Chapter Text
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: June 15th, 2017 2:45pm EST
Subject: hi
El-
I feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions. I love the job, I would be lost without it, but Noah is old enough now that he understands his home life is unconventional. That no one else’s mom runs out in the middle of the evening, leaving him with a babysitter. No one else’s mother comes home from work with cuts and bruises after being taken hostage or wakes up screaming from nightmares.
Sometimes I wonder if he would be better off with a traditional family, one with two parents that are home on time and always have the energy to play games with him instead of dissociating on the couch. I know that his chances of finding that in the foster system weren’t good. There’s no one who would understand this the way that you would. We’ve seen the worst case scenarios and I know that since he’s here with me (and his nanny) at the very least he is safe and fed and loved. But I still feel an immense amount of guilt for not being able to raise him like he deserves.
You would love him at this age. He’s about as old as Eli was just before you left and I remember hearing your stories about spending your days off building Lego towers into cities and the stories that Eli would come up with about the people that lived there. I wish you were here. That you knew Noah and were in his life. That you could play Legos and superheroes with him, be another member of the family that I’ve built for him. Someone I could call to take him to get ice cream when I have to work late. Someone to help me figure out how to be a parent and a cop without feeling guilty that I’m half-assing them both.
Speaking of family, Fin is going to be a grandpa! Why does that make me feel old?
-L
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Something was tickling the back of her mind, something she knew she had forgotten but couldn't place. Of course, given that she was a lieutenant, a commanding officer of a precinct, a mother to a rambunctious son, and a head of a household, she figured that if it was important enough someone would either show up in her office to complain or she’d get a past due notice in the mail.
The past few years she had a hard time slowing down and relaxing. It felt like she was moving from the moment she got out of bed in the mornings and if she wasn’t parenting or doing something work related, her mind couldn’t settle. Even on the rare occasion like this afternoon, when she was off work and Noah was napping, she couldn’t turn off her brain enough to get engaged in a show or lost in a book. So she had started her time to herself by catching up on emails and cleaning up around the house. It was while she was doing the dishes that it clicked - she hadn't seen a bounce back after she’d sent that email to Elliot.
The emails had started six years ago in the flurry after Jenna's shooting. Once she realized he wasn't just temporarily ignoring her phone calls, she had tried emailing him to see if maybe he'd be more responsive that way. She sent him little messages all summer so he would have something to help catch him up when he came back. Notes about their cases and stories about the squad, like how Munch had gotten stuck in the vending machine and it took 2 guys from the janitorial staff to free his arm, a dill pickle in a bag still clenched in his skinny fist.
El hadn’t responded, but her emails had gone through until shortly after Cragen let her know El had put in his papers. That first “sender not available” email after absent-mindedly sending him a note about a perp who’d fainted on Fin hit her like a ton of bricks.
For some reason, she'd kept it up. Sometimes she’d write from her desk to cool down after a long case, telling him about the things her new partner wouldn't understand. She shared her fears of not being able to re-qualify after Lewis. And after Noah came to her, she would find herself writing to El late at night, when insomnia hit after getting a fussy toddler back to sleep. She’d ask him for parenting advice and tell him what it was like to finally be a mother. And every single time she had sent an email to his NYPD address, she'd gotten a bounce back.
Olivia’s stomach dropped. She stopped mid-way through putting the silverware away and ran over to her laptop and opened the mail app, her stomach feeling like a beehive had taken up residence. Sitting at the top of her inbox was a new message. Not from [email protected] telling her the recipient did not exist, but a message from Elliot Stabler.
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To:[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: June 15th, 2017 10:15pm CET
Subject: Re:hi
Liv-
I really didn’t expect to hear from you, and I’m guessing you didn’t expect for me to get your email. I don’t know how long you’ve been writing to this address and how many messages I’ve missed, but I’m glad to have this opening. As many times as I’ve thought about you over the past six years, I just couldn’t get myself to reach out.
I don’t know how to begin to apologize for walking out on you Liv. I’ve re-written this email five times in the span of an hour and I still don’t feel like I can get it right but know that I’m trying my best. I’m sorry it’s been so long, and I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I was just, well, I was afraid if I heard your voice I wouldn't have been able to leave. And I needed to go Liv, I was headed for a meltdown and we both knew it. But I never should have left that way.
I guess if you're still reading you might be wondering what I'm doing back on the job. I’m in Italy. I rejoined the force last week as the nypd liaison in Rome.
Liv, I can’t believe you have a son, and I hear your doubts but I am completely certain that you’re an incredible mother. There’s no way he doesn’t know how lucky he is, even if you sometimes have to miss dinner. I understand that guilt, but I know you, and I know you are providing the best life possible for him.
Next time I’m back in the states, I’d love to take you both to get that ice cream.
Oh and Fin’s not the only one who is gonna be a grandpa.
Yours,
El