#63l3

                  ‘     --     so     ...     ‘     how do you start a conversation with an nypd detective that doesn’t involve your arrest record     ?     ‘     you’ve been liv’s partner     --      how long     ?     ‘     you suppose starting with the woman you have in common is a good place to start. you want to know more about your aunt, but you think actually asking her wouldn’t give you much. olivia benson doesn’t seem like the type to brag about herself     ...     she’s definitely not a hastings.

sauntering down the hall and into the kitchen after their annual friday night dinner at kathy’s , pale fingers rub at tired eyes while she tries to wake herself up. caring hands reach for a red apple sitting in their fruit bowl with a soft yawn  ,  before a knock on the door resonates through the small kitchen at the same time her perfect teeth tear through the skin of the apple.  eyebrows crease inwards as the blonde approaches the door and stands on her tiptoes to look through the peephole ... but then she sees his face.  it was elliot.

door swings open immediately  ,  blue eyes never leaving him.  she can barely compose her thoughts  ,  and it’s evident as she fumbles over such few words.    ❝    daddy ?  wh -- you’re back ?    ❞ 

bro i feel it tho i usually get ‘maddison’ , on rare occasions 'miranda’ and most of the time 'madeline’ like the cartoon

amanda had yet to move from her spot  on the stand while the still silence filled the empty courtroom.  she’d asked rafael if she could have a minute alone  ,  and in that time had done nothing but stare at the seat patton would be sitting in tomorrow  ;  the seat where he would be sitting while she told the jury what he’d done to her  (  if the judge allowed her testimony  ,  anyways  ).   it became obvious from the start that this case was weighing heavily upon already broken wings  ,   and elliot trying to figure her out hadn’t gone unnoticed.  they were partners  ;  but it wasn’t until recently that it had become evident they really did care for each other and they would protect each other to a probably dangerous fault.  even so  ,  she’d told him to leave the situation alone numerous times  ,  yet when she looks up at the sound of the courtroom door opening and sees him  ,  she’s not really that surprised.  eyes meet his  ,  and she knows he heard everything                         she can tell by the look on his face.    jaw clenches tightly as tears prick at her eyes  ,  and she immediately turns her head while her pale hand helps to prop her head up  ;   elbow leaning against the wooden enclosure around her.  ❝    why didn’t you just go like i asked you to ?  this was between me’n barba and you had no right to eavesdrop  ,  elliot !    ❞  

     DARK EYES FELL   on the man just a few feet in front of him, feeling his shoulders tense up just a bit, jaw already clenching, just for a moment. even if he never really seen him before, met him, he had a presence nick had felt the first day he showed up, even if the other man was long gone by then. from day one, he had this feeling, one that lingered in the back of his head to this day, that he had big shoes to fill.   &   he had heard stories about him before, whether it was from other cops talking, or liv or fin or munch or even cragen sharing old stories that he starred in. hell, he felt like he might as well have known him after all these years. nick forced himself to relax a bit   (   he had nothing to be intimidated about anymore, he had made his own place here, he had no reason to be resentful. right ?   )   before stepping forward, clearing his throat to grab his attention, hand held out for a friendly greeting.     ❝     stabler, right ? --- nick amaro. heard a lot about you.     ❞

                      you miss new york. the city, the streets, the people     --     you miss waking up at three in the morning because of sirens outside your window. you miss the sunrise as you walk to work, streaming through buildings forty stories tall. you miss coffee from the cart outside the courthouse     ...     you miss coffee. but it’s been nearly two years since you last saw your city, and the last time you saw it, it burned. it’s not your new york anymore, but you’re still new york’s finest. your badge still sits on your hip, where it’s been for nearly twenty years already, where it’s stayed since this whole thing began. your gun in your hand, your heart in your throat     --     there’s blood smeared over your neck, dried from over a week ago, and a dirty bandage wrapped around your arm. when you see him, it’s like seeing new york     ...     your step falters, your grip on your sig tightens and you feel lightheaded.     ‘     el,     ‘     you missed him too.