Chapter Text
The sixteenth precinct of the New York Police Department—it was not a setting typical for banquets, for jubilation of any kind. Exhibiting far from a joyful atmosphere, the architecture’s function was predominantly solemn and the Special Victims Unit, in particular, was known by the community for its eerie purpose. It was known for its perpetrators, the heinous felons they investigated, their crimes too perverted to speak aloud.
Rapists. Pedophiles. Kidnappers and abusers. Anyone who entered the SVU squadroom, whether they were victim or suspect, was not likely to be doing so under the best of circumstances.
Maybe that was why the concept of a gala felt so foreign to Olivia Benson. She didn’t see its benefit.
But the idea had been planted by someone at SVU and while Olivia held her reservations, she was unsure of their identity. All she knew was that starting this season, the Special Victims Unit would be hosting its own Christmas party, just like a majority of other organizations. Attendance was not mandatory, considering their unpredictable schedules, so maybe Olivia could have skipped the event, but then again, doing so would have branded her as a cheapskate.
She wasn’t sure why, but along with the celebration itself, someone had devised the genius plan of a gift exchange, like anyone in law enforcement was compensated heavily enough to splurge on such luxuries. Again, participation wasn’t obligatory. It was, however, encouraged, especially between the gold shields and higher ranking employees. Olivia was expected to buy something for Cragen, for Munch and Fin, for psychiatrist George Huang, and for Assistant District Attorney, Alexandra Cabot. And…for Elliot.
That was the real challenge. Partners for almost five years, Olivia and Elliot had never traded presents with one another. They had never even discussed the notion. Sure, they treated each other to coffee and pastries, an occasional dinner, but anything beyond that was prohibited by boundaries. By the unspoken barrier entitled Kathy, Elliot’s wife.
Olivia procrastinated as long as her conscience would allow. She was no expert in Christmas shopping, due primarily to her solitary lifestyle; Olivia’s friends were scarce and her family was mythical. Eventually, though, when December twenty-third was within sight, and Olivia was granted a rare evening away from the office, she could pinpoint no more excuses. Bundled up so heavily that she resembled a giant marshmallow, Olivia hit the streets of Manhattan.
Favors for Munch and Alex were easier to come by than anticipated. Their personalities and interests were the most evident on Olivia’s list, so she purchased a book for Munch, one that analyzed every detail of John F. Kennedy’s life and death. A pastel scarf was selected for Alex and as Olivia was buying the soft, lavender garment, the possibility crept into her mind that Melinda Warner might make an appearance at the Christmas party. Olivia added a duplicate scarf, this one turquoise, to her basket for the medical examiner and then she persisted in her journey.
Fin’s token was detected at a miniature distilling company; it consisted of a fine, aged bottle of local whiskey. A similar product was found for Huang. Bequeathing liquor on Cragen was not an option; he was a recovering alcoholic with over a decade of sobriety, but Olivia located for him a generous box of assorted chocolates. Everyone at SVU adopted coping mechanisms and Cragen’s vice was often food.
Finally, only Elliot remained on Olivia’s docket. She hiked for what seemed like miles along the boulevards of New York and wandered in and out of over a dozen boutiques. Nothing hit home. Olivia paused at a coffee shop. She ordered herself a cup of hot cocoa and sipped at the sugary liquid, in an attempt to thaw her figure. She tried, in vain, to block out the holiday tunes which were blasting from the overhead speakers at an excruciating volume.
Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful and since we’ve no place to go…let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!
It wasn’t that Olivia despised the holidays. She just possessed no memories, at least positive in nature, that stemmed from them. Growing up, Serena Benson drowned out the merriment with her usual bottle of vodka and Olivia received few, if any packages. She was never the child searching for Santa in the night sky, listening for the prancing of hooves on the roof of their humble residence. That behavior simply wasn’t tolerated.
Christmas was joyful for other people, though, and Olivia understood that. Manhattan was morphed into a winter wonderland in December, with monstrous evergreens and twinkling lights adorning every avenue. Denying the city’s beauty was futile, and as Olivia inhaled her steaming beverage, she inspected her environment, willing herself to feel the spirit everyone referenced in the holidays.
What was that sensation like? Did Olivia have the capacity to perceive it?
