A/N: There are so many snippets about his return that are in my head, and sometimes they block everything else I want to write. I'm fairly sure these snippets are going to come in chronological order, but this is my place to leave the scenes in my mind when that's all that they are. I heard this song and it made me cry. I listened to it 400 times. It's perfect. Thanks to my whip and my girls for listening to me whine about needing this out of me. Sorry, this isn't beta'd...all the mistakes are mine, as they always are.

Song: Hold On – Noah Reid

(first things first)

To me, she was,

those final steps,

the turn around the last bend,

the house,

with a light on,

and a fire lit,

and a faint laugh in the distance on the warm wind.

That was she.

She was my always coming home.

- Atticus

It's nearly eleven p.m. and she should be home by now, but she had asked Lucy to stay the night with Noah, and her son has long been asleep so there's no reason just yet for her to head home.

There is every reason for her to stay here tonight.

If she knows anything, she believes she is right about this much.

Olivia gets up out of her office chair and goes to stand by the windows that overlook her squad room. With the overheads turned off for the night, the room is swathed in dim light. Everyone in the unit is gone except for Amanda, and she can see her finally packing up. She needs to get home for her daughters, too.

The Special Victims Unit sign on the far wall remains illuminated, and Olivia feels her chest tighten. How the years have changed things. She stares at the words and there is a part of her that could crack just a little bit. Somehow a two-year assignment had turned into twenty, into a lifetime. There are days when she misses her former Captain so much that she wants to break down. How different the days had been when he ran this unit. There was a naivete that had lived in her then, despite the horrific cases and personal sacrifices. She had to follow her gut and sometimes she would rail against the rules or the outcome, but the hardest part of those days on the job had been finding the line, not enforcing it.

She misses Munch and his acerbic wit. She misses the very start, when Brian had still been full of youth and idealism and Monique had been someone she thought would blossom into a lifelong friend. She misses the natural ease of working with Alex, the deep daily bonds of friendship with Rafael, and even the headstrong clashes with Casey. Huang had always been a voice of reason. She thinks of the price they have paid, losing good people like Ed and O'Halloran, Sonya and Dodds, and she remembers those who lost sight of boundaries, like Peter and Jo, Lake and Dana. Morales. Nick is on the west coast now, and she likes to think of him out there in the sun with his kids.

She squeezes her eyes shut and closes the blinds. Olivia presses the heels of her hands into her face and tells herself there is nothing to cry about. Things go on.

She had gone on.

On the surface, she had gone on.

Despite the one person she more than missed. The one person she had wanted.

The news today had hit her like a ton of bricks. Carisi had showed up in her office just after lunch. They were in the middle of working through a case when his phone had started buzzing incessantly with messages. Her former detective read through all of them and then looked up at her, puzzled. Wasn't this guy Stabler your former partner? Her stomach had dropped violently at the concerned look on his face. But he had quickly clarified. His trafficking case just busted wide open. Three dozen arrests coming in, it's all hands on deck. I have to go. Then Carisi had furrowed his eyebrows, asking her questions as if she had known all of this all along. How does someone go under for seven years? How does someone come out of that?

She had asked him to close the door behind him as he left. Her face had dropped into her hands then and the stunning news had coursed through her, stealing her ability to breathe.

Under for seven years.

There had been no way to wrap her head around even that little bit of information. There had been a host of emotions that were vaguely recognizable. Disbelief. Anger. Abandonment.

But she had careened past all those feelings fast. She had lived through all of them long ago and come through them, onto the other side of it. Acceptance. Peace.

Then the pain had hit her brutally hard. Not pain for her, but for him.

She'd seen cops go under for a year or two. She knows what it did to their lives. Their marriages fell apart, their children disassociated. They would come out of the assignment broken, empty. Their purpose done; they would emerge to find their lives in shambles. Some went under again immediately, turned it into a full career where they never again went by their own name. Others were lost to the addictions. Some crossed the line and found themselves on the other side of law. Some eventually ate their gun.

Seven years.

Her heart had come apart at the ground-shaking reveal. The magnitude of the reality had tattered everything inside of her. In the middle of her grief, the realizations had stacked up. If he had been undercover it explained why he hadn't known, or come to her, in the darkest days all those years ago.

He hadn't been able to.

She had done her best to pull herself together earlier this afternoon. She couldn't cry in the office. There would be no public tears. Not for either of them.

The news had spread like wildfire through the department in the hours afterwards, and the memos and emails had come fast and furious. Her unit hadn't been involved at any point in the past because it had been a joint international sting between the NYPD and FBI as well as Homeland Security. But now the fallout would spread across the department and the agencies. Tomorrow there would be meetings and press conferences, statements and evidence to be processed. Victims to be questioned. Half a dozen ADA's would be involved. The bust had been a massive success, it had saved countless lives.

