Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending?"

-exile, Taylor Swift

i.  

If infinity only exists in numbers and mathematics then there’s a certain irony in knowing that Elliot has finally run out of chances. 

He has found the finite in the infinite, and it’s his own goddamn fault. 

There will never be a right time to tell Olivia about his relationship with Angela - whatever it had been. And that only compounds it all, of course, because Elliot doesn’t know what it was. He doesn’t know how to explain it: what it was, what it almost was, what it could have been. Would have been, if the situation had been even a little different. 

Elliot doesn’t know how to explain that, either. That he would have fallen into a relationship with Angela without meaning to, almost - that in his grief and confusion he would have started something that could never have been anything but doomed, sooner or later. 

Jesus, he’s made such a mess of everything. How has he even come to this point? 

There will never be a right time to tell Olivia about Angela, but there will be a wrong time. Elliot knows that he’s getting closer to that time after the wedding - after the soft way she smiles at him and says to partners in a toast meant just for them. 

The honesty will cost him everything, but Elliot knows that there’s no other choice. Not really. This is Olivia, and he has committed so many transgressions over the years, but he doesn’t want this to be one. 

He can’t cross that line with her with this hanging over his head. He won’t. 

God, the way Olivia looks at him when he tells her about Angela is the most horrific thing he’s ever seen. She’s quiet throughout his explanation. Listens without interrupting, doesn’t jump in and try to finish his sentences when he falters. Olivia just sits there, immobile, her expression closing - hardening - more with every word. 

Until the woman sitting in front of him is a caricature of the woman he knows. Elliot has seen her interrogate rapists and killers; face some of the most gruesome crime scenes their job has to offer; stand up under the weight of an existence that would make lesser people crumble. He’s seen her wounded, and afraid, and angry - bitter, and sad, and despairing. 

He’s never seen anything worse than this.

Olivia doesn’t yell. She doesn’t curse at him, or accuse him of his stupidity, or fly into a rage. Elliot wishes she did. He wishes that she would do anything except what she does. 

I kissed the woman who is responsible for my wife’s death. 

It’s as if God, or the universe, or both, are punishing him for getting it so wrong. As if the very forces of nature are ripping him apart for so much as daring to look at another woman. It’ll never work with anyone else, they seem to be telling him. 

Elliot wants to scream. He wants to punch something, because he knows. He doesn’t want it to be anyone else, doesn’t want it to work with them - not really. Yet he keeps making these mistakes as if he’s stuck in the worst self-fulfilling prophecy he can dream up. 

Olivia has such a remarkable sense of self-control. Elliot has always admired that about her. Even more so, now, after she’s had so many years moving up the ranks of the NYPD to hone it. Now that she’s had years of needing it as Captain.

She’s even calmer now than she’d been in that hospital after Elliot’s traumatic return. There’s no crack in her voice as she stands: it’s clear and almost monotone in its control. 

“You don’t owe me any explanations, Elliot.”

Elliot doesn’t stop Olivia when she leaves. He watches her leave just like he did that day in the hospital even though he feels like he’s burning, because he knows. He can count the number of times he’s been unable to read Olivia on one hand, and he knows that it never means anything good. 

He’s told her the truth and she’s turned to steel, to stone, to glass. He looks and sees nothing of her, just his reflection.

The reflection of years of his mistakes, as if he’s standing in a room of mirrors. Hundreds of chances stare back at him: ignored, discarded, forsaken. Numbers are infinite, he knows, but not these ones. 

Elliot has finally found the end of the infinite. There will be no more chances. 

So, he watches Olivia walk away and feels invisible flames lick his throat, burning all of his words to ash. 

ii. 

The invitation is a surprise.

“Would you like to have dinner sometime?”

His eyes are the heavy gray-blue of storm clouds and there are laugh lines in the corners of his mouth when he smiles. 

The let down is forming on her tongue when Olivia opens her mouth and says, “Uh, I’d love to, actually.”