The scent of gingerbread, wafting through the corridors, filling the house with appetizing splendor…outings to visit St. Nicholas in the mall…family, sacred family, above all else, and children awakening their parents with stars in their eyes…
That was how things were depicted on television, in the cheesy, Hallmark movies that Olivia so avoided. Maybe if she concentrated, if she really concentrated, she could feel normal, happy, for just one moment in time, pretend as if she had a tribe with whom to bake gingerbread.
When we finally kiss goodnight, how I’ll hate going out in the storm…but if you really hold me tight, all the way home I’ll be warm!
Things weren’t looking promising.
-DUN DUN-
Arrest warrants, testimonies, and a disturbed man dressed as Santa Claus temporarily cast the dilemma that was Christmas from Olivia’s psyche but the twenty-third of December still approached more hastily than she would have preferred. She had accomplished her goals, obtaining a gift for Elliot, so her responsibilities were cultivated. Olivia, though, was vastly unsure of how to carry herself at a party.
How was she supposed to endure several hours of agonizing small-talk? Conversations with subjects other than work? The sole answer looming in Olivia’s brain was alcohol and she was not exceptionally proud of that, not when she labored on a consistent basis to cleave her image from Serena Benson.
Not to mention, becoming intoxicated in the presence of her colleagues would warrant royal humiliation.
At six o’clock sharp, Olivia roamed into the Special Victims Unit for the second time that day. She had traveled home, briefly, merely to freshen up, and to gather the tributes she had wrapped in emerald-colored paper. Olivia’s turtleneck contrasted the trimmings nicely; it was crimson and the most festive article of clothing that she owned.
A voice echoed across the squadroom: “There she is!”
Elliot Stabler was idling near his desk, which had been cleared of its usual clutter and replaced with an obnoxious, plastic tablecloth as red as Olivia’s cardigan. He donned a sweater himself, beryl and printed with drawings of white stags. The design was gaudy, tasteless, but Olivia could not prevent herself from musing about how perfectly the shade of blue matched Elliot’s cerulean irises.
“Hi,” she said. Olivia deposited her bag of goodies on the chair bordering Elliot. “Where is everybody; didn’t you bring Kathy?”
“Munch and Fin are off somewhere getting tables set up for the buffet. And nah, Kathy decided she didn’t want to come. She’s staying home with the kids, probably wrapping my Christmas presents so I don’t try to peek.”
Olivia smirked at her partner, whose revelation did not astound her in the slightest. “You’re worse than your own children, Stabler.”
“Yeah, I know,” Elliot said and as if to prove his point, began poking around at the container Olivia had transported into the precinct. He shuffled the packages, curiously. “Hold on, are these all for me?!”
“No, and if you don’t stop being nosy, none of them are for you.”
“Well, that’s not very nice, Detective Benson…”
“Alright, kids, alright.”
Cragen’s dominant tone halted Olivia and Elliot; he was pacing from his quarters with a weary yet amused contortion on his face. “Please don’t tell me I’m going to have to separate you two.”
“Now, why would you do that, Dad? We’re just having a little fun and you know the opportunities here are few and far between.”
“Correct, and knowing our luck, we’re probably going to get a call any minute about a massive, trafficking bust that requires our undivided attention,” Cragen said. “So how about you get in there with John and Fin and help them out with the snacks before that phone starts to ring?”
Olivia and Elliot did not need to be told twice. They scampered away at Cragen’s command and immediately joined in, assisting Fin and Munch. Elliot organized a large display of desserts, the sweets ranging from oatmeal cookies to chocolate fondue. Olivia assembled some healthier choices, including spinach artichoke dip, a variation of cheeses and crackers, and her own contribution, a tray of fruits and vegetables.
At its conclusion, the array was quite impressive and Olivia’s stomach emitted a grumble of desire. She had yet to eat today. “I know this sounds wrong, but I hope we at least get to eat before any trafficking rings get busted.”
“Same,” Elliot said and he glanced towards Cragen. “Hey, is it okay if we start digging in?”
“Go ahead, but keep in mind that Cabot and Huang aren’t here yet, and Warner might show up, too. Make sure you leave something for them.”
