Chapter Text
She lies on her side, staring at the numbers on the alarm clock.
3:17 A.M.
Yet again, she is awake.
Yet again, her mind is racing.
The only difference is that this time, instead of waking up in the middle of the night, she’d never gone to sleep in the first place.
Her therapy session had been…a lot.
A lot to absorb. A lot to process.
A lot to think about.
And given where the topic of conversation had eventually drifted by the end of her hour on the couch of Dr. Lindstrom’s office, she’d found herself more unsettled walking out the door than when she’d walked in.
She’s always hated when he gave her homework.
Granted, it isn’t homework in the traditional sense, but more so a thought or an idea to wrap her mind around. To absorb into her system and stew on. And he always makes these suggestions at the very end of the session, when there is no more time to talk things out, leaving her to ruminate on her own.
Like today.
She’d stepped onto the front steps outside the building that housed his office on shaky legs, her stomach in knots as she chewed on her lower lip, lost in her thoughts, the parting words of her therapist swirling in her mind.
She’d been so lost in thought that she’d almost missed her phone vibrating in her pocket, jolting her back to the present. Two messages from her son, the first one (sent five minutes prior) asking when she’d be home, the second one (just sent) inquiring if they could have pizza for dinner tonight. Thankful for the distraction of everything that has just taken place within the four walls up on the third floor, she easily surrenders back into her role of “mom”, agreeing to her son’s request and punching up the website for his favorite place on her phone, placing the order as she walked to her SUV.
Her son had kept her mind preoccupied for the rest of the evening. They’d finished dinner, she’d helped him finish his homework, and they’d watched a movie together, curled up on the couch.
After Noah had been tucked away in bed, she’d then focused her energy on taking care of some lingering paperwork, not ready to be alone with her thoughts just yet and hoping that she’d eventually grow so tired that sleep would come quickly and painlessly. She’d given in around 1 A.M., when the words on the page had grown so blurry that even after multiple attempts, she could no longer comprehend the sentence she’d just read. After shutting down her laptop, she’d gathered it and the scattered file folders into her arms and stuffed it all into her computer bag. She then completed her final sweep of the apartment for the night, shutting off the lights, checking the locks once more before she’d trudged with heavy footfall around the corner and down the hall to her room, deciding to forego much of her usual bedtime routine in favor of just slipping under the covers.
Her brain had rebelled, though, deciding that the moment her head settled on the pillow was the absolute perfect time to get a second wind.
So she finds herself here, over two hours later, watching the minutes literally tick by in front of her, reflecting upon the conversation that she’d had earlier in the day (or at this point, yesterday) in her therapist’s office.
——————————————————
“…Noah is thriving…my career is going pretty well…” She says.
They’ve been talking for a little over 30 minutes now, the discussion having shifted from her initial reason in booking this appointment (lingering emotional fallout from the disaster that was Burton Lowe’s unexpected reentry into her life, yet again) to a more broad check in of what else has been happening with her since they’d last met.
She pauses, hesitation momentarily crossing her features. “So…why do I wake up at 4 A.M. anxious and unhappy?” She asks, her fingers beginning to fiddle with nervous energy as she vocalizes her query out loud.
“When did you start feeling unhappy?” Dr. Lindstrom asks, his brows knit with concern at this new revelation. He sits in his chair across from her, his own posture relaxed yet engaged, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on the armrests as his fingers interlock in front of him.
“About a year ago.” Olivia estimates. “You know, Noah and I were fine during the pandemic. But now…” She shakes her head. “Just don’t have any…you know…” Her hands come up as she searches for the right word. “Closure.”
“It’s so interesting you talk about closure.” Dr. Lindstrom observes, his mind recalling how it’s been one of the primary themes of their discussion over the course of the last half hour. He jumps right into his next question without missing a beat. “What else happened this past year?”
“A lot of change, umm…” Olivia begins, her mind flipping through the things that have forced her to make significant adjustments in how she runs her department. “My chief…my squad…”
“Anyone else?” Dr. Lindstrom presses, searching for something else, something that could cross over into more personal territory. “Mr. Barba?”
