Help my brother Joey on my days off. And my mom. Cut everybody in my family's grass and all their handyman things. I watch football. You know...normal boring stuff."

"I don't think any of that is boring. I think it's sweet that you take care of everyone," she sweetly responded.

"Nobody else does."

"How is your family?"

"Fine," he immediately grew uncomfortable. His chest sunk in and his eyes searched the room for something. "We're helping my mother through bipolar and she won't take her meds. And I should probably be home more often to help out. But…things are complicated." He tossed a mat on the ground near a large set of mirrors. "You need to warm up?"

"I'm good, I think."

Olivia noticed he said 'we', and he was diverting the topic about his family. But she didn't know how to ask about Kathy. Nor did she want to say Kathy's name or push the subject. She knew 'stubborn' when she saw it.

"I like you…and your yammering much more than I like talking about my life," he said.

It felt abrupt and vulnerable for him to say that to her.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she touched his arm.

"I'm better at showing you what I like to do."

"Okay," she softly smiled, also noticing he clearly 'liked' her.

"Show me some of the things you've learned so far."

"Well…choke hold," she started.

"Yep, that's an important one. Let's go through that. You choke me first."

"Okay," she sheepishly responded.

She then stood behind him as they faced the mirror.

"Go ahead and place an arm around my neck."

She did. He was warm and smelled of really good deodorant. She knew if he wanted to, he could toss her around the room and do anything he wanted to her, and she would consent to every second of it. Her heart beat fast against his back.

"You see," he softly spoke next to her face. "This move can be done by anyone, any size. And if you know how to do it right, even the largest of men, will go unconscious."

He turned to look at her. Their lips were inches apart. "Take your left arm and put it around me, and place it on my glands, where the blood flows."

He adjusted her arm placement, but didn't want to alarm her or make her feel like he was trying to pull any unwanted moves on her. He could feel her heart beating faster. "Now squeeze for a second to get the feeling, but then stop."

"Okay."

She did.

"Did you feel that?"

"Not sure."

"Okay, take your arm away and do it again without my instruction."

She did as he said.

"Oh Yeah,"

"Okay, now adjust."

She adjusted and immediately felt the difference, and surprised herself. "Oh! I did it! Yes, that was different."

"That was perfect. Now you have to hold that for 30 seconds. That's not long, but it's not always easy. If you need to, you would jump on the attacker's back. Place your arm here on my neck and then grab the chest hard with your other hand. Pull chest hair if you have to."

"Wow," she tried the move again and then pulled away from him in excitement. "You explained that better than Harris. I'm so impressed."

"Thanks," he blushed.

"Really, I feel so much more confident. Now show me how to get out of it," she jumped.

He swallowed hard trying to remain professional.

"May I," he asked as he stood behind her getting ready to start the move. His voice soft near her ear.

"Yes," she practically whispered. Her insides tingling.

He put an arm around her neck gently and spoke near her neck. Her whole body tensed, but in a love-struck way.

He felt it, and watched her close her eyes.

"This move is done by just about any criminal, even the ones that don't know what they're doing, so once they have you, place your hands under my arm-"

Before he could finish Olivia had flipped him around and pushed him on the ground.

She jumped on top, pinned him, and grinned.

"I thought you said you weren't any good at this," he chuckled.

"Well…I was good at that move and you weren't expecting it," she smiled.

He teasingly growled and rolled her over to pin her down, all in good fun.

She squealed and they fell next to each other breathing heavily, and holding eye contact.

The chain had fallen from his shirt and that wedding band dangled in her view.

She asked.

"What is that? On your necklace?"

Before he could answer the gym door opened and a hot sassy blonde named Sergeant Jo Marlow, poked her head in. "Stabler!"

They both jumped.

"Kathy's looking for you. She called a bunch of times."

"I gotta go," he helped her up.

"Kathy," Liv repeated.

He hadn't even realized what was happening in Olivia's brain. He just started talking and walking. "She was supposed to be watching mom tonight. Marlow, this is an old friend. Can you help her to the elevator," Elliot said as they walked through the locker room.

"Yep," Jo replied as she gave Olivia side-eye.

"Liv, we gotta do this again," he smiled. "I'll call you," He quickly nodded to her and left the room.

She was speechless standing there with this Jo Marlow woman, unable to figure out what just happened. One minute she was falling in love, and the next minute, the ghost of Kathy swooped in and burned it all down. Had she read the room wrong? What was he pulling?

She awkwardly smiled at Jo, grabbed her shirt and her jacket, and followed Jo to the elevators. "You NYPD?" Jo asked.

"Ah…soon. I'm in the academy right now. Elliot..was helping me do something," Olivia said in confusion and hurt. She smashed the Elevator button.

"Mmmhmmm. See around rookie," Jo grinned with a glare that read "husband stealer" to Olivia.

The old elevator jerked itself to the first floor and Olivia slowly walked the hall to the front door like she'd done something wrong and this was her walk of shame.

When she got outside Elliot was just passed the door with his back to her. He was holding a little blonde girl around 5 years old, and Kathy was crying. Upset about something.

She stood there long enough to hear Kathy say "He does this to me all of the time, Elliot. I told him I had to work tonight. I can't take care of your mother all of the time. I need you and Joey to step up. And Joey was supposed to be home at one o'clock, so that I could go to work and he's not there. I'm so tired of him-"

Olivia quickly walked away. She stashed this day to the back of her mind in that file that helped her to forget pain. She would not cry over this. She stuffed it in that mental drawer, just like she stuffed that letter in her bedside table, and she went home changed into her Pajamas, tossed Elliot's shirt in the far corner of her closet, and watched the Gilmore Girl's marathon until she passed out, and woke up to another day.