But Olivia wasn’t going to deplete the harvest. Even with her appetite, conserved throughout the day, she wasn’t accustomed to bingeing on nutrients. She filled her plate with a couple slices of cheese, some carrots and broccoli, and then perched herself near her estate. Elliot sat adjacent to her, just like he did every other day for the preceding five years.
“Aren’t you going to get any chocolate or…or anything remotely unhealthy?” he queried. “It’s Christmas, Liv. You know calories don’t count on Christmas.”
“It’s technically not Christmas, not yet,” Olivia said. “But yeah, I will. I just want to eat this first and then I’ll see what’s leftover.”
The impasse was, there were copious attendees still parading into the auditorium. Soon after Olivia and Elliot commenced eating, Huang and Alex arrived, and Warner, too; she had swapped out her normal scrubs for an artfully cut, mahogany dress.
Olivia rehearsed a silent prayer of gratitude that she had thought to acquire a gift for Melinda.
Additional uniforms who frequented the Special Victims Unit passed in and out of the squadroom, grabbing dishes to satisfy their perpetually empty stomachs. When the morsels were diminishing, Elliot rose from his seat just in time to collect a few chocolate-covered strawberries and deliver them to Olivia.
“Thanks, El,” she said, biting into one of the treats. An explosion of juices detonated in her mouth, and Olivia was reminded of the degree to which she adored strawberries. They rivaled any baked goods, in her opinion.
Dialogue was communicated freely as the night progressed; the detectives and professionals chatted liberally over the roar of Christmas music. An attractive topic seemed to be New Year resolutions, and when Elliot became immersed in a conference with Munch, Olivia evacuated to the table known fondly as the watering hole. She was met by the two closest beings she had to girlfriends, Alex and Melinda.
“Enjoying the party?” the former questioned.
“Uh…it’s a little overwhelming, but yeah, I am,” Olivia said and she poured herself a glass of cabernet. “What about you?”
“Yeah, you don’t know how nice it is to be around you people and not be worrying about some pedophile walking free,” Alex smiled and then she giggled, the booze in her tumbler broadcasting itself. “And seriously, this is overwhelming to you? Olivia Benson, you need to get out more.”
She was not wrong. Olivia laughed, too, and she swallowed some wine to mask the glowing blossoms that were emerging on her cheeks. “Yeah, well…like you said, the first priority is usually some pedophile walking free. Who has time for socializing?”
“You’ve got to make time, if you don’t want to go completely bonkers,” Alex said and Melinda signaled the affirmative with her head.
“Yeah, I have to say I agree…and mind you, I don’t have a large social circle myself, but I do have Hank and Breanna, and we recently adopted a little Shih Tzu named Petey. We’re all heading up to Albany tomorrow to see my parents.”
“Aw, that sounds wonderful,” Alex sighed. “I’m lucky; my mom’s coming to me this year. We’re hoping to go out, do some shopping the day after Christmas as long as the DA doesn’t call me in.”
An awkward beat elapsed. This was the juncture where Olivia was supposed to chime in, inform Alex and Melinda of her agenda. They were noticeably waiting for her commentary, but Olivia stayed reticent; she absorbed another gulp of numbing fluids.
For the initial two years at SVU, affairs had transpired easily. Olivia had told Elliot and Cragen and anyone else who inquired that she was spending the holidays with her mother. And it was not a total fib. Olivia always did make an effort to see Serena on Christmas, even if the sojourn was abbreviated.
The third December was viable, too. Less than twenty days prior to Christmas, Olivia’s mother had passed away. No one faulted her for ignoring the rituals, for volunteering to slave through her lingering grief. It was only these past two seasons that things had gotten complicated, and last year, the Stablers had migrated to the coast for Christmas, so Olivia had evaded confrontation from Elliot.
“I…I almost forgot, I have presents for you guys,” Olivia said and she quickly fled the scene, retrieved a duo of boxes from her desk, and brought them to Melinda and Alex who opened them in synchrony.
Upon discovering her shawl, Alex instantly gasped with pleasure. “Oh my gosh…this is beautiful!”
“Yes, so is mine!” Melinda beamed. “And I’ve actually really been needing a new scarf. Thank you, Olivia.”
“Yeah, thank you so much!” Alex resounded. She looped the fabric around her neck, right then and there. The lilac tint provided a splash of color against her otherwise neutral outfit.