Not the smoothest response, but she thinks she deserves a pass since she had no idea three seconds ago that she was going to accept. 

She knows by the way he smiles that he’d expected her to turn him down as well, and it’s sweet, the way he falters for a second before recovering. 

“Great,” he says sincerely. “How does Saturday sound?”

It’s been a while since Olivia has given anyone her number, and her stomach flops as she watches him type it into his phone. She returns his smile and then shakes her head in mild disbelief after she’s watched him walk away. 

There’s no time to ruminate on it alone because Amanda’s blonde head pops around the corner and is quickly followed by the rest of the woman.

“He asked you out, didn’t he?” Her smile is triumphant, and it only widens when Olivia ducks her head a little.

“He did,” she confirms.

“I knew it! I told you he was hitting on you, Liv. Wait, you told him yes, right?”

Olivia bites back a smile. “I did. We’re going to dinner on Saturday.”

“That’s great! And you know I’ll watch Noah. So, do you know where you’re going?”

“I don’t, actually. He did ask if I like French cuisine, though.”

Fin strolls through the door into her office, takes one look at Amanda grinning at Olivia from the chair in front of her desk and asks, “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Olivia says.

At the same time, Amanda answers, “Captain was just telling me about her hot date.”

“You had a date?” Fin is surprised but he’s also trying not to smile. 

“Should I be insulted?” Olivia quips.

“Glad to hear Stabler has finally manned up,” Fin says as he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“Stabler?” Amanda repeats. “No, that hot defense attorney that was just in here, Hutton.”

There’s nothing pleasant about the way Olivia’s stomach flips at Fin’s mention of Elliot, but she keeps her face as impassive as she can manage. Fin searches her face and Olivia hopes that she’s done a good enough job that there’s nothing for him to find. 

“Last I heard, Stabler was undercover,” Olivia offers, and that’s all she says.

At least, that’s what he’d told her on his last voicemail. Olivia doesn’t know because she hadn’t answered his call, just like she hadn’t answered his previous four calls. He’ll stop eventually, she knows. 

But she can’t be unfeeling - despite how she wishes she could be - so when she’d listened to his voicemail she had caved just a little.

Listen, I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, he’d said, but I wanted to let you know that I’ll be undercover for a while. I’ll let you know when I’m back, okay? I’m coming back, Olivia. You can’t avoid me forever. 

And because her heart is a traitor and she’ll never stop caring about him, she’d responded with a text. Just two words, but a response just the same. 

Be safe. 

Fin is still staring at her in that way he has that tells Olivia that there’s something he wants to say, but will keep to himself. Which is perfect for her, because she doesn’t want to hear it. 

“What’s up?” Olivia asks instead, and it’s clear from her tone that the personal moments are over. 

She does an admirable job of putting it all out of her mind for the rest of the day. Olivia has enough going on in her life to keep her busy and she is an old hat at compartmentalizing. Her focus is on the case, on Noah, on all of the tasks that she needs to accomplish when she goes home.

So, of course, Fin catches her at the end of the night as Olivia is slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the elevators, her hands full of her phone and her car keys and the glasses that are dangling from two fingers because she’s just taken them off. 

“Liv,” he calls quietly.

She lifts her eyes to see him pushing his chair backward and rising to his feet. He comes to rest against the desk closest to her and folds his arms over his chest.

“What happened with Stabler?” 

Olivia thinks about dodging the question. She considers lying, giving him some line of bullshit that will answer his question without giving him any real information. But this is Fin, and he’s been with her for longer than anyone else. He’s been her partner, her friend, the steady shore in the storm. 

So she settles somewhere in the middle. With a deep breath, she answers: “The same thing that always happens. Nothing.”

Olivia leaves without giving Fin a chance to say more. She’s tired of talking, honestly, because talking may bring the truth but it always brings pain, and Olivia is tired of that. She’s tired of the truth, too. 

The truth brought Angela into her life and took Elliot out of it, as it were.

