Chapter Text
It's late when Elliot Stabler steps off the elevator and rounds the corner into the Special Victims Unit, relieved to find the squad room nearly deserted. The lights have been dimmed, the cleaning crew is quietly hard at work, and the only other person there is exactly who he's come to see.
Though he's made several visits since his return to the city, he takes the opportunity to look around, still feeling somewhat of a stranger in a place that used to feel like home. The entire space has undergone major changes since he left, and every time he walks in, he's grateful that the traumatic memories of his final moments at SVU, once vivid and haunting, are thankfully harder to recall.
As he makes his way towards Olivia's office, his fingers skim along the edges of the desks, no longer well-acquainted with most of her squad. Even in the last four years, it's been a revolving door of badges, trying to find detectives who don't just work the case, but focus on helping survivors navigate the long road of personal healing.
He knows that the whistleblower from the Bronx transferred over, but other than the fact the man is apparently rich, Elliot knows little else about Bruno. And there's McGrath's mole… Velcro, or something like that – Elliot can't remember – who, thankfully, chose loyalty to Olivia over the chief. Then last year, an FBI agent came on board, and, of all people, an IAB captain joined her squad. He heard that things are going surprisingly well with Captain Curry, but the FBI agent didn't work out. Add Fin, her stalwart friend and sergeant, and Olivia hasn't just built a unit; she's curated a brilliantly unorthodox team, blending high skill with calculated risk-taking.
Though his footsteps echo through the empty space, his presence goes completely unnoticed by Olivia, who remains anchored to her desk by stacks of paperwork. Passing her window, he slows his pace just enough, letting his gaze track the familiar details, cataloguing the way her brows furrow in intense thought, her glasses rest precariously on the tip of her nose, and that stubborn line of her mouth that he knows better than his own.
Her life has always been one of constant, loving sacrifice, a relentless routine of serving everyone else first. He wonders, not for the first time, when she last went somewhere that wasn't for the job or her son, but where she could simply be Olivia.
Just as he reaches the threshold of her office, the faint, melodic whisper of her voice hits him, bringing him to a sudden halt. He feels almost guilty, like he's intruding on a private moment, but he can't bring himself to step away. Instead, he lingers out of sight, letting the bittersweet lyrics wash over him.
“And I feel just like:
I'm living someone else's life
It's like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right.”
Peeking his head inside, he takes a closer look at the woman whom he's loved longer than he can admit. Even after a long and tiring day, she's still the most beautiful woman he's ever met.
With a deliberate step closer, he leans against the door frame, a slow smirk spreading across his face as she remains unaware of his arrival. Completely immersed in her work, her fingers tap a steady rhythm as she continues to mindlessly serenade herself.
“That this was not your dream
But you always believed in me.
Another winter day
Has come and gone away
In even Paris and Rome…”
“Fuckin' Rome.” The words are breathy, almost a sigh, accompanied by a subtle tilt of her head. A discreet curse, only meant for her own ears, but he hears it clearly, the quiet resentment still simmering from his time spent there.
His smirk vanishes instantly, replaced by deep and painful regret that continues to follow him every day. He will always carry the shame of how he left, and the cowardice of his silence.
He had realised back then that the job had become too much during those final years of their partnership. He had started wanting to spend more time at the precinct than at home – not for the cases, but because that was where she was. He stayed for her. Until he didn't.
He and Kathy had built a good life in Rome, a life he wouldn't take back, yet Olivia was never far from his mind.
Breaking out of his thoughts with a quiet shake of his head, he clears his throat. “Ah-hem.”
The soft rumble pierces through the quiet, and Olivia lets out a startled yelp, nearly jumping out of her chair. Her hand instinctively moves to the holster at her hip while the other flies to her chest, her fingers tracing a calming motion, clearly trying to force her heart into a slower, steadier tempo.
“Holy shit, Elliot! You scared the crap outta me!”
“Sorry, Liv,” he apologises, palms up in playful surrender, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he saunters towards her desk. “So sorry.”
“What are you even doing here?”
“I was, uh… I just came by to see if I could take you out to dinner.”
“El…” She lets his name hang as her entire body deflates, sinking into the chair and letting her eyes flutter shut as she gives in to her visible exhaustion. “It's not a good time. I'm up to my neck in paperwork, and I haven't seen my son for more than two hours all week.”
“Yeah, no. Of course,” he replies, his smile faltering as he tries to mask his disappointment. He knows the toll the job takes, and the nagging guilt that her career is stealing the moments that should belong to her son; precious moments that are growing increasingly sparse the older Noah gets. It only deepens his admiration for what she's accomplished. “Liv, I totally get it. No worries. Anything I can do to help?”
“You? You want to do my paperwork?” She arches a skeptical brow, waiting for an answer that doesn't come. As the silence stretches, she lets out a sharp, cynical exhale. “Right. I didn't think so.”
A knowing smirk curls his lips as he offers a self-deprecating shrug. “Never my strong suit, but if it'll help you…”
“I don't need half-hearted offers, Elliot. So if there's nothing else…” she snaps, her hand waving away the conversation as she gestures at the door. “I really need to get back to this.”
“Yeah, okay, Liv,” he mutters in subdued agreement, taking a step backwards before turning on his heel. There is no faulting her for being defensive; he's the one who left and shattered their foundation, after all. Rebuilding their friendship has been a painstakingly slow process, a cautious effort where every single brick is held up to the light, scrutinised for imperfections, and tested for structural integrity before it is allowed to stay. With a final glance in her direction, he apologises, “Sorry to have bothered you.”
He makes a swift exit out of the squad room, honouring her request for space, leaving behind a silence that absorbs her broken whisper of “El” and her dejected collapse into her own hands.
As the asphalt hums beneath his tires and the city's lights flicker past in a rhythmic haze, doubt begins to creep in, heavy and difficult to shake. Had he waited too long to fix this? He knows his actions since coming back have been mostly about taking, not giving, leaving little evidence to show Olivia he can be trusted again.
He's unbelievably proud of everything she achieved after he left. He always knew she was meant to take over for Cragen and run SVU one day, just as he knew she was meant to be a mom, and that any kid would be lucky to have her. It is a crushing weight that he doesn't think will ever go away – to realise he missed her becoming both.
But it hasn't gone unnoticed that the constant juggling of work and motherhood has left her with absolutely no time for herself. Done with just taking, he's determined to step up, making it his mission to shake her out of that “same old, same old” routine, and show her that she deserves to enjoy life, too.
He would offer her the world if he could, but knowing she isn't the type for big, flashy gestures, he decides to start small; a night out, free from the pull of duty, meant not to impress her, but to remind her of the woman beneath the blazers and the responsibilities. He'll turn an ordinary evening into an unforgettable experience.
By the time he slips his car into a vacant spot on his street and cuts the engine, the flurry of ideas in his mind demand action. He can't afford to let them settle; he needs to cement the details immediately.
It's all a gamble, though. Even if everything, and everyone, goes according to plan, she could still reject him, and all his efforts would be a total waste. But it's a risk he's willing to take – for her. He'll just keep his fingers crossed that she'll welcome the invitation and say yes.
Not wanting to wait another moment longer, the first of several critical calls is already dialled before he grabs his keys.