Chapter Text
He stood across the park and studied them. A light fall breeze, with that nip of cold along the edge, tossed a few leaves around the sandbox where a small, dark haired boy was digging his hands into the earth. He lifted them high over his head, raining sand and God only knew what else over himself, and squealed. Ten feet away, on one of those worse for wear wooden park benches, a woman mirrored his movements with a cheerful cry and the little boy dissolved into giggles. An overwhelming urge to join them, had Elliot pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans and clenching his fists. As he continued to watch them, she brought her hands to her lips and blew kiss after kiss to the kid, making him giggle so hard, Elliot’s muscles twitched with the thought of running to steady him from the inevitable fall.
Finally, the peals of baby laughter faded away, and the little boy turned his attention back to the sand and all the bright plastic toys scattered amongst it. Elliot rolled his shoulders to release the inexplicable nervous tension and made his way to where Senator Olivia Benson sat.
He caught her glance out of the corner of his eye as he settled himself a polite distance down the bench from her. Resting his ankle to the opposite knee, he leaned back and intertwined his fingers over his stomach. Although he was trying to exude an air of ease, truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. He felt as though everything, absolutely everything in his life, hinged on this one moment. This one woman. And to a man who’d never once bet it all on the long shot, that was terrifying.
After the catastrophic Hindenburg-esque crash of the Frank Donnelly campaign, Elliot was understandably gun shy, along with being a bit of a pariah in the political realm these days.
But he had a feeling, deep in his gut, and for better or worse, he never ignored it.
When he’d decided she was IT, he’d had to call in nearly every marker he had left to get information on this woman. And the more he learned, the more he sank into the deep surety that she was who he needed, who they all needed.
Siena College to the academy to detective in an exceptional ascent, only to be hurtled to hell when a deranged psychopath she was investigating took an interest in her. She’d painstakingly salvaged the wreckage of her life piece by bloody piece and come out on the other side, minus a badge, but eventually gaining one chubby cheeked little boy who was right now building what Elliot could only describe as a deformed sand chicken.
She’d taken the hush money the NYPD brass would swear she wasn’t paid and started a charity for victims of sexual violence and domestic abuse, with a slew of shelters from Staten Island to the South Bronx, with plans to expand to the rest of the state.
And then, a few years ago, when Derek Strauss had made the most monumental fuckup of his career by going on national morning news and regurgitating some bullshit about rape victims and reproduction, Olivia Benson had orchestrated the biggest political upset in New York State history. Running on a snowballs chance in hell of winning, only to ride to her victory on a landslide.
No one was quite sure how she’d done it, this relatively unknown crusader, but Elliot imagined she’d had her way paved by the women and men she’d spent her life serving in her former and current lines of work.
She certainly wasn’t his usual candidate- squeaky clean and always camera ready, bred to breed the next quintessential American Dynasty. She was the only child of a single mother who, in turn, had become the single mother of an only child. She could be a little abrasive and more than a bit stubborn, but she’d spent her life in service to the people of New York and Elliot knew, if he could convince her to run, the rest of the country would fall just as deep as her constituents had.
He watched her little boy run circles around a swaying swing for a few minutes, before glancing her way and murmuring casually, “Nice day.”
Immediately, she cut her eyes to him as if she’d been waiting for him to speak.
“Where’s your kid?”
“Excuse me?”
She threw an arm out, arcing it in a circle that encompassed the park, and lifted a questioning brow. “You’re at a park and you don’t have a kid.” Dropping her hand, she tilted her head towards a half dozen women standing around the jungle gym. “One of those Rebecca’s in the nanny squad over there is t-minus two seconds away from calling New York’s Finest.”
There was the smartass he’d been warned about, but they’d neglected to warn him he’d like it.
Thrusting his hand forward for a shake, he began, “I’m El-“
“I know who you are. What do you want?”
He let his hand fall to the bench between them and studied her now that she’d faced him fully, closer than he’d ever been to her. The pictures and press conferences didn’t do her justice. Deep, dark eyes framed by shiny, soft hair a shade lighter. Perfect cheekbones, perfect lips, a strong jaw that led to a stubborn chin.
She was beautiful, and they would try to bury her because of it. Another strike against them, another hurdle he’d clear for her with ease.
Clearing his throat, he finally answered, “To offer my services.”
