Work Text:
A/N: so i kind of picture them all in like their season eight era (even though they def all weren’t around), but literally they can look like however you want them too!!
The alarm blares through the tiny bedroom–some sort of stock music chimes clabbering on as she groans and reaches blindly for the brightly flashing phone on her nightstand. Her eyes feel heavy and desperately need to wait until her head stops pounding before they can pry open. But the annoying, incessant song (if you could even call it that) keeps looping and looping as she’s messing up her passcode. There’s just too much energy required for her to actually wake up.
She could rot in this purgatory for a little longer.
But she’s interrupted by the man next to her, huffing out a stern “Liv,” and slamming his face deeper into the pillow he lay claim to. “Turn it offffff,” he whines.
Barely squeezing her eyes open—just enough to type in the correct four digits—the phone is finally unlocked and the music thankfully ends. Eyes still blinking fully open, she looks at the destruction of last night that lies around her and wishes more than anything that she really could just have five more minutes. The now-silent room around her is beyond a simple mess, her sleek black dress tossed carelessly on the floor, heels too. There’s an empty bottle of wine (well, three actually) on the dresser and a few lipstick-stained glasses scattered around. She didn’t even bother to take off her makeup last night, and she can already see a few black streaks on her pillowcase from her runny mascara. Tissues fill the rest of the bedroom where items do not–it looks trashed.
Olivia can deal with the mess later. First she needs to get rid of this damn headache.
Coffee is not only a need, it’s the only thing that will get her to hold on long enough to even make it into work today. Thank god it’s only a few weeks into the year and they were still trucking through their first book. She couldn’t imagine sitting through an entire day of deeply analyzing three different novels, trying to act like everything was fine.
And it was too soon to feel nothing at all. Although she desperately wanted to.
Sitting up, she feels her stomach clench and the wave of nausea from a reckless night of trying to numb herself with alcohol hits her fast. Only left in a t-shirt and panties, her legs feel freezing and immediately coat themselves with goosebumps when the blanket is removed.
Why did it have to be Monday already?
The floor feels like ice beneath her, and each step to the kitchen has her missing her studio apartment (a rare thought, but rolling over to her coffee maker was a bonus of being an underpaid teacher). God bless instant coffee pods.
Maybe the sweetness of sugary coffee would help her forget her mother’s funeral last night.
Taking her first sip, she has the slightest hope it’ll work. But unfortunately, it doesn’t. It doesn’t erase the vision of an open casket, her mother’s angular features forever stiffened by a drunken fall down the concrete steps. Doesn’t make her forget the empty funeral home. Doesn’t even help her forget the destruction she caused her own body, the sudden realization that she was suddenly very alone and the Benson bloodline stopped with her.
In fact, it has the reverse effect, reviving her enough to make the gray face of her mother all too real again. Like she was back over her, head hung over the casket, tears falling onto her—
Was the day over yet?
The oven clock reads 6:12AM and her head pounds again.
Great.
Now more awake, she notices Brian left a pile of dishes in the sink and their apartment looks disgusting. Every single thing around her makes her want to throw up even more, makes her stomach churn at the thought of the day ahead, so she forgoes breakfast. It’s not like she could even get anything down if she tried. Instead, she just brings her mug with her to the bathroom, placing it on the ceramic counter, and flicks on the shower.
The water can’t get hot enough and her coffee is cooling.
It’s like today was not meant for her.
Regardless, she is Olivia Benson, so no matter how shitty the morning is, she will inevitably be dressed, makeup done, bag packed, and out the door on time, with a smile ready for her first class.
Like always.
-:-:-
“Morning, Liv.”
“Good morning, Amanda,” she scribbles her signature quickly, sliding past the blonde to check her mailbox, which has a few unexpected items in it. Most notably, a pretty pink envelope sits right on top. Her name is scribbled in beautiful cursive with a heart on the ‘I’s and she can tell right away it’s Alex’s writing.
She can’t open this right now. Doesn’t want to read the sweet messages her co-workers have written to her. She’ll definitely cry, and she just can’t do that before the day even starts.
That was something for lunch.
Flicking through the rest, she shoves everything into her purse and turns to leave, headed out the door of the front office that spits right into the hallway, but she slams into a body that was on their way in.