They spent much of her last session discussing her feelings of betrayal at the fact that her (at one time) very close friend had gone out of his way to defend Richard Wheatley, a man who had caused so much pain and suffering to people that she cared deeply for, and whom she was also convinced was behind the accident that required surgery on her ankle.
“No. There’s no closure with Barba.” She responds curtly as she shakes her head slightly. The tell of her eyes shifting briefly to the lamp behind his shoulder combined with the pursing of her lips into a thin line indicate to the doctor that she doesn’t want to broach the subject right now.
He acquiesces, mouthing a silent “oh”, and nodding his head as if to say “message received.” She feels a sense of relief wash over her at his backing off of the topic, glad to not have to delve into that whole can of worms right now.
The doctor inhales before continuing. “I’m also thinking about you and Elliot Stabler.” He says simply, his gaze unwavering as he observes her reaction to his words.
Her eyes narrow slightly in confusion at the sudden shift in topic before she glances to her left, processing what he’s just said to her.
——————————————————
As she lies in bed, she mentally rolls her eyes. Because in hindsight, she should’ve seen that curve ball coming a mile away. She should’ve known that throwing Barba’s name out into the room was just the warm-up pitch.
She is, first and foremost, a detective. And in all the years that she has been working with Dr. Lindstrom, she’s observed the way in which he asks his questions and approaches certain subjects. The specific choices he makes in how he phrases things is very similar to the methods she sometimes uses when interrogating suspects: twisting the topic of conversation just enough. Delving into something a little deeper in order to root out whatever’s being kept hidden or concealed under the surface. She’s also very cognizant of how much her therapist likes to dance around things. To prod from different angles. To not respond at all to something she’s said, leaving her unsettled, grasping at straws as to what he’s thinking. Throwing out a random question from left field in order to gauge her reaction before changing course entirely.
And he’s very aware that she knows his tactics, because she’s called him out on it in the past.
It had actually served as a big roadblock early on in their work together, to the point where she’d actually walked out on their session.
Twice.
After William Lewis, she’d been edgy and easily irritated, feeling as though she was being constantly prodded and questioned by everyone around her, and as a result she was less trusting of new people and less than willing to share and reveal more personal details about herself. After the second walkout, Lindstrom had to sit her down and explain that he was not seeking to use their time and her words as a weapon against her at all (reminding her that she was the victim), and that he was only using these techniques as a means to help her confront her fears and anxieties about what had happened to her.
And after that conversation, she’d started opening up more, went along with his methods (even though at times they’d really left her unsettled and off-kilter), remembering and trusting that he was doing it as a means to help her dig deeper, to assist in her healing and growth. And as she improved and the overall intentions and focus of their sessions shifted, it seemed as though he’d also backed off, too, not as reliant on pushing her.
Doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t annoy her when he slips back into the old routine, though. Especially because she’s noticed that he’s begun doing it more in recent sessions.
Pretty much from the moment that she’d told him that Elliot Stabler had dropped back in her life.
This last appointment was certainly no exception.
After broaching the subject of her former partner (wherein she’d mentioned the familiarity and ease she’d felt in working a recent case with him once more), Dr. Lindstrom had immediately backed off, changing the subject to focus on how her squad seemed to be adjusting to all the change that had been lobbed at them, how they were functioning as a unit.
——————————————————
“Most of your coworkers are in stable relationships.” He remarks casually.
She nods in agreement. “Yeah, they are. And I am…” She pauses. “Really happy for them.” She isn’t lying about that. She is happy that those who are close to her are happy. When they are content, they function and work better, their minds are clearer, their judgement and thoughts unclouded by any personal drama going on in their personal lives.
“You’re not wondering when your turn will come?” Dr. Lindstrom prods gently.
“Not really…” She shakes her head as she continues. “You know, between Noah and work…” She trails off, forcing her lips to lift slightly in a superficial smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
The doctor says nothing, his eyes unblinking as he quirks an eyebrow and gives her a knowing tilt of his head, silently calling out her weak attempt at an excuse.
Knowing he sees right through her bullshit, she rolls her eyes. “Ok, so…you think that I have intimacy issues.” She concedes, exhaling the rest of the air out of her lungs in a slightly nervous huff, fully aware of the fact that it’s been a topic of discussion for them numerous times in the past.