Elliot had saved countless lives. She had sat at her desk and leaned back into her chair. Stared at the ceiling. The pain had warred with how proud she was of what he'd done, and she just kept thinking of course, of course. That was the man she knew.

He would strip his skin off down to the bone in the name of justice.

This is my partner, Detective Stabler.

His name was redacted on many of the memos, depending on clearances. For his safety and that of his family, his name would never be publicly released.

He would never get credit, despite the fact that he had sacrificed absolutely, positively everything.

His family.

That's when she had given in and cried. Her eyes are still puffy even now from how hard she had grieved behind her closed door.

All this time, she had believed he'd been safely home with them. She had imagined family vacations and his youngest growing up with the full attention of his father. She had imagined holidays and graduations and the light coming back into those aching blue eyes.

She had never imagined this.

Her office door is open now, and she hears Amanda quietly head for the elevators. They had all avoided her for the most part after the news had come out. Not because they were afraid of her, but because they had instinctively known she had needed the privacy. The space. Even Fin hadn't said a word.

When her detective's footsteps fade, she hears the other set of steps coming closer. She's still standing by her window but she doesn't open the blinds. She doesn't need to see who it is.

She knows.

She had expected this. Believed in it. Believed in him.

Olivia doesn't turn around. It's ironic that after nine years of waiting, she still needs another minute. One last one.

The footfalls she knows too well finally stop at her door, but they don't cross that threshold. She can hear his breathing and feel him on her skin. She inhales the comforting familiarity of him, and the heavy weight of nostalgia blends with the present.

"I didn't know if you'd still be here," he rasps.

She almost shudders as she turns. His words lay heavily between them. He could mean the late hour; he could mean nine years.

"I stayed," she manages gently. "I knew you'd come."

She means nine years.

The way he looks at her - he knows.

That's the truth. She always believed that one day he'd show up again. She had stayed in a place she had known deep down that he would find her. She had just never imagined it would be like this.

Olivia tries to process the changes in him. The lines on his face are deeper, but he is harder overall. Bigger. Broader. More chiseled. His face is covered in a weeks old beard, yet she can still see the nasty, mottled bruise that slashes across his cheek. He's got a bandage wrapped between his thumb and up around his wrist. He's favoring his left leg. His t-shirt is thread-bare and he's wearing a black leather jacket and jeans that have both seen better days.

It's his eyes that capture her, though. They are endless. Wholly lost and entirely desolate. There are too many stories in them. His irises reflect the things he has seen, and the haunts scare her because they are not the ones she can easily recognize any longer.

She recognizes him, though. All the way through. Even after all of the years.

Her throat is raw, her own eyes fill. She will not fall apart; he needs more than that. He deserves more than that here tonight.

Seven years. Years. Her voice seems to lock.

"Hi," she finally says breathily. She is both rooted to the spot and trying to start the conversation again.

Elliot doesn't move from the doorway. He's leaning on the doorframe for support and he looks exhausted. She knows he's been medically checked out, but he would have been grilled all day by the task force. Psychologically, it's going to be a long, hard climb. There is another battle ahead, and that is the one that he will have with himself. With the nightmares that will try to climb into his bed with him at night.

She knows.

The physical pain registers across his features. "Olivia." It's a guttural thing.

The reverberating sound of her name coming from his lips rouses every fierce, protective instinct within her. If she was lost a few moments ago, she isn't now. "What you did-"

His face starts to collapse. "I'm sorry, Liv. I'm so-"

"It's the most heroic thing I've ever seen," she quickly cuts him off on a whisper.

His face lifts then. The way he looks at her, he's like a surprised child being told he's done something good. The fact that he doesn't understand the sheer, stunning impact he's had - that he isn't processing it - scares her. In the coming days and weeks he won't be able to absorb the destruction of his personal life if he doesn't understand the magnitude of what he's done to protect those who couldn't save themselves.

She plans on reminding him. Again and again and again.

"Congratulations," she says gently. "From what I've read you just closed one of the biggest cases this department has ever been a part of, Elliot."

He bows his head and shakes it. "Don't. The things I've done to hurt the people I love. I know about…." His features are stricken and he quickly looks at her again. Panic starts to flood him. "I know about what happened to you, Olivia. I just-"

"Not now."

He stops, nodding and chewing hard on his lower lip. The gesture is so familiar that it makes her chest slam beneath the aching onslaught. They both know he's not capable of the conversation about her past right now, and truth be told, she doesn't want to have it anytime soon. She's okay, she's healed in a thousand ways. One day there will be the time and place for it.