“Oh! Sorry, Benson!”
She jumps at the contact, but smiles it off, seeing it’s just the overly-friendly school nurse. “No worries, Carisi,” she reassures, knowing that of all the people at this school, Carisi would definitely ask her about yesterday and she really doesn’t want him to.
And when he smiles back, eyes flicking over to Amanda’s behind her, then back to hers, he lowers his voice and Olivia just knows it’s coming. “You doing okay?”
There it is.
She can’t blame him, he is a very polite person and, in all logic, people have a right to check in on her. Her mother died merely three days ago and she got the call Friday morning while here at school. Everyone knew. But it still makes her skin crawl and defenses jump up at the sudden invasiveness that she can’t help but feel at his inquiry.
“Yes, Sonny, I’m fine. Thank you,” she smiles again and nods, hoping the conversation ends here.
If she could just get past him, he’ll see a clearer view of who he really came into the office for, to flirt endlessly with the receptionist like he alway did—leaving her alone and not having to talk about her dead mother.
And by the grace of God, another body thankfully comes through the front door, and Olivia uses the distraction to sneak out of the office and trudge down the long-winded hall to her beloved classroom. Tucked away all the way on the east end of the school, sat her bright classroom, decorated to perfection over the summer. It’s only a month into the school year, so the art is still standing, and she is grateful for all the time she had to scroll through Pinterest this summer to make it the customized room she always wanted as a child.
It was a sanctuary.
Her apartment, now taken over with another body, wasn’t the stress-free environment she sought out anymore. Brian was messy, and either genuinely didn’t know what a dishwasher was, or just lacked the awareness to place objects inside of it instead of the sink. Despite 8 years together, and only one of those living together, Olivia sometimes wished she didn’t beg him to move in. Sure, their relationship was stagnant before, and she was approaching the age where conversations of marriage and children traditionally occur, and Brian…
Well, Brian was Brian.
He was a bartender working (extremely) late nights and she was a middle school teacher. Their priorities differed.
But Brian was a consistency in her life, and not shaking the boat was exactly how Olivia liked to live. No need to color outside the lines, lines were there to give life structure. And hers was staying with her high school sweetheart in a cramped one bedroom apartment. She could live with having to come home everyday to clean up after him. She could live with the fact that they rarely saw each other—because at the end of the day, she would wake up in the arms of someone who loved her. And that was enough.
It had to be enough.
Besides, her currently empty classroom would soon be revitalized with the sixth, seventh, and eighth graders she was beginning to learn more about throughout the day. This is where she now finds peace. Not particularly serenity—they were still prepubescent children with a lot of energy and far too much drama for her to keep up with—but it gave her purpose. Something to do, and someone to be. She knew everyone’s name, tried to ingest as much as she could about them all, and felt like they were beginning to trust her back.
It was her stomping ground for the last three years. Her bottom drawer was stuffed with gifts from students and cards from their parents. This is where she thrived.
And despite the fact her mother had an untimely death, Olivia Benson would get through the day, smile on, because she had several tiny children to make an impact on. No need for her own self interests, one of these children could achieve something far greater than she ever could, and that goal alone would keep her going throughout the day.
She’s still walking down the long hallway in a floral maxi skirt and turtleneck sweater, glasses resting on top of her head, as she hauls her large purse of nonsense with her.
Man, she really does respect the children who only have five minutes between each bell to make it to her classroom on time. Luckily for them, she never punished those who were unintentionally late. She’d rather have them be late over running down the halls and getting a broken ankle—something that happened to one of John’s students last year.
Her heels click through the empty halls and the silence is something she does not typically enjoy, but she is not going to seek out conversations from those who are all very aware she was at a funeral last night. So aware that they signed a card.
Silence is much better.
And after a few minutes, she is at her classroom door, keys in hand to—
It’s unlocked.
Her brows furrow and stare down the unlocked handle. There was no way. Olivia knows she locked it on Friday, because she always locks it–there hasn’t been a single day where she hasn’t. And the cleaning crew has never failed to lock it after they’ve passed through because Bernard knew better not to. She told him at the first Christmas party after giving him a lovely gift basket she made all on her own.