Dr. Lindstrom’s second brow joins the first, intrigued by her assumption. “Is that what you’re hearing me say?” He asks her.
She is getting slightly agitated at the overall formality of their discussion, frustrated with his tiptoeing around whatever it is he’s trying to get at. “Can we just stop the…” She pauses as her hands come up in emphasis. “Shrink talk…” She lowers them back down. “And you just tell me what you think?”
“What I actually think?” He parrots back to her as he brings his hands up to gesture toward himself.
“Yeah.” She nods, wanting to know where he’s going with this.
“I think…” He begins. “That you and Elliot either need to see whether there’s more there, or…move on.” He states simply.
She’s momentarily stunned at the doctor’s words before her eyes shift away, suddenly tense and uncomfortable. She draws in a deep, shaky breath as he continues speaking.
“This idealized relationship is hanging over you. Prevents you from true intimacy, Olivia…” His eyes momentarily leave hers as he follow his hands in emphasis of his next point. “Either with him or with anyone else.” Knowing he’s made his point, he looks back up at her as he finishes. “That’s what I think.”
——————————————————
Well, she’d asked for it.
She’d asked him not beat around the bush and be blunt.
It doesn’t mean that it still didn’t feel as though he’d dumped a bucket of freezing ice water over her head in the process of his explanation.
“Mom?”
Her sons voice shatters the silence of the darkened room, drawing her out of her thoughts. She twists her torso, looking back to see him standing in the doorway, his sleep clothes rumpled, his curly mop of hair untamed and sticking out in different directions.
“Hey, sweetie…” She says as she throws back the covers. “What’s wrong?” She asks as she gets out of bed.
“My stomach hurts.” He answers as she approaches him. She brings her hand to his forehead, noting that he does feel a little warm, but not necessarily feverish. “Have you thrown up?” She asks him.
He shakes his head in the negative. “Can I sleep in here with you?” He asks.
“Of course you can.” She answers as she turns, pulling back the covers on the other side of the bed, ushering him under the sheet and blanket. “Come on.”
Noah climbs in, settling against the softness of her sheets and the pillow beneath his head. She places a gentle kiss on his brow, whispering to him she’ll be right back. She steps out and returns less than two minutes later, a glass of water in one hand and a large bowl in the other, just in case. After setting the objects on the nightstand closest to him, she rounds the bed, fluffs up the pillows on her side and climbs back in, settling against them in a semi-reclined position.
As soon as he sees her settled, he curls up next to her, needing the comfort and care that only she can provide. Her arm settles around him, hugging him to her as her hand comes to rest on his back. Her other hand comes to his head, her fingers combing through his curls. Feeling the weight of his body relax into her, she thinks about how events like this don’t happen as often as they used to.
As much as she hates to admit it, her son is growing up. He’s no longer her little boy, but rather maturing into a young man that is not as dependent on his mother as he used to be. She’s struck with the thought that going forward, they’ll continue to dwindle as he approaches his teenage years. Then one day he’ll be an adult, and he’ll leave the nest as he learns to navigate the world on his own.
And she’ll be all alone once again.
She feels the sting of tears at the back of her eyes as her brain registers that very sobering thought. She’s always known that eventually the day would come down the road, but she’s never considered where she herself would be when it did.
“Can I stay home tomorrow?” His sleepy voice breaks her thoughts. She gives a watery chuckle as she leans down and gives him a kiss on the top of his head.
“We’ll see how you’re doing in the morning.” She answers softly. Her voice then drops to a whisper. “Go to sleep, sweetie.”
As Noah drifts off, she keeps the tempo of her breathing deep and even, not wanting her swirling emotions to disrupt his rest. She thinks about where she’d been before her son had come into her life: going through the motions, but not really living. Alone. Sad.
And even though she doesn’t remember saying it, she’d apparently made mention of it to her shrink. Her mind returns back to her session, in particular the last several minutes when Dr. Lindstrom had brought it up.
——————————————————
“Something you said in our first session. You said you didn’t think happiness was in the cards for you.” Dr. Lindstrom recalls.