Her brow furrowed. “Fundraising 101?” Dipping her eyes quickly to his chest, she met his gaze again and murmured, “Fashion advice?” An endearing head tilt and the ghost of a smile flirting across her lips rounded out her guesses. “AP Civics tutoring?”
The corner of his mouth ticked up, a bit of humor, a bit of self deprecation, a whole lot of enjoyment of the woman before him.
“I want to run your campaign.”
Her left eyelid twitched, a flicker of dark, thick lashes, before both eyes narrowed. “For the next Senate race?
He shook his head, just a subtle sway of his chin and grinned. “For the Presidency.”
Her brows lifted damn near to her hairline, incredulous, and if he wasn’t wrong, a little curious.
Smooth voice somehow dipping another octave, she lifted her hand and raised a finger “You want to run a Presidential Campaign?” Another finger rose, “For a junior senator?” And another, “On a handful of relatively obscure committees?” And finally the pinky, “With no juice.”
That last wasn’t a question at all, but a plain state of fact. He knew as well as she did that she was relatively new to the political arena, and would absolutely have to fight for the backing of all those asshats who were sitting their first sessions while she was still learning how to walk.
He nodded once, “Yes.”
She threw her head back and laughed, a throaty, magnificent thing that would have them falling to their knees for her. His gut deserved a fucking gold medal.
Finally, her laugh tapered off into a deep sigh, and she tipped her head back against the bench, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Is this a joke?”
“No.”
“Am I having a stroke?”
“I don’t believe so, Senator.”
A beat of silence passed between them before she sighed again and quietly asked, “Why.”
“Why not?”
“Word on the street was you were leaving the campaign trail for more moral pastures.”
He didn’t want to get into Donnelly, didn’t want to rehash his past fuckups, didn’t want to particularly discuss the singular event that had led him here today. But he knew enough about her to know that he had to give her something.
“Look, you know me, so you know we’ll win. Isn’t President the endgame for all politicians?”
She rolled her eyes so hard, he could’ve sworn he could feel the vibrations along the bench, and snapped back, “I’m not one of your trust fund babies operating on a maximum of three braincells. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
Sitting up, he rested his elbows to his knees and clenched his hands together between them. A million different snapshots of that one evening flickered across his mind. Her arm gently slung around the shoulders of a mustached middle aged man. Beaming a bright, full smile to a tiny girl with lopsided pigtails and stained overalls. Both hands cradling the wrinkled, work roughened hand of a gray haired grandmother.
A smooth collarbone peeking out as her shirt shifted when she leaned forward. Soft lips trembling with the strain of holding back a laugh. The rhythmic soothing of her thumb up and down her pinky as she focused on the people speaking around her. The deepest, darkest eyes he’d ever seen.
A rogue thought fluttered to the light of day before he could beat it back into the darkness he’d buried it in a month ago.
Was he putting his political career on the line for a crush?
Did he find her attractive? Without question. But it was more than that. So much more. Every shift of her body, every flicker of her eyes, every soft dimpled smile, radiated comfort and compassion to whatever individual she had set her undivided attention upon. You couldn’t learn that, couldn’t fake it. It was instinctual, bone deep, and Olivia overflowed with it.
Even though she’d remained silent, he could feel her eyes on him, and he turned to meet them as he gave her what she wanted.
“My friend runs an after school program at a community center in the Bronx,” he paused to assess if she realized where he was going, but she just tipped her chin for him to continue so he did, “and I was in town a month ago and decided to stop by to catch up. And I saw you.”Her eyes widened slightly in recognition and he finished softly, with reverence and not a small amount of awe, “No staff, no press. Just you. Talking to two dozen or so constituents about a literacy program you were trying to bring to the table. You were there, sitting on that shitty folding chair, until they started cutting off the lights.”
“I serve them.” She murmured earnestly. “To serve them, I need to speak to them. Not as a photo op. As a person.”
“That’s why.” He slapped the bench between them for emphasis and held her eyes. “I’ve ran twenty years worth of campaigns, and every time I think I’ve ran a decent candidate I can believe in, they get in there and blow all my expectations to hell. For once in my career, I wanna win one for someone who actually deserves the office.”
That single eyebrow ticked up again. “You dying or something? Is this a bucket list check mark?”
“Aside from chronic heartburn and a migraine or two, I’m healthy as a horse.” Resting his back against the bench, he shrugged and grinned her way. “Whatever the hell that means.”
She shook her head absently and frowned towards the playground. “You can’t possibly believe that I could win.”