Cautiously, she pushes the door open, not particularly scared of what would be inside (the school doors remained sealed throughout the evening) but curious as to the reason why it was unlocked. The lights are still off, seats still perfectly arranged. Nothing looks broken or altered. In fact, everything looked exactly as she left it except—
There’s a paper cup in the middle of her desk.
It’s a generic brand of paper cup, no clues pointing to the place it was purchased. But upon closer inspection, it has a little note scribbled on a ripped sheet of paper with “I hope this is right” in barely legible writing. Olivia eyes it suspiciously, not recognizing the penmanship ever before. She’s worked here long enough to at least moderately recognize most of the faculty by their handwriting, but this one has her stumped. Confused, she tosses her purse down next to her seat, freeing her hands to reach for the cup and, sure enough, it’s warm.
Taking a cautious sip, it is exactly right. Black with two sugars.
There are very few people who would know this about her as she doesn’t drink coffee here. Only allows it before and after work, opting for tea during the day to combat the years of intense caffeine abuse she put her body through during her academic years.
Olivia Benson didn’t get gifts. Didn’t get surprised with sweet treats or looked after with unannounced acts of service. Her circle was limited to those within the four walls of the school, her boyfriend, and her neighbor from across the hall. And after last night, she doesn’t have a family anymore—not that her mother was ever particularly the “parent of the year,” but still. Her list was dwindling and no one on that list seemed like they had extra time for a coffee run.
She takes another sip. A less suspicious sip, but one to just let herself enjoy it. Feeling it run down her throat, it warms her body, waking her up.
Strange. But nice. The mystery coffee would stay.
Taking a seat at her desk, she lets herself enjoy the simple moment of coffee and quiet.
Sure, last night was awful. And, yes, she definitely has a slight hangover. But today was a new day. The sun rose again and would set this evening, and in twenty minutes the students would start to come and Olivia would have no time to mope around about things she couldn’t change.
-:-:-
Two hours later, peace has been long abandoned and now it’s driving her nuts.
Who just leaves coffee and says nothing?
She’s in her free period, twenty minutes left of the forty and that pretty pink card has been shredded open. Comparing the contents side by side, not a single person’s ‘well-wishes’ matches the scribble from the note and it’s making her go crazy.
Alex’s is far too different, with letters basically like calligraphy, and Casey’s cursive has wider strokes than the narrow loops of Alex’s. Melinda basically writes like a typewriter, with perfectly spaced words and letters, and while Ayanna’s was similar, her letters all connected with precise loops. Out of the girls, Amanda’s was the messiest, but still nowhere near the level of the person who wrote the note.
And the boys were closer matches, but Nick still wrote neatly, Carisi too. It wasn’t George, wasn’t Fin, and definitely wasn’t Garland.
John’s looked the closest. But he always wrote his ‘I’s with the top and bottom lines.
It wasn’t anyone here.
And for the slightest moment she thinks that maybe her boyfriend might have made the drive all the way over here, but then remembers he didn’t even get up to say good morning. It probably (definitely) was impossible that this was his doing.
“Miss Benson?” There’s a small voice at her door that pulls her out of her head, and she removes her glasses, pushing them up and pulling her hair back in the process. Eyes on the unexpected guest, she notices it’s one of her students from homeroom.
“Maya? Come in, come in,” she gestures over to her desk, foregoing the unsuccessful search of the coffee-bringer. “What brings you here?”
The curly-haired eleven year old is in her youngest set of students, her homeroom and sixth-grade English class that took place during seventh period. She was shyer, but it was still early in the year. Olivia gave her the benefit of the doubt—she’ll come out of her shell soon.
Shuffling her feet, her head hangs down to look at her shoes as she walks closer to her teacher. Her voice is almost inaudible as she begins to mumble, “You said if we have issues buying our own book for next week to check the library, but…they didn’t have any more left.”
“Oh, they’re all gone?”
The young girl nods, looking sheepish, “I can try to ask my mom, but—”
Olivia shakes her head, “No, no,” and she takes a sticky note off the top of the pile, scribbling Maya’s name on it. “Here we go. I’ll make sure you have one for Monday morning.”
“...really?”
“Of course,” Olivia smiles, leaning her head down to make proper eye contact with the nervous child. “Now, I think you should get back to math with Mr. Garland before he realizes you’ve been gone too long.”
