Chapter Text
The air inside the sixteenth precinct buzzes with tension as Olivia strides down the corridor. Her dark hair bounces in a flirty ponytail, her soft bangs frame her face, and the sharp click of her high-heeled boots cut through the hum of voices and ringing phones. She easily navigates the chaos, eyes sharp, while her phone vibrates relentlessly at her hip—a reminder that Carisi has been begging her for answers. He’ll just have to wait.
Her focus remains on the investigation swirling around her. Her team bustles around the squad room, pinning up new leads and discussing strategy, while Fin keeps pace right beside her. “I need the suspect’s alibi verified, and I want forensics to prioritize that blood sample,” she orders, her voice crisp but calm as they near her office.
Fin nods, rattling off updates. “Already on it, Captain. We’ve got surveillance teams heading out within the hour.”
She barely registers the buzz of her phone again, dismissing it with a sigh. “I’ll be waiting for updates,” she tells Fin as she pushes open the door to her office, ready to dive into more reports, only to halt mid-step.
Sitting casually in one of the chairs across from her desk is an unexpected visitor.
His bald head turns at the sound of her entrance, his profile sharp and striking. She pauses, allowing herself a moment to take in his impressive figure. Broad, squared shoulders that hint at his strength. A thick neck that connects seamlessly to his shining, bald head. His face is all rugged lines and shadows—a strong, proud nose, thick brows framing intense eyes, and a salt-and-pepper beard that shifts subtly with the hint of a smile.
She hates how damn attractive he is lately.
“Didn’t expect to see me, did you?”
Even his deep voice is sexy.
Olivia closes the door behind herself, pressing her back against it.
The last time she saw Elliot, she’d been drunkenly stumbling to his bathroom to vomit. She never gets drunk. Buzzed, sure—maybe a glass or two of wine, or one strong drink with a friend after a long day—but drunk ? Not in years. Not like she had been that night.
She’d made the mistake of bragging too much, talking a big game about still being able to keep up with him. “ Just like the old days ,” she’d boasted, words that now made her cringe in hindsight.
That blurry, messy night was over a month ago, and while they’ve spoken a few times since, this is the first time she is seeing him face to face. The embarrassment is already gnawing at her, threatening to resurface as she stands there, frozen in the doorway for a second longer than she’d ever admit.
Shaking it off, she propels herself forward, striding around her desk with way more confidence than she actually feels. A smirk tugs at her lips as she glances down at him, seated casually, waiting.
Elliot grins up at her, those familiar blue eyes and the shine of his bald head catching the light streaming through the blinds. His expression is easy, unbothered—like that night never happened.
She wishes she could feel as casual about it as he seemed to be.
“So,” Olivia begins with an inviting smile, settling into her chair. “What are you doing here? Is this case-related?”
“No,” Elliot replies simply, his voice casual, but there’s no follow-up. Instead, his eyes take an obvious sweep over her, lingering for a moment too long. A different kind of embarrassment creeps up her neck, warming her cheeks, and she’s suddenly hyper-aware of how she must look after the long morning.
“Well?" she prompts, her tone teasing but a little sharper now. “What is it?”
Instead of answering, he gestures toward the coffee and paper bag sitting unnoticed on her desk. “Here, I got you this.”
She glances at the bag, her brow lifting. “Breakfast?” Reaching for it, she pulls out her favorite blueberry muffin and a coffee, her favorite order from over a decade ago. The gesture catches her off guard—sweet, thoughtful. She’s touched, despite herself. “What’d I do to deserve this?”
Olivia plops down in her chair, grabbing a disinfectant wipe from her desk drawer to quickly clean her hands before tearing into the muffin. It’s been a long morning, and the smell of it alone is enough to lift her spirits. She takes a bite, savoring the sweet flavor, but something nags at the back of her mind.
Elliot still hasn’t answered her question.
She eyes him over the top of the muffin, suspicion creeping in. “Thanks,” she says, smiling as she chews, trying to figure out what he’s up to.
He smiles back, but there’s something else in his expression now. A flicker of hesitation, maybe even a touch of worry. She knows him well enough to recognize the look—an impromptu breakfast can only mean one thing. He’s about to ask for something. A favor, maybe.
“Spit it out,” Olivia says, her voice cutting through the silence. She’s not in the mood for games, especially after such a long day.
“Remember that night we were drinking?”
She snickers. “My only hangover this year. Yes, I remember.”
Elliot bites his bottom lip, swipes a hand over his head, and then over his mouth. “There’s no easy way to say this…”
She cocks her head to the side. “Spit it out,” she demands.
He hesitates, watching her closely before continuing. “So, apparently..." He keeps going, mumbling something about COVID, how everything is virtual now, and how irritating it all is—ageist, she hears him grumble at one point. She rolls her eyes, focusing on her muffin instead of his rambling.
