Chapter Text
Captain Donald Cragen sat behind his timber desk, a standard, yellow legal pad positioned on the table. Between his twiddling fingers was a ballpoint pen, yet the commanding officer had yet to scrawl a note. Maybe he was storing annotations in his intellect, which was unquestionably stuffed with a wealth of knowledge. His office walls were garnished with certificates and accolades, proof of the man’s faithful service to his nation.
Proof of his allegiance to the defenseless victims.
With an environment like this one, most potential candidates would likely be intimidated but Olivia Benson was not daunted easily. Perched across from Cragen, in a simple, wooden chair, the thirty-year-old woman was placid and composed. Her rich, chestnut irises were fixed on her superior; she was unwilling to divert her gaze for fear of misconception. There were constant labels attached to women in the force and Olivia refused to be branded as afraid.
Besides, Lieutenant Urzi, of her prior residence, had assured his student that her job was guaranteed. The Manhattan Special Victims Unit was in desperate need of aid and this interview with Cragen was merely a formality.
They’d already covered the usual affairs, discussed Olivia’s strengths and her weaknesses. The newly-crowned detective spoke of her compassion and willingness to listen without unwelcome interruptions. Olivia had told Cragen about her deeply rooted convictions and how they had been reprimanded by her ex-companions. In the sixteenth precinct, though, everything was different, and that was implied by Cragen’s lack of criticism.
“This bureau is unique and I want you to know that before we go any further,” he said. “Empathy is the foundation of our daily business. We strive to be a safe haven, a refuge for survivors because, unlike in homicide, where the victims are dead, ours are usually still very much alive.”
Olivia could not suppress her timid smirk of cognizance. She understood the role she was accepting.
“You think I’m joking?”
“What? I…no, not at all, sir. I just…”
“Because I’m not,” Cragen stated. “There’s a reason why this squad room is perpetually short-staffed. We investigate the cases that no one else wants and the things we witness, the stories we hear…it’s deemed unbearable for a majority of the population.”
Olivia nodded. She was tempted once again to explain the truth, how she was no stranger to those gruesome tales. Olivia had labored in her own Special Victims Unit for as long as her memory would stretch in her cerebrum. She had purchased an eternal front-row seat to flashbacks and could recite the diagnostic criteria for trauma syndromes.
This occupation was quite literally embedded in her blood, but none of that needed to be articulated now. Thus far, Olivia thought, this meeting had progressed well, and she wasn’t keen on altering Cragen’s perception of her.
So, she initiated one of her classic mechanisms for defense.
“You think I’m not cut out for this?”
“I didn’t say that,” Cragen opined. “In fact, between what we’ve discussed so far and the praises Urzi sang of you, I believe you’ll be a valuable asset to our squad. I’m emphasizing this only for your wellbeing, Benson…this job is tough. You won’t stay afloat without some guidance.”
Some guidance. Did that mean that Olivia was supposed to have a network? A band of friends and family on whom she could rely?
She shrugged off the concept, for it wasn’t worth a conversation. Olivia had been alone for three decades. She had taught herself arithmetic and paid her way through college. She had recently secured a modest, clean apartment, sheer blocks from the facility where she would be employed. Olivia had done that without any knight in shining armor and she had accomplished it in the heart of New York City. If Olivia possessed a mantra, it would be that confidants were rare and nonessential. She did not require help. Not from Cragen. Not from anyone.
“Do I make myself clear, Detective?”
“Yes, um…absolutely,” Olivia said. There was a pregnant lull and she hastily changed the subject to evade further dissection from Cragen’s microscope. “So, you said I could start as early as this week…do you have any idea who I might be working with?”
A police dog would be an upgrade from Olivia’s former partner, Griffin.
“Yes, Alphonse just retired in March so you’ll be paired with Detective Elliot Stabler. Do you know him?”
“I guess I will soon,” Olivia said and then succeeded her remark with a spurt of blatancy, “Is he good?”
Cragen blinked. Perhaps Olivia’s query had been a bit forward. Dare she say, inappropriate. It was not her place to analyze her colleagues, not when their years in combat far exceeded hers.