It makes Maya giggle before she starts to leave, but as she approaches the door, she turns quickly to run back and hug Olivia roughly. The older woman jumps at the sudden contact, but welcomes it after a second, patting the girl gently on the back.
“Thank you, Miss Benson.”
“Anytime, dear.”
And Maya runs off, skipping back down the hall.
Alone once more, Olivia finishes the rest of the mystery coffee, finally content with the fact that she may never know where it came from.
-:-:-
There’s another coffee cup.
It’s the next morning and her classroom was unlocked again and there was another cup—identical to yesterday’s—in the same spot. Except now, it was accompanied by a small bag.
No note this time, just the coffee and a paper bag that houses a perfect blueberry muffin and Olivia is more frustrated than grateful at first. Although she is grateful—she did not get to enjoy breakfast this morning because somehow her adult boyfriend broke their (her) toaster and he finished up the rest of the eggs (leaving an empty carton “in case she needed it for crafts”) as he was working out more and needed the protein boost.
Flipping the bag around, there’s no more clues as to who it is. No extra writing, just a plain cup and bag, with her precise order again.
Sonofabitch—
Today was going to be a long day.
-:-:-
Days go by and the coffee keeps coming–every morning, right on her desk.
Black with two sugars.
It’s a gift to sip on it throughout the school day–it’s almost like someone out there knew her life was falling apart and wanted to help. At least with free coffee.
She was prepared to fake it through the week, fake a cheery smile to further fend off the conversations until her emotions were buried deep and ultimately would disappear. But when another paper bag decorated with a horribly-drawn smiley face comes on Friday morning alongside her coffee, her thumb swipes over the doodle, and the tightness in her chest loosens.
No need to fake a smile today.
It’s funny how when she left work, driving back to her apartment, the stress started to grow. While most people trapped in the 9-5 life ached to head home, Olivia sometimes dreaded the ending day. So much so, she even volunteered to watch students who stayed late, making sure each of them was properly picked up by their parents or their designated guardian. And when the last student left, Olivia would head to her car and make her own journey home to the coldness of her apartment floor, the chaos of Brian’s afternoon to clean up, and the vision of her mother’s body stuck in her head.
No amount of alcohol could fix that.
Yet, it seemed a doodled-on paper bag and another free cup of decent coffee could. How odd.
And so, she forewent further questioning of the cups. Didn’t need to spend any more energy on discovering the bringer of the pleasant presents for her morning. Besides, searching could ruin it.
But it hovers, invading her relaxation, gnawing at her to know who it is.
Unable to fight it off, this time, she leaves a note on her desk as she makes her way out for the weekend, hoping the gift giver (if they continue) would spot her ‘thank you’ on Monday morning and confess their identity all on their own.
-:-:-
“Need help?”
Olivia’s hands are full of heavy grocery bags and she’s unable to reach for her keys deep in the bottom of her purse as she exits the now-working elevator in her apartment building. “Don, yes! Could you?” She nods to the man, then the door, and he shuffles over to her place, unlocking it with his own keys.
“Thank you so much,” she hums, arms reddening with marks from the heavy reusable bags packed with groceries and other necessities. Saving the receipt, she hopes that maybe this time Brian will remember to chip in, but she shopped light enough so her newest paycheck wouldn’t be completely used up. They both shuffle inside, and Don immediately starts grabbing at the bags to relieve her aching skin. Grateful for the relief, she’s settling into the routine she developed with her neighbor—he unpacked the totes onto her counter, while she reorganizes the fridge to fit it all.
As each becomes empty, Don neatly folds the totes, placing all of them within the largest, and shoves them in the cabinet under the sink where they were typically stored. Heading towards the packed counter, he’s sorting the food and handing it to her as she keeps her arms deep in the fridge, pushing and shoving things around to free up space.
“How was work?” he asks, handing her the carton of eggs.
Olivia smiles as she takes them from him, “Actually? Pretty good. It was a smooth week.”
“That’s good.” He hands her fruits and vegetables, stuff they both know Brian won’t eat, and he grabs the lone bread to place in the box next to the broken toaster. “And how are you doing?”
“Hmm,” Olivia shrugs, “I mean as well as I can. It’s weird without her, even though…you know...” She waves her hand around, filling in the gap where the words should go.