But then it all comes full circle.
“The marriage... I found out it’s legally binding… it’s legitimate.”
“ What’s legitimate?” she asks, tipping her glasses down to peer at him.
Elliot takes a deep, stalling breath before he answers. “The night we got married.”
Olivia's eyebrows shoot up, and she stares at him frozen in place, her shock written plainly across her face. “Did I mishear you?”
He laughs nervously, handing her a manila envelope across her desk. “I know it sounds crazy.”
Her hands move faster than her mind can process, and before she knows it, she’s holding a marriage certificate with a raised seal. Her name. His name. The date is exactly one month ago.
She’s had to look at hundreds of marriage certificates over the years and this one looks real .
“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Her heart races as she tries to piece it together. This can’t be real, right? Her mind scrambles for an explanation—maybe it’s a joke, a prank, something related to a case?
She finally speaks, voice low. “This is a joke, right?”
He shakes his head, grinning wider. “It’s not a joke.”
It's a joke, she decides. She sighs, exasperated. “El, I don’t have time for this.”
“I know, it’s a lot. I’ve gotta run anyway,” he says, standing. “I’ll check in later?”
She smirks in response, refusing to play along. “Got a lot of free time on your hands over at OCCB?”
He chuckles, his shoulders shaking. “Believe me, Liv, I was just as surprised as you,” he says on his way out. Pausing at the door, he turns back with a grin. “What size ring are you?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Too soon?” he teases, his smile undeniably charming.
Something flickers inside her—a playfulness she hasn’t indulged in for a long time. He’s always been the one to draw it out of her so effortlessly. Crossing her arms, she tilts her head with mock exasperation. “You can’t just waltz into my office, declare we’re married, and expect me to finally give you a chance…”
He laughs, a warm, genuine sound that fills the room. “Good one,” he quips sarcastically, still grinning as he steps out and closes the door behind him.
She’s left sitting at her desk, staring down at the marriage certificate in disbelief.
Her mind replays the hazy events of that night—flashes of laughter, maybe a phone call… but marriage?
With a shake of her head, she stuffs the certificate back into its envelope and tucks it into the top drawer of her desk.
That was… weird .
Finally reaching for her coffee, she freezes. Written on the cup, in playful script, is Mrs. Stabler.
“Idiot,” she mutters fondly, with a soft smile, shaking her head as her fingers fly across the screen of her iPhone.
Wed, Sep 25 at 9:22 AM
Olivia 9:22 AM Hey! It’s the 21st century. Hyphenating is a thing, you know.
Only after she presses send does she regret it.
—
The familiar sight of the precinct looms ahead as she strides up the block, her pace steady despite the nagging hunger in her belly. She is on schedule this morning, sure, but the price had been skipping breakfast.
Her stomach growls in protest, and her mind drifts to what she might grab to eat once she gets settled inside. Maybe she’ll send someone out for bagels or maybe Curry has baked them treats again?
Hopefully, she’ll be able to squeeze whatever it is in between the never-ending to-do list she has waiting for her at her desk.
As she nears the building, her attention shifts to Fin standing just outside the entrance, deep in conversation with someone else. From where she is coming from, the angle, she can’t quite make out who it is.
Her instincts kick in, ticking through the usual possibilities—new case, maybe a complaint, a witness? But the way his head is slightly tilted, nodding at the other figure, it feels… different. A bit more personal.
Curiosity piqued, she picks up her pace, her thoughts momentarily abandoning breakfast to focus on the scene unfolding ahead.
It isn’t until she gets closer that the other man’s voice cuts through the murmur of the busy morning.
A voice that tugs at something familiar.
As he comes into clearer view, her heart does little jump. Tall, broad, and effortlessly charismatic, the man stands there in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit that hugs his muscular frame. There’s a black knitted hat covering his bald head and dark sunglasses shielding his eyes, but that wide, almost overly cheerful smile spreading across his face is unmistakable.
He looks like a younger version of himself—only with more gray in his beard. Her supposed husband.
Her steps falter for a second, processing the sight of Elliot standing there like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like he should be here first thing in the morning, like he belongs here. His aura practically radiates confidence, the kind of energy that fills a room—and apparently the entire sidewalk, too.
He spots her coming and she knows the exact moment he does because he slides his sunglasses up, just enough for their eyes to lock. His grin widens, flashing his perfect teeth her way. And, of course, there in his hand is the usual: a coffee cup and a small paper bag. She knows without asking it is for her, just like yesterday. How did he know she skipped breakfast again?
“Hi,” she greets as she reaches them, her eyes lingering on the coffee for a second before meeting his eyes.
She should’ve known he’d be back. She’d seen the marriage license herself—the one still tucked in her desk upstairs, complete with the raised seal and everything. She should’ve prepared for this.