She's sure of that. She will tell him. He'll listen. One day.

This moment is meant for other things.

Elliot looks at her desk. He seems to lose himself for a moment. She watches him fade a little bit as he takes it all in and she is mobilized by his paralysis. This isn't just a conversation, this is the effects of trauma. Whatever it is that he's seen or wherever it is that he's been, it's more than she's even been able to imagine.

And the worst of his pain is yet to come. In the days ahead, when he has to face his family again – that will be a hell he has never experienced before.

She won't leave him out there alone on this. She suffered badly years ago, and she had needed him. But in the end, she had been surrounded by people who had helped her through.

He's been under alone for years, while his life was systematically stripped away for the greater good.

She takes a few steps forward. "Come in, El." She tries to keep her voice low. Coaxing.

He cocks his head. "You sure?"

She nods, making sure he knows this is a safe space. There will be no recriminations from her. "You need anything? Something to drink? Eat?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm good. I just wanted to see you." His eyes lift to hers again, tentatively, as if he is wary of her response. "I needed to see you," he scrapes. "But I understand if you-"

"I'm glad you came," she assures him quietly.

"Yeah?" He gives her a faint hint of a smile and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.

"I waited."

His eyes widen just a little bit. "Tonight?"

She feels sure of herself now, as if he's handed her control of this thing. She had wondered all day which one of her emotions would win out tonight, but now – faced with him, with the man she still trusts more than any other person in the world – her emotions are clear and coming from a place that feels solid. Right. "Maybe." She gives him a small smile. "Or maybe I've been waiting all along."

Elliot looks at her then. He nearly smiles but it is a fleeting thing. The guilt within him is winning the wars, and watching it play out is obliterating her. He clears his throat. His back stiffens, as if he's preparing to for an onslaught. "I'd been under for a year when I heard about what happened."

"I'm ok, El." She takes a step towards him, closing the distance. Her need to make sure he's going to get through wins out over anything else. "I'm right here, and I'm okay. So you don't have to worry about me, alright?"

She's standing directly in front of him now. So close that she can feel the air shift every time he lets out a deep breath. He's so loosely pieced together that she's almost afraid to touch him.

"Don't do that," he says quietly. "I need to apologize to you." He can't even look at her. He's focused on the picture of her son behind her desk. "Don't absolve me."

"There's nothing to absolve." Her fingers are aching to make contact with him. To just smooth over the bruise on his face, the crack in his lips. Her worry and the intensity of her need is nearly overwhelming.

That's when he finally lifts his gaze to hers. "I know what I did, just leaving-" He's piecing himself together so tightly that his eyes are reddening from the force of his withholding. "I will never ask you to forgive me."

Seven years under. The impossibility of that slams into her repeatedly.

Hundreds of lives that can go on because he'd given his, and he's standing in her office apologizing. He's every bit the man she'd fought alongside for so many years. He has made tragic choices and paid astronomical prices, yet the good he's done fills her and she recognizes the strongest emotion in the saga of him that lives within her.

Pride.

She can't contain her urges anymore. She leans forward and gets within a few inches of him. She lowers herself just a little, so she can ger her face beneath his bent head. Her palm settles on the rough surface of his beard, until she is cupping his face.

Oh.

She's shaking.

He flinches for just a second, then his eyes close and he sinks into the touch.

She knows it has probably been years since anyone real has touched him. "Elliot, listen to me." It's the voice she uses with those she wants to protect. Shelter. She will shelter the hell out of him from here on out. "I forgave you the day you left. You had every right to walk away. But today? Today, I found out that you never really left. You just went and gave more of yourself. Parts you didn't have left to give."

His eyes fly open, and it's her turn to inhale sharply at the starkness she's staring into.

"I wasn't there for you," he says simply. His cheek presses into her palm, and he lifts his own bandaged hand to cover hers against his face.

He doesn't understand. In her worst, scariest moments, she'd found every bit of his fight and she had used it. "Yeah, you were." But from the way he looks at her, disbelievingly, she knows he doesn't understand. She tries to explain it differently. "In your worst moments, was I there for you?"

It's the first bit of recognition that she sees in him. Elliot's shoulders seem to relax just a little bit. He blinks slowly once. Twice. His breathing evens out a little bit. He stands up a little straighter. "Yeah. Every time."

"Okay," she nods, as if that's settled. "Then you understand. I gotta tell you though, El. If you are gonna go away for that long again-"

"I'm not," he interrupts. He clears his throat and puts some volume behind it. He looks back towards her desk. "I heard today you have a son."