“I get it.”
The counter is nearly clear, spare from a couple of toiletries, and she finagles the last edible item into the fridge door, closing it up. “Staying for coffee?” she nudges.
“Brian working?”
They both chuckle, and she mumbles, “Always,” as she pulls out two mugs, prepping their glasses like she always did.
Yes, for the (newly) 30 year old, it could be slightly odd that her closest friend was the old man across the hall—but look at how efficient they were! The counter is clear, and she’s making coffee instead of still lugging bags of food through her apartment all on her own. And Don Cragen has been her neighbor since she signed her first lease on this apartment, back when she couldn't even afford it. He was quiet, never bothered her, and she barely knew he even existed until she had to.
When a man followed her home from the store, her first year here, her heart raced, blood pumping viciously, as she bolted up the stairs. She trips on the way up and yells loudly when the man got closer. For the first time in her life, she thought she was going to die. But—with a single swing of his arm—Don didn’t let the guy get the chance to lay a single finger on her.
A small pro of having a retired cop as a neighbor.
And afterwards, he did not flee. Instead, he sat with her as she went to the station to give her statement—didn’t say much, just made sure she had someone there until her mother or boyfriend could arrive.
They never did.
Scared to be alone that night, on the way back up those horrifying steps, she invited him over for coffee, simply needing the company. And he stayed to answer the countless questions she asked, averting them from focusing too much on her, hopefully quenching the anxiety that threatened to overpower her. From their quiet conversations, she discovered that merely a few years prior to their first meeting, the man had tragically lost his wife and daughter in a horrific accident while he worked a double shift. It made him quit—out of guilt, out of sadness. He was alone and retired, staying shelled up in a new apartment, not wanting to bother anyone. Wanted to just live the rest of his life here, away from the place where he lost everything.
It hurt to hear. Broke her inside to see a man so polite, so protective, just...give up.
After that night, Olivia began to slyly ask for his help more frequently, even if she didn’t necessarily need it. It’s not like she really ever had a man in her life to trust or look up to anyways—someone who would protect her. And her mother wasn’t exactly a helpful parent, so Don became the closest thing she had to a paternal figure. And now, years later, he was kind of the only family she had left.
“Has he found a real job yet?”
“Don.”
“I’m just saying, you two won’t survive off him being a bartender.”
“My teacher’s salary will support us just fine,” she retorts, raising a brow and sliding his mug over to him.
Don grabs it, sitting on the stool still, raising his brows before taking a sip, “Won’t support a family.”
“Don!”
He lets out a deep belly laugh at her shocked face, shrugging, “Hey, Liv, I’m not getting any younger.”
“Oh my god, we aren’t talking about this again,” she rolls her eyes and he laughs again, taking another swig of the black coffee, while she sips on her much sweeter brew. She gives it a second, letting the older man relax as the taste makes her think of paper cups, plastic lids, and shitty handwriting.
“…Don, can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he nods.
“What does it mean when someone leaves you coffee every morning?”
Don smiles at her, a deeply-buried memory of his own seemingly resurfacing, “Well, it probably means that person cares a lot about you and doesn’t know how to say it.” His fingers fiddle with the handle of the mug that has become his, and his smile remains on his face, but starts to sadden as he continues on. “I used to leave a cup of coffee on Eileen’s nightstand every morning–I knew exactly how she liked it. And back before all this texting nonsense, it was my way of saying I loved her without waking her up.”
Well, that doesn’t help. Olivia wipes a lone tear from her cheek and clears her throat, taking another sip from her own mug.
“Why do you ask? Brian finally stepping it up?” he chuckles.
Bringing the mug down from her lips, she nods slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, he is…”
-:-:-
He didn’t come home all weekend.
Ringing her up at 2AM, Brian lets her know that his buddy has tickets to some sports thing in Ohio and they’re going to make the drive. And when she asked if she’d see him before he left, he informed her they were already there and he just didn’t want to bother her by asking earlier.
Like the sweetheart he is.
So, her weekend turned into one full of deep cleaning, true crime podcasts, and lesson planning.
Oh, and wine. Lots of wine.
-:-:-
‘Anytime.’