Last night, as she climbed into bed, the thought of them being married had seemed sweet, almost laughable. She’d chuckled at the absurdity of it. Not that she hadn’t thought about it before—he’d slipped a few rings on her left hand over the years for undercover ops. Those moments always lingered, haunting her thoughts for weeks after. The way he’d introduce her as his wife, the way he’d spend hours holding her hand or tucking her hair behind her ear. It had done a number on her every time.
But that was years ago. By the time morning rolled around, she’d slipped back into the rhythm of her busy life as a captain and a mom, barely giving it another thought.
Honestly, she hadn’t expected him to show up again so soon.
“Morning, Cap. See ya upstairs,” Fin calls, nodding as he turns for his escape inside, leaving her alone with him .
He looks just as amused as he had yesterday, the same mischievous glint in his blue eyes. She really isn’t sure what the payoff is for dragging this joke so far, but here he is again, looking like he knows something she doesn’t.
“You look well-rested,” Elliot greets with a grin.
“Thanks,” she says, shaking her head slightly as if it could stop the blush creeping up her cheeks. “Also…” she starts, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. What she really wants to do is invite him upstairs, let him distract her from the day ahead. Instead, she goes with, “Please stop coming to my job.”
He mockingly places a hand over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips, before adjusting the knot of his tie at the base of his thick neck. “That’s what you say to your new husband?”
She can’t help but laugh.
“Did you look into the document? See that I’m telling the truth?” he asks, his tone light but his gaze holding something more serious.
“I didn’t,” she admits, tugging at the strap of her bag. “I didn’t have time.” Which is the truth. She was busy and entertaining this joke just isn't on her to-do list.
“This time I got a croissant,” Elliot reveals, holding up the paper bag along with the iced coffee.
She takes both with a sigh. “I appreciate breakfast again, but I don’t get it.”
“ Liv… ” Elliot just looks at her, his voice suddenly taking on a sincerity that makes her heart skip. “We got drunk and we got married. I’m not lying…” He shrugs, as if it is the simplest thing in the world. “You are my wife,” he tells her.
For the first time, the weight of his words hits her. He’s completely serious.
He actually believes they’re married.
“I just need to know what we’re going to do about it,” he reveals, grinning again, though this time with a playful edge. “We do have to file taxes soon…”
Her eyes narrow at him, studying him. “Stabler...”
He laughs and reaches out to squeeze her elbow gently. “I have to run, but call me so we can talk about it. I’m serious.” He lingers for a second longer, his hand warm against her arm. “Later, wife.”
Before she can say anything in response, he jogs toward a double-parked SUV, hops in, and is gone, zooming down the block before she can even process what has just happened.
She stands there, staring after him, croissant and coffee in hand. As she glances down at the coffee cup, something catches her eye. Just like yesterday, the barista has written a name on the cup.
But this time, it’s not just Mrs. Stabler.
This time, the name is hyphenated. Her last name and his. Olivia freezes, staring at the thick swirls of their names written as one for a moment longer, her heart skipping a beat.
She blinks, barely able to believe his audacity. To make sure she’s not imagining it, she reads the words aloud, her voice soft, just to make it real — “Mrs. Benson-Stabler.”
Thurs, Sep 26 at 8:52 AM
Olivia 8:52 AM you are actually an insufferable human being
Olivia barely has time to breathe the moment she steps onto the floor. Open investigations, back-to-back meetings, and decisions demand her attention almost instantly. There are calls to return, an Internal Affairs Bureau follow-up looming, and her inbox is a war zone of tasks she can’t quite get ahead of.
By the time five rolls around, she finds herself sitting through yet another meeting, this one led by both Fin and Curry, debriefing the team on a case that had come in early this morning.
Her phone buzzes quietly in her lap. She glances down discreetly, half expecting it to be work-related.
Instead, it’s from Elliot—a single emoji. A bride.
Thurs, Sep 26 at 5:19PM
STABLER 5:19 PM 👰🏻♀️
She almost snorts out loud.
By the time the meeting ends, her patience has fully reached its limit for this joke. The team wraps up their assignments, divvying up responsibilities for the case. As soon as it’s over, she makes a beeline for her office. The moment she steps inside, she storms to her desk and yanks open the drawer. Her fingers grasp the marriage license she had tucked away just yesterday. There really is no denying the raised seal and the very official-looking signatures.
But still, she needs confirmation.
Picking up the phone, she dials the courthouse and simply asks for a clerk. The process takes less than five minutes. She reads off the license number and the clerk cross-references it with their records, and confirms it.
Every last detail matches.
Elliot hadn’t been lying. He hadn’t even been joking.
They are married.
Married .
She stands in her office, staring at the document in disbelief. A flurry of emotions hit her all at once, but instead of processing them, she texts him back.
Thurs, Sep 26 at 5:43 PM
Olivia 5:43 PM we need to talk