The obscenity of it fills her eyes, despite her best efforts to hold it together. That Noah should be a healthy, beautiful six year old boy and Elliot not know about him - the irony of that reality slams into her. For all the years she tried to quell the need to share with him and only him, it is incomprehensible that this is how he is finally learning about her son. "His name is Noah. His birth mom was one of our vics. He's-"

"That him?" Elliot's words are sandpaper as his gaze settles on the photo.

"Yeah."

He shifts a little bit, nearly taking a step back. Her hand falls to her side. She doesn't understand the reaction right away until she watches the way he glances around, as if suddenly uncomfortable.

He's displaced. It's jarring for him too, that he doesn't know her son.

"You need to see your kids, Elliot. Find a way to get to know them again. Then come get to know Noah."

A small light seems to ignite within him. It alights something with her, too. This, this is watching him clawing his way back. "Yeah?"

That one word carries the barest hint of raw hope within it.

The pressure in her chest cracks, and it eases into something lighter. Easier. Screw the way he is holding her at bay. Olivia steps forward again and she gets into his space. She gives into the need and then she's grasping his jacket in her palm and jerking him towards her. "Elliot."

"Fuck," he expels harshly. "Liv, I…Jesus."

And then without warning, he's on her, both of his arms wrapping around her tightly. Her arms lift and she's got him against her. The relief is painful, the reality more than she could have ever anticipated. They have always fit too well, air has never stood a chance between them. Her mouth presses into the warmth of his neck and his arm is around her waist, the other in her hair as he holds her against him. A decade ago, the words had been in her and she uses them again now. "I'm really glad you're back." It's a muffled thing against him.

He recognizes the words. Gives them back to her. Shades of another lifetime. The same history. They are still intertwined. "I should have come back sooner."

She emits a small broken laugh, right into his skin. They are going to be okay, she thinks. There's no other way for this to go. The smell of him is so utterly familiar, and her legs are shaking. Her hands grip at the back of his neck, and she never, ever wants to be without again. "I missed you."

He shifts then, pulling back from her only enough to grab her face in his hands. "My marriage died before I went under and it left me…thinking. Nine years, that kinda time? It sorts a lotta things out for you, you know?"

She closes her eyes because she's not strong enough to absorb anything else today. Even if deep in her bones, the time apart has sorted the same things out for her, too. "Lotta pieces left to pick up but there's time."

He touches his forehead to hers. "I'm not the same, Liv." It's a confession, and he's waiting for her to condemn him.

Not on her watch.

"Yeah, you are. But so am I. Neither of us ever had boundaries when it came to going after the wrongs, El. The pursuit costs you, but you can come back from it." He's listening to her so carefully that it makes her believe that soon they might be closer than ever. Maybe it took all the years to shake them out of the boundaries and rules. "I came back. You will, too."

He's breathing heavily. "But where did I come back to, Olivia? They've got me in some hotel until I can find an apartment, and my kids don't know me. I don't know them. Eli – God." He shudders.

He pulls her back against him, and she thinks maybe he's just finding his place again. So is she.

He's scared, but he's talking. And that's all the reassurance she needs. His mouth presses against her forehead and she doesn't know if he even realizes what he's doing.

Long seconds pass. The hum of the heater clicks on. She remembers the sign outside of her office. Special Victims Unit. The years with him, the years of them. There's something in her that unfurls, a part of her that had long been quiet shifts.

Begins again.

"I missed you, too," he finally murmurs against her skin. "At a depth I will never be able to explain. Tell me you know that."

"I do," she answers softly.

And she does.

"Tell me we're gonna be ok. Somehow. Some way."

"We will," she responds simply.

And she believes it.

He tugs her head forward, shifting so that his mouth now falls to the top of her head. "Promise me."

Over twenty years ago she had walked into this squad room and he had given her a home. This unit had become her place not because of pedigree, but because of the man in front of her. He had given her a sense of belonging. Of family. Of shelter.

She can give it back to him now. In the time between he has lost his family, and she has built hers. She's strong enough to be who she wants to be for him. She's strong enough to fight the demons with him.

Olivia steps back, but only so Elliot will be forced to look her in the eyes. The ferocity of her emotions nearly chokes her. She has watched too many people come and go, and yet here he is, back again. The one person that she could never really let go.

"Welcome home, Elliot Stabler," she murmurs, smiling at him.

He locks his eyes on her. Maybe there are a few less haunts in those irises already.

For the first time tonight, he chuckles softly, just steadily watching her. "Jesus," he says gently. "It's damned good to be home."

Silently, she finds the God she doesn't really talk with often, and she says thank you.

Elliot's grin forms slowly, and when it's done slipping out of him, it reaches all the way to his eyes. There you are, she thinks. And here I am.

It's a start.

And for one night, it's more than enough.