She’s doing her best not to think about it. Elliot’s personal life is none of her business, no matter how close they’d been to a time when it would be - no matter how Olivia had thought that’s where they were headed. 

Elliot has, once again, made it clear just where Olivia stands. He has done what he’s always done and chosen someone else. Someone else’s support, and understanding, and comfort - someone else’s lips and body and love. 

Well, maybe not love. But still. 

The positive side of Elliot’s decade long absence is that Olivia has learned how to live her life without him. It’s easier now than it would have been then to get through her days without him. She goes home and delights in her son and the life they’ve made, and she goes to work and has so much to focus on that Elliot Stabler is the least of her concerns. 

When Saturday comes around Olivia is surprised to find that she’s nervous for her date. She hasn’t been out with a man in years - not since Ed - because her focus is already so split between Noah and work that she doesn’t have a lot of energy for anything more. But it’s nice to be reminded that she’s more than a mother and a captain. It’s nice to be reminded that she’s a woman, and that there are still people out there who find her desirable. Especially now, on the heels of Elliot’s … decision. 

Olivia deliberates on her appearance longer than she intends. Amanda is knocking on her door while she’s standing barefoot in her closet and wondering for the hundredth time if she should change her dress. 

When Olivia meets her friend at the door Amanda’s eyes widen and she gives a low whistle.

“You look great, Liv.”

“I was just trying to decide if I should change my dress.”

“No way! Go put your shoes on or you’re gonna be late.”

Amanda is right - about being late and about the dress - and it’s just nerves, Olivia tells herself. She kisses the top of Noah’s head and makes him promise to be good for Aunt Amanda, and to have fun with the girls, and then Olivia is headed out the door.

Her date, Andrew Hutton, has offered to pick her up but Olivia has opted to meet him at the restaurant instead. It’s the weekend but she can’t rule out the possibility that she’ll be called away for work. She knows that Hutton - Andrew - will understand because he may not be a cop but he’d met her on the job and he’s worked with police enough to understand the nature of their job. 

She’s nervous, but the date goes well. Andrew is handsome, and charming, and intelligent. Olivia has expected that because she’s seen all of those things in the course of the last case, but what she hasn’t expected is how humble he is and how … interested. 

The food is delicious and the wine is expensive. It’s nice to be wined and dined - literally - and Olivia knows that the night is a success when she catches herself in an unexpected laugh. 

After dinner, he somehow manages to talk her into walking down the street to an ice cream shop even though Olivia swears she doesn’t have room for anything else. 

“Give the wine more time to wear off,” he tells her with a smile. 

“I had two glasses over three hours,” Olivia replies discerningly, her eyes narrowed and something like a smirk.

“Okay, give me more time with you,” Andrew corrects with a guileless smile. 

Olivia ducks her head shyly and her smirk turns into something wider, freer. Amanda had made it clear that she doesn’t expect Liv to pick up Noah until tomorrow and she is enjoying herself, so Olivia agrees. 

They share a small paper bowl of ice cream and Andrew holds it in one hand as they stroll down the sidewalk. It’s been a long time since Olivia has just walked the streets of Manhattan and it’s nice to feel normal for a minute. She’s not on her way to a crime scene or chasing down a perp or interviewing witnesses. She’s just a regular woman out on a date that’s going so well that she doesn’t want it to end. 

By the time he walks her back to the car they’ve been out for hours. Andrew holds her car door open for her and Olivia thinks he’s going to kiss her, but he’s a gentleman and opts for a kiss on her cheek instead. When he asks to see her again Olivia doesn’t hesitate to say yes. 

She doesn’t spare a single thought for Elliot until she’s crawling into bed. She hopes he’s safe, wherever he is, and that he’s doing better. And that’s all she’ll let herself think about before burrowing under her blanket and forcing herself to sleep.

Life goes on, Olivia thinks, and that’s one of the best lessons that Elliot’s departure has taught her. 

Now, his return is teaching her that too. 

iii.