“I do. You will.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You.”
Her shoulders rolled, as if to shrug off the praise. “That’s a lot of blind faith there, Mr. Stabler.”
“Not blind.”
She hummed an acknowledgement and kept her gaze focused forward.
Leaning towards her, he urged with a crackling conviction he hadn’t felt in years, if he ever had, “You do this job because you care for people. Deeply, truly care for them. That’s all the evidence I need. Maybe you’re the one who needs to have a little faith. I bet if I went back to that community center and took a tally, you’d have all their votes.”
She snorted. “Wow. Twenty people in my home state. Of course I’ll win.” Turning back to him with narrowed eyes, she finished sarcastically, “By God, why didn’t I see it?”
By this point, they’d drifted close enough to each other that Elliot could reach out and touch her, so he did. Gently resting a hand on her forearm, he quietly reminded her of something they both knew, the very something that had brought him here, to her, to this moment. And the something that would have him fighting tirelessly for her until the other guy was fake smiling his way through his concession speech on national news.
“You know politicians like to harp on and on about divides, but twenty working class people in New York aren’t much different from twenty working class people in Michigan or Georgia or Alaska. They want the best educational opportunities for themselves, for their communities, for their kids. They want to not have to declare bankruptcy with a two day stay in the hospital, or a root canal, or an ER visit. They want to be able to put food on their table and afford their electricity bill, with money left over to enroll their kid in those piano lessons they’ve been wanting. And they want their neighbors to have the same. They just want a chance, Senator. A chance for the better they were promised, but have never, ever, seen. And you want that for them.” He finished with a soft squeeze of her arm that had her eyes following the movement. “And I want to be the man to help you get it.”
He released her arm and she turned back to the playground. A silence he wasn’t sure how to describe hung between them, as she watched her son play and Elliot watched her.
Breaking it with a puff of breath between puckered lips, she questioned idly, “You really think we could win this?”
“I don’t run losers.”
“Usually.” She noted and he grinned.
He had her. And the absolute joy that thought brought him, would knock his ass to the ground if he wasn’t already seated.
“You want me to take a toddler on campaign?”
“It could be educational.”
“He’s four.”
He patted her arm and muttered, “I meant for me.”
A short huff of laughter escaped her, before she turned to him, resting her bent leg on the bench between them and questioning quietly, “I’m assuming you did your research?”
“I did.”
“You know about my conception?”
He swallowed hard but held her eyes. “I do.”
“My mother was an alcoholic.”
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he squeezed gently. “You think people can’t relate to that?”
“I think that’s one of the many grenades they’ll lob at me every chance they get.”
He squeezed again. “We’re only thinking positive here.”
“I’ve never been married.”
“Thank God.” He laughed and she tilted her head in confusion and, he was sure, affront. He continued quickly, “No ex-husbands for them to drag out of the gutter, slap a tie on, and parade across the twenty four hour news.”
She gave him that point with a purse of her lips and countered, “I won’t be standing on the debate stage with a shiny trophy husband and my two point five stepford kids.”
“Nobody to steal your thunder”
“I’m a forty something single mother.”
Raising his hand, he pinched his thumb and pointer finger together and conceded, “A smidge of thunder stealing.” A smile lifted her lips as he nudged his chin towards her son. “He is pretty cute. We can give him a little thunder.”
Silence fell between them again, but this time Elliot knew well the emotions that permeated it. A shrill trepidation, a resonant relief, and a piercing elation.
She gently grasped his forearm this time, and that elation rolled into a reverberating crescendo as she finally agreed, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, it’s not like you’d let me embarrass myself on a national stage, right?”
“Right.” He agreed, with eyes narrowed playfully and a half grin tugging against his lips.
“I get to pick my own campaign staff.”
“Okay-“
“Because, full offense, an office full of Elliot Stabler’s would be a nightmare.”
“Offense taken, but agreed.”
“You were supposed to take offense. That’s why I prefaced it with full.”
“Shut up.”
An indignant little groove wrinkled between her brows, before she used her grasp on his arm to push him an inch down the bench. “Get out of here, Stabler. I’ll call you Monday.”
“I look forward to it, Madam President.”
Her eyes widened and he winked. “Just practicing.”
That one rogue thought reared up and he gave it its head for one infinitesimal moment, before he stood, letting his fingers brush against the back of her hand in goodbye.
“See you Monday, Senator.”