And Olivia hadn’t predicted it, but it turned out that she had gifts awaiting her focus, too. Within range of her territory, several parcels had accumulated and she promptly unearthed a basket, courtesy of Melinda; it was filled with fun, hygienic items, most notably, bubble-bath. Alex, meanwhile, had produced a deluxe water bottle, one that claimed to keep drinks frigid for up to twenty-four hours
It wasn’t much, yet already, Olivia had received more for Christmas than she could recollect since birth, and she wasn’t quite certain of how to operate.
Was all this really justified? Did Olivia deserve to be pampered, to be honored? The flush that had ravaged her skin when joking with Alex returned, and Olivia rescued her goblet of wine from the neglected watering hole.
She was steadily quenching her thirst, or rather, her anxiety when a touch on the bicep snapped Olivia out of her reverie. “Hey. Where did you run off to?”
“Oh, I…nowhere, I was just talking with Alex and Melinda,” Olivia told Elliot. “What about you? Having fun with Munch and Fin?”
“I’m not entirely sure Munch knows how to have fun. He mostly sat there and lectured Fin and me about how the holiday season is one, big marketing scam.”
“Ah…and yet my gut tells me that Mr. Conspiracy Theorist is the one to blame for this shit show.”
The partners chuckled, simultaneously, and as they did, Olivia’s muscles unclenched themselves. Perhaps it was the spirits, or the casual banter with Elliot, but either way, a sense of placidity was engulfing her, and Olivia felt more serene than she had since the party’s inauguration.
“Come on,” Elliot suggested. “Let’s go see what kind of crap Munch bought us before he gets too far into a political debate and storms out of here.”
And Olivia ultimately acquired five more gifts before the evening’s culmination. She was given an Amazon gift card from Fin, and an identical certificate to Starbucks from Cragen. Huang relinquished to Olivia a gourmet box of herbal teas. Munch, who thoroughly appreciated his Kennedy biography, had ironically chosen a novel for Olivia, too…a thriller that revolved around a serial killer and his teenage daughter. The daughter battled an underlying rage; she constantly writhed over the theory of genetic violence.
Did she share her father’s psychopathic chromosomes? What was the stronger force, nature or nurture?
Olivia was conflicted about the gesture. It was certainly well-intended; Munch would never deliberately harm his colleague. Part of the detective, though, panicked at the book’s diagnosis. Was this the sole attribute connected to her person? The exclusive characteristic for which Olivia was recognized?
The logo was bright, neon, bloody, like a scarlet letter branded on her flesh: product of rape.
Defect of society.
Monster. That was one of Serena Benson’s favorite terms.
You’re a monster, just like him.
It wasn’t yet ten o’clock when the reception was disintegrating. Elliot and Olivia were nudged into their own corner of the universe, their respective treasures still cloaked in disguises.
“Here, um…it’s really not anything big but…but I hope you like it,” Olivia said and she shoved a petite bundle into the hands of Elliot.
He disassembled the wrappings gently and when Elliot digested the woolen gloves inside, his lips transformed into an undeniable grin. “Liv…”
“What?”
“This is too much. These are nice; you probably spent a fortune on them.”
“No, not really, and besides…I…I don’t think we’re supposed to talk about prices,” Olivia said. She narrowly deterred herself from speaking something more hazardous into existence, something along the lines of, you’re worth it.
This foolish, Christmas celebration had served up enough stickiness.
But honestly, Olivia could yield no concrete reasoning for her decision to buy gloves for Elliot. It wasn’t like he needed them. Elliot owned mittens, just like anyone that wished to survive winter in New York, and one could argue that gloves, by principle, danced upon the line of intimacy. Yet when Olivia had spotted them, displayed on a mannequin in the window of a booth, she knew, without an inkling of doubt, that her mission was a success. She knew that she wanted to protect Elliot, to keep him warm, even if the method was minor.
“Do you like them?” she asked, tentatively.
“I love them. Thank you, Liv,” Elliot replied, and there was nothing resembling hesitation in his pitch. “Now open yours!”
The reaction was gradual, but Olivia did as she was told. She removed the tissue paper from the bag that guarded her present, and unraveled the contents, carefully.