Her eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. “Wow…I said that?” She asks, a slight chuckle escaping her lips.
“Yeah, you were living a narrow life. You went to work, you came home to a dark apartment…” Dr. Lindstrom answers.
“Well, I didn’t have a lot to celebrate then.” Olivia responds, casting her eyes off to the side as she recalls the events that had led to the two of them sitting down together for the first time. Events that had piggybacked on what had already been a darker, more dreary chapter in her life, one that she’d only been beginning to claw her way out of when she’d first crossed paths with a madman from hell.
“There is now…” The doctor points out, wanting to acknowledge how much the woman before him truly had grown and blossomed, the accomplishments that had been achieved in the time that they’d known each other. “You’re a role model for survivors, for women officers…” She looks away, giving her head a small dismissive shake, a pressure beginning to swell in her chest and tears stinging at the back of her eyes as she listens to him go through his list of some of the good things that have taken place in her life over the years. “You have friends. You have a happy child. You have a happy life.”
“So…” She begins, pausing as she works hard to keep her emotions in check. “Why am I feeling so sad?” She ponders out loud as her eyes come back up to meet his.
“Oh, Olivia…” He begins on a sigh as he shakes his own head sadly. “Everyone’s feeling depressed now.”
His words ring very true. The entire world had been turned upside down, had sustained a collective trauma over the course of the last two years. And now that there is a glimpse that things may possibly be trending toward returning to some semblance of what “normal” used to be, the combined exhaustion, fatigue, and grief at seeing so much destruction by an invisible enemy has clearly taken a toll.
Redirecting the focus back to the woman sitting before him, Dr. Lindstrom continues. “You and I have talked a lot about what you want. What you need. I’d like you to start thinking about something else.”
“And what’s that?” She asks, her eyes slightly sheen with moisture.
“What you deserve.” He answers, his lips giving the tiniest lift of encouragement.
She’s silent as she absorbs his words, a lone tear escaping out of the corner of her eye and slowly descends down her face as he continues.
“You deserve happiness, Olivia Benson.” He affirms with a gentle voice.
Her phone vibrates on the couch next to her, the sound and the movement shattering the deafening silence in the room, startling her. She jumps slightly and closes her eyes, drawing a hand up to wipe the errant tear away.
“Well…” She hears Dr. Lindstrom says, and her eyes open again to reveal he is noting the time on the clock on the mantle. “It appears that is all the time that we have for today.” Shifting his eyes back to her, his smile is warm and friendly, as it always is when their time is up. “See you in three months?” He asks. “Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need to set something up sooner.”
It takes several seconds for her brain to catch up and comprehend his words. Once she does, she nods slowly as she grabs her phone off the cushion next to her before standing. Walking over to where she’d set her bag down earlier, she tucks the device in her pocket and bends to gather her belongings. Dr. Lindstrom has risen as well, his eyes trained on her as she prepares to leave.
“Oh, and Olivia, one other thing…” He says, just as her hand falls to the doorknob, preparing to turn it.
She turns back to face him.
“I’d also like you to consider taking it one step further…and ask yourself what would make you happy?” He suggests.
She swallows thickly, unable to form any words around the lump that has developed in her throat.
He shrugs a shoulder. “See what answers you come up with and then ask yourself if you think you are deserving of it.”
——————————————————
She gets it.
She gets why he’d asked her to think about those things, because she’s pretty sure that he already knows her answer. She’s pretty sure that despite her best efforts, Dr. Lindstrom knows the truth that she’s never given voice to.
That she loves Elliot Stabler.
That she has loved him for a long time.
The good doctor has been very patient with her, dancing delicately around the subject of Elliot since they’d first begun working together, knowing how deep the bond between the two of them had been. She’s also deliberately chosen her words carefully when talking about him in her sessions, too: that he was her protector, her confidant, her best friend. And when Dr. Lindstrom had pressed her on her actual feelings, she’d averted and deflected, never giving him a direct answer. It’s been one of the biggest hurdles in her overall progress while she’s been in therapy, one that she still hasn’t been able to clear.
She realizes it’s most likely why he’d used that intentional phrasing today in her session.
Idealized relationship.