It’s 7AM on Monday morning and she trotted her way down the same hallway after her lonely weekend of solitude, discovering the note she left on Friday has now vanished.
And in its place, a new one has appeared with the word ‘Anytime’ scribbled on the bright yellow post-it.
Stuck to a fresh cup of coffee.
Fucking hell.
-:-:-
“Are you sure?”
“No, Casey, I’m imagining it—of course, I’m sure.”
The woman next to her, Alex, stabs around her salad with her fork, purposely missing certain ingredients to snag the perfect bite. Brows furrowed, she has a full mouth when she asks, “How long did you say this was going on?”
“A week.”
It makes the redhead laugh, her eyes not on Olivia, instead deeply focused on her stack of papers. “That’s either the creepiest thing or the sweetest, and I can’t really tell where I stand.”
Oh.
Olivia hadn’t really thought of the eeriness of the situation. How someone knew her exact order and had access to her room every single morning, keeping notes from her and leaving their own…
“Well, I think it’s nice,” Alex chimes in, mouth now free of food, and her freshly manicured hand reaches for the plastic coffee cup (that was technically iced before it melted) to take a sip. At first, Olivia thought she caught the perpetrator, one of her first friends at the school. But Alex points out that her coffee shop had much fancier cups than the generic one Olivia showed them. “I mean, they could have killed you already if it that was the plan—”
“God,” Olivia huffs, “Remind me why I told you both?”
“Because you’ve been getting random cups of coffee on your desk for the past week and haven’t told anyone else about it?” Casey says, flicking through the pile of student tests, red pen checking off each incorrect answer on the German quiz she gave. “Goddamnit, I’m going to have to subtract points because this kid incorrectly translated his name.”
Alex laughs, reaching for the paper to see for herself, and hands Casey her salad in the process. Instinctively, the redhead takes a bite of the abandoned parts that she knows Alex never ate, but would save for her. As the blonde’s eyes scan the paper, she shakes her head at the amount of red pen decorating the single sheet. “Wow, Frau Novak, you’re going to have a fun semester.”
Casey takes another (final) bite before exchanging the other woman’s lunch back for the complete mess of a quiz she (unfortunately) has to finish grading, “Yeah, yeah, Madame Cabot, I’m sure your French students are fluent already.”
“Oh no,” the blonde shakes her head, content with the small bites left in her bowl, free from the parts she loathed. “Last week, one of my students couldn’t even name one country where French is spoken. I tried to help her with clues, but she just broke down crying and answered London.” She finishes off her lunch, shoving the sealed, dirty dish back into her tote. “This year will be fun for me, as well.”
Only Olivia doesn’t see it that way—and it could be the English teacher in her but—she knew that the best students, the most successful ones, sometimes are the ones least expected. That every child has the potential, even if it didn’t seem so at first. “It’s still September,” Olivia hums, popping a couple berries into her mouth, dunking the tea bag up and down in her handmade mug she was gifted two years ago. “We have plenty of time to help them.”
The two women both look up, tossing her an annoyed look, although she can see them both smiling.
And from behind her chair, she hears a lower voice, teasing, “Says the almighty Olivia.” She immediately recognizes that it’s Nick, and he pulls up a chair next to hers in the faculty lounge, dropping down a greasy bag of fast food in front of his seat. “Oh, Miss Benson, the favorite,” he mocks dramatically, echoing a parent from open house earlier this year.
She rolls her eyes, “I am not the favorite.”
All three groan and Nick heartily laughs, “The favorite would say that.” Uncurling his paper bag, he pulls out the fries first and offers some to her, which she gladly accepts. Fruit is great for her body, but free fries were good for the soul.
As they exchange food—Nick swiping a lone grape from her ziploc—Casey’s eyes shift, glancing over their movements, nodding over to the Spanish teacher that’s sharing his lunch and Olivia immediately shakes her head. They’re communicating without words, (hopefully) incorrectly prompting the idea that the lovable Mr. Armaro—a man that was basically her brother—was behind all the morning presents. Olivia is saying a firm no with her eyes, but Alex shrugs and raises her brow. Fine, she concedes, all without the man even knowing. Olivia reluctantly clears her throat, taking a deep breath, “Nick, how do I like my coffee?”