Elliot can’t stop looking at them. 

He’s doing his best not to, truly, but his eyes keep drifting over of their own accord. They don’t know he’s there and that alone is a surprise to him. He’s so accustomed to being someone to Olivia that it hits him like a shockwave to be no one to her now. Elliot has always believed that he and Olivia have a sixth sense when it comes to each other: knowing where the other person is, anticipating how they move and think … 

Yet, here she is and she’s clearly on a date, and she has no idea that he’s here. Granted, he’s undercover and has been for weeks. He can’t afford to draw any attention to himself: he’s seated at a table in the far back and waiting to meet with one of the lower level goons that will get him a leg up on their real target. He’s so close to being done with this, so close to going home, and seeing Olivia here now is like a taunt. 

She looks beautiful - she is beautiful - and he can see her smiling even from here. Elliot has never seen the man she’s with but she looks comfortable with him. Happy, and even if he weren’t a detective Elliot would be able to tell that this isn’t their first date. 

This is what Olivia looks like to the rest of the world. She’s just a beautiful woman in Manhattan: a nameless stranger in a restaurant, someone who smiles at the person she’s with over a plate of good food and conversation. They don’t know who Olivia is: they don’t know how witty she is, how stubborn, how determined. No one in this restaurant knows that they’ve never been safer than they are at this moment just because Olivia Benson is here. 

They don’t know that she will give every ounce of herself to protect them, these people who don’t know her - that she has been doing that for years despite what it has cost her. 

Elliot is aware of her the entire time. He meets his contact and listens to what he’s being told, carries on conversation that’s fitting for his undercover persona but is anathema to Elliot, and the whole time he can feel Olivia’s presence like a phantom limb. He keeps sneaking glances at her and though her presence is a taunt - look at what you’re missing, again, look how she’s moving on without you, again - it’s always a reassurance. Elliot lets his eyes land on her, or slide over her, and it’s a reminder that he’s not really alone. That she’s still out there, the only person he’ll truly ever consider his partner, still helping him fight the good fight even when he can’t see her. Even when they’re not themselves, even when the ground beneath them is a little less than solid, that never changes.

They’re on the same side, and Elliot knows himself well enough to know that as long as that’s true then everything else can be worked out. 

Olivia is the only person he has to have on his side in some way, at all times. 

The man he’s been meeting with finally leaves. Elliot will make do with the information he’s been given - it’s not enough, not as much as he wants or hoped for, but he’ll make do - and he’s about to slide out of the booth when his eyes search for her one last time.

Olivia is still here with her date and Elliot doesn’t know how to feel about that. It must be going well if she’s still here, almost more than two hours later. 

He doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that he kissed Angela but it tears him up inside to see Olivia here with another man. Another man that Elliot doesn’t know, a man that has probably kissed her - that has somehow become someone to Olivia while Elliot has been away, when, at least in this moment, he is no one to her. 

Just then, Elliot watches her rise from her spot for the first time. They must be leaving, he thinks, but the man doesn’t rise and Olivia is making her way to the back of the building. The bathrooms, Elliot realizes, and he’s out of the booth and following her before he can tell himself to do otherwise. 

She’s already in the bathroom by the time Elliot rounds the corner, so he props himself up on the wall opposite of the door and waits. 

God, Olivia is stunning when she reemerges. The lights in the restaurant are low, liquid gold that forms false puddles of light on the floor every foot or so, and she’s glowing beneath the warmth of them. A sun unto herself: heat and energy and life. 

Her surprise when she sees him leaning against the wall doesn’t last long. Elliot hates that she’s surprised at all because it just reinforces that she really didn’t know he was here. 

“What are you doing here?” Olivia asks quietly as her eyes dart down the hall. 

Always a cop, Elliot knows, always assessing the situation and looking for danger - for a way out. 

“Who’s the guy?” he replies, because he is a son of a bitch and he can’t stand being no one.