It’s also probably why, at her own request, he’d cut the crap and told her what his thoughts were about her and her former partner. Why he’d implied that they need to get things figured out between them. He knows that intimacy scares her, and much like he’d done in the beginning of their work together, he wants to help her face and conquer her fears. To clear that hurdle with the hopes that it may help her find some direction and move forward in life.
What would make me happy? She thinks to herself. As soon as she asks herself, the floodgate opens.
To not be alone anymore.
To have someone to come home to.
To laugh and dance and watch old movies with.
To lie in bed with at night.
To enjoy lazy weekends together.
To explore and travel, crossing off places on the bucket list.
To be a father figure for Noah, guiding him on his journey as he grows into adulthood.
To have someone that’s there on the hard days, that I can let my guard down around. Someone that’ll offer love and comfort and care and strong arms that will just hold me if I need it.
It’s then, she realizes (as another silent tear escapes from one eye and slide down her cheek), that for every single answer she just thought of, she was seeing Elliot in her mind’s eye, being that person.
In the past, she’d occasionally allowed herself to fantasize about him, about them, but it was always in a more carnal fashion to help her relieve the tension when she’d needed to get herself off. And she’d always felt a sense of shame after she did it, as though it somehow assisted in a betrayal of the oaths he’d sworn upon, the vows that he’d taken to his job, his wife, and his God.
She’d never allowed herself to even think about them like this, though. In a domestic sense.
And now that she’s started, she cannot stop.
Because he’s back in her life. And they aren’t partners anymore. And he’s not married, either. The boundaries that had once been so defined between them are now obliterated.
And while they still have a lot that they need to hash out and clear up between the two of them, she can now see it. She can see that anything is possible for them.
“You deserve happiness, Olivia Benson.” Dr. Lindstrom’s voice echoes in her head.
Elliot would make her happy.
Fucking therapy. She thinks to herself as she quietly huffs and acknowledges her own breakthrough.
Wiping her cheek on her shoulder to catch the second tear that has managed to escape and is working its way down her face, she chews on her lip and looks over toward her nightstand, at where her phone resides.
Now comes the really hard part.
How does one even begin to approach one of the most important conversations of one’s life?
The end of a well-known Lao Tzu quote pops in her head.
With a single step.
Lifting her hadn’t from her son’s head, she reaches over and plucks up the device, unlocking it and opening her messages app. Noah picks that exact moment to move, rolling away from her in his sleep and curling up on his other side, freeing up her other hand to wipe away any lingering moisture on her face before grasping the phone.
What should she say? Where to begin?
She types out a message before deleting it completely.
She tries again, writing something slightly different…only to erase the message once more.
She closes her eyes and drops her head back, wondering if she should just abandon ship altogether for the night. To wait until she’s at least gotten some sleep and is a little more clear-headed about how to go about this.
She tilts her head back froward to look at the screen and takes a deep breath.
Then she starts typing. Something basic and simple. And wouldn’t necessarily raise any suspicions just in case anyone was looking over his shoulder whenever he’d wind up reading it.
It’s just one former partner reaching out to another former partner.
Just checking in, been a while since we’ve talked. Hope you’re ok and that things are going ok, and that we can catch up soon.
She stares at the screen for several minutes, debating if she wants to change anything. It’s only after she hits send that she feels a sharp tug, a pull to add one more thing. She types out the message quickly.
I miss you.
She hits send again, before she can talk herself out of it, then puts the device to sleep, darkening the screen and quietly setting it back on the nightstand next to her, careful not to wake her son.
Knowing that she isn’t going to hear back from him anytime soon, she shimmies down to a reclined position, she takes a deep breath and slowly exhales as she closes her eyes, figuring she should at least make an attempt to get some sleep before the sun comes up. She’s lies there, willing her body to let go and release any tension, relaxing into the softness beneath her with every exhale, matching the tempo of her breath to the heavy, deep rhythm of her son’s.
Just as she begins to feel the first tendrils of rest creeping their way into her subconscious, she hears it.
A buzzing.
Coming from the nightstand.
Her eyes snap open and she looks to her left, her stomach immediately in knots when she sees the illumination of the phone screen, alerting her to a new notification.
Oh, God.