A pair of charcoal, knit gloves stared up at her. With gaps in each finger to permit agile motion and an extra layer of thick, insulated texture, the shields were optimal for an active career. They were functional yet feminine and Olivia was rendered speechless.
How…?
There was no way, no fashion in which this swap could have been coordinated. Olivia had revealed nothing about a plan to give Elliot gloves; if she had, her companion would have likely amended his blueprint and bought something else for Olivia. He would have passed on the cozy mittens to Kathy or Maureen.
The intellects of Olivia and Elliot, though, seemed to correlate frequently on the job. According to Cragen, that was partially what made them ideal partners. Maybe this was just one more example of their complementary wavelengths.
But if that was the case, did that mean that Elliot, too, held profound rationale for his purchase? Had he hungered to protect Olivia, to keep her secure and warm?
No. She was being absurd. They were gloves. Just gloves.
“I…um…thank you, El.”
“You’re welcome,” he laughed. The euphoric creases neighboring Elliot’s pupils ignited something deep within Olivia. “I know it’s…it’s weird, but I just…I thought you could use a new pair and apparently great minds think alike.”
“Well, I don’t know if I would call your mind great, Stabler, but yeah, I catch your drift.”
Deflection. Sarcasm. They were the lone defense mechanisms in Olivia’s arsenal.
“Nope, it’s definitely not as great as yours.”
She was two or three steps away from him, but Elliot’s comment stopped Olivia in her tracks. She peered over her shoulder at him, blinked away the encroaching speculations that had bounced, intermittently inside her from day one.
He had a wife. A wife of seventeen years, a wife that he loved. Elliot had four adorable children and no, no, no. Olivia refused to become that woman. She refused to jeopardize the man that was her best, unconditional friend.
“I…I need to be getting home,” she whispered. “Um…see you on the twenty-sixth?”
Elliot, for the fifth consecutive year, had persuaded Cragen not to schedule him on Christmas. This did not mean, of course, that he wouldn’t be subjected to predators; if a situation arose, Elliot would be tugged away from his relatives just like every other cop in America. Cragen, though, comprehended the significance of Christmas, especially to Catholics like the Stablers, and Olivia’s willingness to work all holidays secretly aided his endeavor.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Elliot said but right as Olivia was on the verge of escape, he caught up to her and there was no place to hide. “Wait…hold up, Liv. What are you doing for Christmas?”
Shit.
“Oh, um…I’ll be here, working. It’s my rotation.”
“No, it’s not. You worked Thanksgiving, and you’re scheduled with me on New Year’s, too. You should have Christmas off,” Elliot insisted and as if on cue, Cragen paced by the duo; Elliot promptly hauled his captain into the discussion.
“Hey, Captain…what are you doing making Liv work on Christmas? She worked Thanksgiving and she’s working New Years with me.”
“Correct, which is exactly why I’m not permitting Olivia to work Christmas this year, no matter how much she begs me otherwise,” Cragen said and like a coward, Olivia found herself gazing at the precinct floor.
“But…Captain, I…”
“I don’t want to hear it, Olivia. You’ve been on the clock every single Christmas since you joined SVU. Give yourself a break this year, and then maybe I’ll consider putting you back on for Elliot next year when he will undoubtedly request off again.”
And Olivia knew better than to dispute her superior. She nodded, and having concluded his sermon, Cragen moved on, toting Olivia’s assorted chocolates under one arm. But the damage had been done. Elliot was glowering at Olivia, aware for the first time of his partner’s traditions, or more accurately, her lack thereof.
Olivia glared right back at Elliot. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some poor, pitiful creature who doesn’t have a family and…and needs to be rescued. It’s fine, Elliot. I’m fine. I really don’t care about Christmas.”
“Yeah? And why is that?”
Olivia shrugged. The tale was impossible to articulate. How could she explain that the holidays, for her, were always a dreaded timespan? That late December equaled a hiatus from school, and an increase in her mother’s vodka consumption? How could Olivia illustrate that painting without practically begging for unwanted sympathy, without further altering her dynamic with Elliot?
“I don’t know,” she said. “It was just never important growing up, and now that I’m an adult…I mean, it’s not like I know what I’m missing. I’d just assume work, let one more cop who has a family stay home with their kids.”