Even across all the years, this - fighting with Olivia - is the same. Her eyes do the same thing they always have: narrow, harden, telegraph the rigidity in her that will not entertain a single thought of backing down. 

“What do you want, E -.” She catches herself before she uses his name. She knows without asking that he’s still undercover and it will take a lot more than him being an asshole to make her forget that a slip now could cost him everything. 

“Another chance,” he says and pushes himself off the wall. He’s thought about it nearly every moment since that fateful admission in his apartment. How many chances he’s squandered, missed, forsaken - about what he’ll give to have just one more.  

Infinity only exists in numbers, and that must mean something. It has to; it has to mean that there’s still hope for him, if he fights hard enough for it. If he wants it enough. 

And he does, he will, he does. 

“At what?” Olivia asks and the way she’s looking at him … God, she really doesn’t know.

Doesn’t know what he’s thinking, what he’s asking, what Elliot has come to understand since the moment he told her about Angela. 

He is fading. He’s been fading for years, for a decade, but the finality of it strikes him now, in the hallway of a restaurant he’s not even supposed to be in - hadn’t expected to find her in. The marks he has left on her are so pale now they’re almost transparent, and that’s fitting because Elliot knows they’re not real. Not tangible, at least, nothing that anyone else can see or knows to look for besides him. And her. 

He’s back in New York and her life, yet he has never been in more danger of truly becoming no one to her. Just another face she recognizes in a crowd, or across a room - someone that will never mean nothing to her but only because, once upon a time, he meant something. 

“This,” and he reaches for her hand because he needs the grasp of it to remind him that he isn’t a phantom yet. “Liv, I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes, I know, but Angela … I was …”

She opens her mouth to say his name. Elliot can see it, the way her tongue reaches out to press against the back of her teeth to form that first syllable of it, and then she catches herself again. Cuts it off before she’s even made a sound, and it fucks with his head to know that his name should have been there and isn’t. 

Fading. 

“Stop. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Elliot knows she doesn’t believe that. Neither does he. “I did, Olivia.”

“No,” and her voice gets quieter even though they’re still alone in this hallway, several feet away from the date that makes her smile and the rest of the world. “You made a choice.” 

She’s leaving him then, still beautiful and glowing in the low lights, and Elliot is ready to chase her right out of this restaurant if he has to, undercover identity be damned. He doesn’t want her to go back to that man, or back to erasing him. 

He doesn’t want to find the finite end of something he’s thought will last forever. 

But infinity goes both ways. Elliot has forgotten this, that there are more than just the positive numbers - that even the negative goes on, endlessly, away from everything that he’s ever hoped for. 

“I didn’t choose this.” He’s desperate to make her understand. 

She’s not desperate, though, not now, and it’s a nasty, gnawing realization that Elliot stumbles upon: that she has been here before, infinity stretching in the wrong direction, desperate for another chance. For an answered phone call, an explanation, a chance to just … understand. Make a different choice. Change the trajectory and end up on the right side of all of those numbers. 

Olivia pauses. Her expression is that same blank one from his apartment. How has she become so good at hiding?

So good at hiding from him?

Ten years, you piece of shit, and Olivia has never said those words to him but it’s her voice he hears in his head.

“You chose someone else,” Olivia corrects, her tone quiet and awful. “Like you always do.”

“Olivia.” He can’t manage more than that, can’t speak or breathe through the iron vice of her words as they cut him off, cut him open, cut him to pieces. 

“Be safe,” she says, and then Elliot watches her walk away.

What about me? Two voices echo in his head, one whisper-soft and the other screaming.  

It’s providence, Elliot decides as he stays frozen to his spot and watches Olivia leave with the man he doesn’t know - the man that isn’t him - that this man he’s pretending to be is an arsonist, because he has set fire to every inch of the land that used to be theirs.

He has only the conflagration to remind him of where it once was, and the sinking fear that perhaps, finally, there is nothing left to defend. 

You chose someone else. 

Elliot has found the finite in the infinite, and he’s never been good with endings.