“Uh,” he pauses, looking at her with bewildered confusion. Hands still up to his face, his greasy burger waits for him to take a bite. And his eyes shift around all three women, realizing he’s not getting any help. “Is this the setup for a joke or…?”
“Never mind,” Olivia exhales, deeply and utterly content that it’s not him.
But Alex is much more than just the French teacher, and as the resident speech and debate coach, she needs solid evidence to prove it’s not the man sitting next to Olivia. “No, no, answer it,” she prods, glasses down the slope of her nose, eyes peering over as a slight act of intimidation.
Nick looks completely off-guard, deeply unsure of what the hell was happening, so he just shrugs, shoving another fry into his mouth, to hopefully have it end. “I dunno, with cream?” The girls all sigh and go back to doing what they were, but Nick cannot be more lost at their reaction, and frantically defends himself. “You’re always drinking tea! I didn’t even know you liked coffee!”
Olivia laughs. Thank god.
-:-:-
It quickly becomes a month.
She thought the person would’ve tired themselves out by now, no longer feeling the need to please the English teacher all the way down the east hall. Aren’t they bored of treating her? It’s not like she even did much for them, besides the few notes she left with her own little smiles. But after four full school weeks, starting that Monday after her mother’s funeral, they’re totalling 24 cups total—well, 18 actual cups. She left a note last week with an empty tumbler telling her anonymous “barista” that ‘maybe we should save some paper?’ and the next day her reusable cup was full of the same perfect brew.
‘Smart thinking, teach,’ the note back donned and she wanted to laugh at herself for bantering with the unknown assailant back and forth via post-it notes. Maybe they could call them up and get a brand deal at this point. A mystery tale that outdid even Sherlock Holmes, all told through hot coffee and sticky paper.
And by now, she’s hounded nearly everyone she talked to at the school, exhausting them with vague riddles of how she liked her coffee, and none of them have confessed—Nick was still confused.
She kept the notes in her desk drawer, liking the reminder that someone out there—who has no obligation to—was trying to brighten her every morning. The days with the crooked smiley faces were her favorite, as they were so unique to the individual, she couldn’t help but mirror the doodled face as she looked at it.
“It probably means someone cares a lot about you.”
There was no denying that this person had to at this point. Far too much coffee had been gifted for it to be a ‘pity thing’ anymore. But, while people cared about her, there has never been someone this attentive to her. Someone who took time out of their life to carve out a space for her, without any expectations back.
It was too fantastical.
The bell rings and she shoves the notes back into her desk drawer, hiding them and her dwindling hope away, waiting for her students to bring her back to reality.
Maybe Casey was right.
Maybe she is imagining it.
-:-:-
Today was a new day, and the beautifully timed morning has arrived to thankfully end the never-ending night of arguing she’d spent with Brian.
Who had revealed he was unfortunately canceling their Halloween plans. After he begged her to buy a couple’s costume, where her half was far skimpier than anything she would’ve chosen.
Tired, and used to his antics, she asked him if they could just go to sleep after the back and forth became exhausting. But, clueless, he asked if she was mad at him and she reassured him no (even though she should be). There was no point to being upset anymore, canceled plans were customary for the two.
Smiling at her concession, he hugged her tight and kissed her deeply, prompting them to go further as they headed towards the bedroom. They haven’t had sex in a bit, so she happily gave into the embrace, knowing that this was something Brian was very good at, despite his lack of success in other romantic fields. Two orgasms of her own later, he’s done and asleep within minutes.
She doesn’t even remember if he kissed her goodnight.
And so, the morning after—just a little more than a week before Halloween—she arrives to work earlier than usual. Wanting to make sure she’s prepared for all three of her classes scheduled for testing today, she was more than happy to let Brian sleep in as she snuck out before the sun rose.
Her seats would have to abandon their typical group configuration and settle for the torturous rows of solitary that Olivia hated so much. She wasn’t even a fan of testing, but the wonderfully intimidating principal, Liz Donnelly, had insisted she needed at least four per year.
So, she scrambled together a test that was thought-provoking, but not too challenging, letting students write a personal essay about how they connected to their assigned novels. Sixth graders just finished Holes, seventh finished The Book Thief, and eighth wrapped up Frankenstein—perfect timing before Halloween (even though technically it wasn’t related to the holiday, it made the handful of boys who refused to participate a little more interested).