One more cop, in this scenario, obviously translated to Elliot Stabler.
Elliot, whose face had taken on an expression so horrified that it was teetering on the edge of comical waters. “Hold on…so you’ve never celebrated Christmas with a family? You never had a year where your mom was sober or…or you had a boyfriend or anything?”
“My mom was never sober when I was around…I was her biggest trigger,” Olivia said and as much as she strived to keep her tone steady, the pain in her timbre was not totally concealed. “As far as boyfriends go…no, I…I never quite made it to the meet the family stage of relationships. Happy?”
“No,” Elliott said. “No, not at all. Liv, why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Because it would have led to a torturous conversation, just like the one we’re having now, Olivia thought, but she did not enunciate this verbally. She just shrugged again; her nervous system was becoming increasingly short-tempered.
“I don’t know, because it didn’t matter! And besides, knowing you, you probably would have dragged me over to your place for Christmas dinner!”
A childish simper overtook Elliot’s features.
“I wouldn’t have dragged you,” he said. “But yeah, you’re right…I would have insisted, and that’s exactly what I’m doing now. Olivia Benson, you don’t have plans for Christmas Day? Well, you do now.”
“I…excuse me?!”
“You’re coming to my place for Christmas dinner,” Elliot remarked, and he said it with such ease, such confidence, that Olivia’s heart virtually malfunctioned.
For once, she could fathom zero witty counters and Elliot’s smile expanded. “What? You just told me you don’t have plans. We eat at five o’clock sharp so I’ll come pick you up around four, okay? That should give us plenty of time to make it back to Queens and…”
“No.”
Olivia had summoned her voice, at last. She cleared her throat, and scowled at Elliot; her chest was a wildfire, smoldering with rage. “No, this isn’t even up for debate, okay? I am not coming over and…and intruding on your family’s celebration…”
“You won’t be intruding,” Elliot interjected. “I just invited you, Liv. I guarantee you no one will mind.”
“T-That’s not the point!” Olivia shouted. “I’m not your charity case!”
“Who ever said you were?!”
Elliot’s agitation startled Olivia, and despite the fact that she had screamed first, she suddenly found herself retreating, putting ample distance between herself and her partner. Olivia wasn’t sure why. She knew that Elliot would never strike her; she trusted him in a way she had never trusted anyone. But the night had been a difficult one, stuffed full of childhood memories, and in adolescence, it was habitual.
When Serena Benson began wailing, Olivia was conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs. She was programmed to activate the fight or flight response.
There was just one problem…Elliot was not Serena Benson, not even close. As he assimilated Olivia’s rapid movement, his eyes darkened with ostensible hurt. “Olivia…what are you doing? I…I’m not gonna hurt you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I…I know. I’m sorry.” Olivia looked away. She was mortified by her rash conduct.
“Okay,” Elliot breathed. “Well, look…I’m not gonna make any decisions for you. I know this is probably all new, but please, I need you to believe me when I say that I have never once viewed you as a charity case. I just care about you, I want you to experience a real Christmas, and I would really, really like to have you over for Christmas dinner…if that’s something you’re comfortable with.”
Oh.
Olivia’s knees were going weak. It was safe to say she had tremendously misinterpreted Elliot’s proposal. She had discerned pity from him, when in reality, Elliot…cared about her.
No wonder Olivia was confused. The sentiment was foreign.
Still, though, she was skeptical. Trespassing on the Stablers’ Christmas was Olivia’s idea of a nightmare. But Elliot’s invitation seemed to be genuine. And after involuntarily flinching away from him, a black cloud of liability was hovering over Olivia’s skull.
“I…I don’t know,” she muttered. “You know, Elliot…I would be fine on my own. I’ve spent many Christmases alone; there’s a great Chinese place that serves specials all day long.”
“I know. I know you would…but let me tell you, Liv…the turkey I make on Christmas? It’s a hell of a lot better than anything at Happy China.”
Elliot wavered, cocked his chin laterally at Olivia, whose thesis was crippling by the second. “Please, Liv? Just this one time. For me?”
She was doomed.
“Fine,” Olivia spat. She could barely believe the words that were rolling off her tongue. “But for the record, Stabler, I’ll be the judge of that legendary Christmas turkey.”