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"You take yourself off this case, you're taking yourself out of the unit." -- Elliot, Payback.
She finishes the case. She finishes the case and she doesn't cry and she feels like that should be some consolation but it isn't, really.
Afterwards, she pretends she's checking over the paperwork one more time when really she's just moving around papers without seeing anything. Elliot is rattling around across from her, packing up for the day, and she keeps her head down even when he inhales like he's about to say something.
"You coming?" he says finally. "I can walk you out."
"Nah," she says and still doesn't look up. "I wanna finish this up. Go on without me."
He doesn't say anything and when she finally looks up he's standing by her desk, looking down at her. Looking.
"Okay," he says finally. "See you."
"Yeah," she says, trying for bright and failing, and he looks at her a moment more before walking out. She listens to his footsteps all the way to the door and out into the hall.
**
Cragen's office is dim and she shuts the door behind her without asking. He looks at her not unkindly as she says what she has to, and his voice is gentle and unsurprised. She wishes she could be angry at him for that, but instead she just feels wrung-out. Tired.
She's standing to go when he stops her.
"Does Elliot know?" he asks, face tilted upward, somber in the shadows of his office. "Have you told him?"
"Yes," she says. "I mean -- no. I haven't told him."
**
In the shower she closes her eyes, lets the water run over her scalp and down her face and sees Ileana Jushari's ruined face, tearstained, and Anya Rugova bringing the knife down, over and over. War crimes and shattered women. She doesn't realize she's crying 'til she gulps in air and gets a mouthful of water.
She cries until her face hurts and then she gets out and dries off and goes to bed.
**
It takes a couple of days for the paperwork to go through. Her new partner is pushing fifty and settling into a nascent beer belly. He looks at her measuringly.
"Pacholec," he says and extends a hand.
"Benson," she says and shakes.
"Well," he says and rocks back on his heels. "Welcome to Homicide."
**
The job is different, the hours are different. She stands by the coffee maker, mug in hand and looks across the room of people whose names she doesn't know. It's manageable. Nothing she hasn't done before, more or less. The first time she reads a suspect his rights she still gets the same rush, more or less.
At their lunch date her mother asks how it is, and Olivia smiles and toys with the corner of her napkin.
"It's fine," she says, and her mother frowns.
"You feel like you failed," she says. "Leaving the other job. You always hated leaving anything unfinished."
Olivia looks down at where she's folded the cloth over and over.
"No," she says, "it's not that, I just--"
"You don't have to be that person," her mother goes on. "You're doing good things now, too."
Olivia smiles again, feels it not reach her eyes.
"I know," she says.
**
It's three months before she realizes she can't remember the last time she had to look at a single piece of kiddie porn or bag anyone's underwear as evidence. It's strange to think about, and stranger that she didn't notice she was missing it. If this is missing it.
**
They get called in downtown, a stabbing in an alley. Girl fourteen, maybe fifteen years old, bled out facedown behind a set of trash cans. The cops are still swarming and she's shining her flashlight down the end of the alley when Pacholec calls her over to where he's crouched by the girl's feet.
"Check this out," he says and steadies his own light on a used condom. "Want me to make the call?"
"No," she says as she crouches to get a closer look. "I'll do it."
**
Munch gets out of the car, overcoat flapping, and she's surprised how pleased she is to see him. It comes up in a rush and she says his name.
He blinks at her but smiles as he walks over.
"Hey, Olivia," he says. "How's it going?"
The other car door slams and she looks behind him for Cassidy or Jeffries, but it's Elliot, crunching through the snow toward them. She sees when he sees her, a hitch in his stride, and then nothing. Just his even expression. Munch maybe sees her face because he puts his hands in his pockets and asks loudly what they found and that's her cue to stop looking and start talking.
**
"What's that all about?" asks Pacholec, coming up behind her with a donut he got from God knows where. "Ex-boyfriend?"
"No," she says and. "What?"
He shrugs unconcernedly and takes a bite of filling. "You just seemed a little --"
"We used to be partners," she says.
"Ahh," he says and swallows his mouthful.
"What 'ahh'?" she says, crossing her arms and giving him her best glare. He laughs, breath billowing out into the cold.
**
It's two am and they're in the pen trying to find a pattern in a series of shootings which may or may not be gang related and Pacholec points his pen at her and says, "eat something or go home."
The vending machine on their floor is broken -- someone's stuck a sign in Sharpie marker on the front. The halls are quiet and kind of dim and she's two floors away from her own before she finds a working one.
She's staring half-stupidly at the wire curl of the machine as it pushes her Cheez-Its out and lets them drop, when a door down the hall shuts. She looks up out of habit, glances away and looks back.
"Hi," she says, and Elliot looks up from the floor quickly, then blinks owlishly at her.
"Hey," he says after a moment, and comes the rest of the way down the hall. He has his sleeves rolled up and his tie is crooked.
"Are you --?" she nods at the machine.
"Yeah, I. Munch wants Ding Dongs," he says, and smiles a little.
She feels lightheaded, or maybe just tired, and bends down to fish her crackers out of the bin. When she stands back up he's taken a step closer, close enough to take a hand out of his pocket and lean on the corner of the vending machine.
"So," she says, "how are -- things? The kids?"
"Fine," he says, "they're good. Great."
He looks tired, bone weary, dark circles under his eyes. She recognizes the look. Like it's not the first night this week he's been here this late. Like something keeps him from sleeping even when he does leave.
"I'm glad," she says carefully, why is she saying everything carefully?
"And you?" he asks, like they're at a cocktail party, a high school reunion. "How's Homicide?"
"Good," she says with a shrug. Smiles a little. "It's fine, you know. Different."
He nods and she feels like she's remembering something nameless she'd forgotten.
"Yeah," he says. "I guess it always is."