They each watched the movie version of the novels in class at the beginning of the week, and she reassured them that the test was not about facts from the book, but rather a way to show what lessons they took away from their time reading it and tie it to their everyday life.
Principal Donnelly conceded. At least the kids were still getting tested.
Heels clicking down the empty halls like usual, it’s even quieter at this time, and she can hear her own labored breath as she carries her heavy bag down to her classroom, awaiting the fresh cup of coffee that would hopefully be perched right on her desk.
And it is.
Only this time, it’s not alone.
Without any intention to, she miraculously catches the perpetrator red-handed, his cheeks blushing a bright pink as their eyes lock and the cup slowly slides onto her desk.
“Mr. Stabler?”
The man freezes, arms frozen as the long lanyard he always swung down the hallway dangles from around his neck. He draws out a long, unsure, “...g’morning,” clearly unaware of what to do now that his identity has been revealed.
Olivia is speechless herself, never in a million years even suspecting that the newest teacher—from the other end of the school—was the culprit.
Although, the scratchy handwriting checks out.
She doesn’t even remember meeting him. Didn’t even know his eyes were this blue. Honestly if it weren’t for her seventh period coming directly from his sixth period class, she probably wouldn’t even know his name.
Shaking off her surprise, she tries to play it off casually, shifting her very curious gaze around to point at her coffee cup, now resting in its usual home. As she does, her wandering eyes happen to catch a miniscule amount of yellow in his back pocket.
So, he did save her notes.
She tosses him a teasing glare, crossing her arms and legs, jutting out her hip just so. “You’re the coffee bandit?”
Luckily, her playful tone gets him to smile, and she feels the uncomfortable tension immediately fade away at the change in his expression.
Thank god.
Shaking his head, he tries to hide his smile, masking it with a very serious face. “No, bandits steal. I’m a giver.”
She cracks, the corners of her own mouth betraying her, causing a beaming grin to flash across her face. And with her response, his smile returns and the two adults are left looking at each other with such reverence. It’s so odd—his toothy smile on his extremely muscular body—it’s bright, yet warm, and it makes those piercing blue eyes almost sparkle at her, like he’s some Greek god sent from the heavens.
With coffee.
Their eyes stay locked for a little too long, and Olivia can feel the energy shifting into unauthorized territory, so she laughs lightly to differ from whatever is happening to her, and walks over to her desk.
Closer to him.
The click of her heels still echoes on the cold tile, and she darts her brown eyes back on his blue for a mere moment as she approaches. Coming up beside him, she presses her shoulder slightly into his bicep, sneaking past to grab the cup from behind and she clicks the lid open, pressing it to her lips and takes a small sip.
As she does, his eyes never look away. They don’t dare to focus on anything but her and she almost feels intimidated by his intense stare. Swallowing down the all-too familiar drink, she comically shrugs, joking to deflect once more, “Hmm, could use milk next time,” and he laughs.
Hearing the jovial sound of his voice, she lightly slaps his chest (as if this was always them and not the first time they’ve interacted), before needing to turn away so she stopped looking (gawking) at him.
“Noted, Miss. Benson,” he teases back, and she feels a deep blush spread across her cheeks at the sound of her name escaping his lips.
It feels far too natural between the practical strangers, but for some reason (besides this wildly inappropriate sliver of attraction she is desperate to ignore), Olivia feels like she’s known him forever. All because of a cup of coffee.
Well, no, not exactly—25 cups of coffee.
Pushing down every emotion besides gratitude, she cannot erase the smile of her face and neither can he apparently. And despite the awkwardness of their predicament, she realizes he’s not fleeing from her, instead, reaching out to grab the cup from her hands to take his own sip.
Did he just—
Something flutters through her chest at the sight, but she pushes it down with the rest of feelings she was feeling because these reactions are only meant for her boyfriend (remember him, Olivia?) of eight years and not the new gym teacher at her work. To further deflect, she places her hand on his shoulder as he’s setting her (their?) cup down, nodding over to her classroom. “Well, now that you’re here, wanna put those muscles to work and help me move these desks for testing?”
“Aye, aye Captain.”
Oh boy, this was going to be an interesting year.