Yet following another pause of reticence, Cragen granted her some leeway.
“Well, he’s certainly experienced and I think in this field, for the most part, experience equals respect. Like I said before, the average lifespan of an SVU detective is two to four years. Detective Stabler has been here for six.”
Olivia raised an eyebrow. She had not been introduced to this Elliot Stabler, and therefore would not pass judgement until she shook his hand. If he’d managed to slay dragons, though, for six of earth’s rotations, then he received a vote of confidence from her.
“Anyway,” Cragen persisted, as he massaged his temple and tucked away the notebook that was a barren slate. “I’ve asked you about a million questions and I’m sure you’re beginning to feel like a witness on the stand. I do still have one more for you, but before we get there, I want to give you the opportunity. Do you have any questions for me?”
“I don’t think so, not at the moment,” Olivia said. “If I think of something later, I’ll just annoy this Stabler guy.”
“Yeah, please do. That’s how we survive at this job. We prank each other, mercilessly.”
But abruptly, Cragen’s grin tapered into earnestness; the crevices in his flesh were magnified like fault lines. The captain’s neck tilted as his scrutinized Olivia, a wistful contortion programmed on his features. It could almost be described as a paternal stare. Protective. Or at least, Olivia guessed that was the definition.
She shifted in her seat, crossed her ankles, anxiously. “What?”
“I just…I don’t want to overstep any boundaries,” Cragen said. “I know we’re still getting acquainted with one another but in addition to Stabler, I want you to know that I’m here for you, too, alright? You’re about to take flight on an extremely taxing journey and if you ever need to talk about anything, whether it’s work-related or not, my door is always open.”
For a consecutive juncture, Olivia signaled the affirmative. She knew that Cragen meant well. His offer had been friendly and virtuous, in nature. There was something in his tone, though, that induced skepticism in Olivia. Something utterly foreign. Was it concern? No, that could not be accurate. Like Cragen had reiterated, the individuals barely knew each other. He must have been anticipating breakdowns from Olivia. He must have been expecting that she would crash and burn.
And albeit there was no method to fully prepare for SVU, Olivia had not made her decision lightly. She could not imagine embarking on a separate path.
“Thank you, I…I appreciate that, Captain.”
“No need to thank me. Your transfer papers are completed…I suppose we’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning. I would introduce you to your partner now, but Stabler’s in court today, testifying on an old child abuse case.”
“Sounds good to me,” Olivia said. She was on the brink of standing, departing Cragen’s quarters, when suddenly she recalled the captain’s previous vow. “Oh, um…before I go, you said you had one more thing to ask me?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me.”
Cragen glanced back upwards and the rivers switched trajectories.
“You were very…adamant in your requests to join this squad, Benson. I just wondered…what prompted you to volunteer? Is there a specific reason you feel drawn to SVU?”
Olivia sighed and gazed at the linoleum. She tucked a few stray fibers of hair behind her ear. She ripped open the stitches that had partially healed themselves and fingered the soft edges of her ivory blouse. There was a loose thread, dangling from the seam. Maybe if she tugged with enough determination, she would unravel the entire, complex web.
-DUN DUN-
“Stabler!”
Elliot had scarcely collapsed at his respective station when the voice rang out from his captain’s suite. Respiring heavily with irritation and exhaustion, he trudged in that direction; his appendages were laden from the day in court. But on second thought, laden was not the correct adjective. Primarily, Elliot was feeling claustrophobic, his muscles underworked from sitting in a virtual prison. If the stars aligned and he managed to escape, then possibly he could spare a visit to the gym. It all depended on copious variables, most notably Kathy and her current mood.
“What’s up, Dad?”
Cragen, of course, wasn’t literally Elliot’s father. The latter’s biological dad was in a coffin; he’d succumbed to a heart attack and died before he reached the hospital. Even if the bastard was still alive today, though, it went without saying that Cragen earned the title. He consistently treated Elliot like an adoptive son, bestowed the parental wisdom that Joseph Stabler lacked. It was ironic, considering that Cragen was actually childless but Elliot appreciated his boss tremendously.
“Sit down. Close the door,” he ordered.
Silently, Elliot did as he was told. Normally, he’d speculate if the impending news was grim, for the instances were increasing that Elliot was chastened. But surely, nothing had happened in the eight hours he’d been absent. Not unless a victim---or coworker had bit the dust.
Pulled a Dave Ruzzetti.
It had been eighteen months but the recollections were still fresh. They were ever-present, staining his soul ebony, and Elliot pushed the anguish from his skull’s perimeters.
Marines did not cry. They certainly didn’t weep eighteen months later.
“Look, no disrespect, but Kathy’s been on my ass about getting home in time for dinner and if I don’t work some of these jitters out of my legs, I’m never gonna sleep tonight. Can we make this quick?”
“Yes, don’t worry, I won’t keep you long,” Cragen promised. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up…your new partner will be joining us starting tomorrow and as long as you don’t screw things up, this one should be permanent.”
It took a moment for the words to register in Elliot’s brain. Ever since Ruzzetti had left him on that winter dawn, Elliot had struggled to maintain alliances. Cragen’s hypothesis was that the complications stemmed from grief, and that Elliot was searching for flaws within his coworkers. After all, no one would measure up to Dave Ruzzetti. Competing with a corpse was trivial and Elliot already did not make friends easily.
Alphonse hadn’t been intolerable. He was skilled at his profession, and Elliot was not a babysitter. But only a year into his stint at SVU, the NYPD veteran had fled the concrete jungle. A distinctly sinister child molester scarred him so he secured his pension and retired to Orlando. Elliot knew he had no right to chide Alphonse. The last thing he desired was a Dave Ruzzetti copycat.
For the anterior weeks, a revolving door of uniforms had been assigned to Elliot, along with a narcotics sergeant and a sex crimes cop from Brooklyn. According to Cragen, though, that carousel was shutting down. As he absorbed the revelation, Elliot stretched and rolled back on his heels.
“Okay, who is it?”
“A transfer from the five-five…Detective Benson.”
“I haven’t heard of him. Is he good?”
Parenthesis were arising on the rims of Cragen’s lips and Elliot wasn’t certain of the reasoning.
“What?”
“Nothing. I…yes, I believe that Detective Benson is a very talented rookie detective.”
“He’s a rookie?!”
That explained the simper etched on Cragen’s face. Elliot groaned and emitted a string of choice profanities. Coaching novices was among his least-favorite activities. Especially in a field that included rape and sodomy, trainees were always exceptionally green. They vomited at crime scenes and patronized the victims; they hindered investigations and asked chronically, stupid inquiries.
Or worse, they were smug and thought themselves invincible. Their egos were inflated from acquiring gold shields and Elliot, inevitably, would be tasked with saving them.
“Detective Benson is a very talented rookie, the best I’ve seen in ages,” Cragen repeated.
“Yeah, okay…” Elliot kneaded his forehead, tenderly, and breathed a whoosh of air from his rigid lungs. That exercise session was becoming a priority. A set of boxing gloves was paramount, and a punching bag; Elliot needed to sweat the frustrations from his pores. “How long has he been on the force? Does he have any experience with…our kind of shit?”
“Nearly six years but Elliot, I’m not going to sit here and keep listening to you complain. I hired Detective Benson for a reason and I need you to trust my judgement. I need you to be a team player and do your best to ensure that Benson sticks around…do I make myself clear?”
Slowly, Elliot realized that it was futile to continue arguing. With a resigned huff, he agreed to Cragen, remembering that once upon a time, he’d been in Benson’s shoes. Elliot had arrived at the sixteenth precinct, clueless at how to navigate the waters. He had assumed himself capable of throwing pedophiles in jail, and then essentially drowned when confronted by the martyrs.
In particular, the children. They reminded him so much of his own beloved offspring, Maureen and Kathleen, Richard and Elizabeth. The Stabler kids ranged from thirteen to four and the recurring nightmares plagued Elliot since his commencement. He wondered if Detective Benson was a father, if he would soon be paranoid of perpetrators and revenge.
Regardless, his psyche would never be the same. Detective Benson was in for one hell of a ride.