Chapter Text
May 2013
They sat in the car, another useless tip checked off the list while Fin fought the guilty panic he’d been swallowing for the past 18 hours. That he should have felt for the two f-ing days before that while he was complaining about paperwork and sleeping peacefully in his bed while Olivia was kidnapped and tortured . The panic and guilt had risen with the bile in his throat when he and Amanda had found the state of Liv’s apartment and smelled the singed flesh in the air. This was going to be Fin’s legacy - always two steps behind what he was supposed to be doing. He should have been sooner in the basement of that prison a few years back, and he should have checked on her sooner this week.
In the driver’s seat, Cragen had aged 20 years in a day. For an eternally steady man, it was jarring to see. His sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loosened. The lines on his face seemed deeper, and the bags under his eyes sagged. Cragen closed his eyes for a moment putting his head on the wheel, and Fin thought he saw a whisper of a prayer cross his lips. For all he’d abandoned his beliefs and church lessons somewhere between the Rangers and his divorce, Fin had been doing the same. If God existed (and if Fin hadn’t pissed Him off), He had no choice but to listen.
“I’m too old for this.” Cragen muttered as he re-started the car. “She’s too good a cop for this to be where it ends.” he said a few minutes later at a red light.
“Too good a person.” Fin finished.
Cragen pointed the car toward the precinct, and, delirious from sleep deprivation and panic, Fin couldn’t even remember which tip they’d followed, or what Amaro had said over the radio. Heck, he couldn’t remember why he was the one in the car with Cragen instead of driving Amanda around. They hadn’t even turned on the radio (both cheerful music and news updates were overwhelming, so they’d settled for silence). They’d barely talked.
They pulled up in front of the station, but Cragen didn’t turn the car off. He just…stared. Fin couldn’t make himself move either.
“Hey Cap…” Fin tried to piece together the thought that had pierced through the fog.
Cragen kept staring.
“Cap…should we track down…I know we haven’t heard from him, but I bet someone…”
The Captain blinked a few times and rubbed his head like he did when he was stressed. That gesture was the most Fin had seen of the usual Captain in the past day.
“Detective Tutuola.” Cragen started, slowly, still staring at nothing. “Fin,” he started again after a pause. “I trust you. And if I tell you something in confidence, can you promise me it will stay between us?”
“Will it help us find Benson?”
Another heavy pause. “It may be in Olivia’s best interest, but you might not like it.”
“Anything for Liv.”
Cragen cracked open a water and took a sip, seeming to come back to himself a bit. “After Stabler…” He seemed to get lost for a moment and took another gulp, putting the bottle back in the console, running his fingers along the condensation as he spoke. “After the shooting, after he turned in his papers…I was asked to keep a window open.”
“A window? He wanted a window? Did you punch ‘im?”
Cragen took a deep breath. “No. He wasn’t the one who asked.”
“Liv asked you to keep a window open?”
“You know she’d never ask that. Admit she wanted it.” Cragen sat again, seeming to debate with himself over his next words. “You know me well, right, Fin?”
Fin nodded.
“And you’ve been through it…a shooting, especially a minor, no matter how clean or justified or necessary , can mess with your head, your sense of self-preservation…” He was running his fingers through the condensation again, as if he were trying to gather all the droplets together. “Elliot was already spiraling before that case. Not many people have the fortitude to survive in SVU for more than a few years. He wasn’t gonna last much longer, but he stuck around for...”
Fin picked up his own water and shrugged. “Not my business.” But deep down he’d clocked that as well. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop long before Jenna Fox came along.
“Kathy called me.”
“Stabler’s wife?”
Cragen nodded and seemed to force himself to look at Fin. His eyes were bloodshot, but his intensity was raw. “A few days after Elliot turned in his papers, she called me. Panicked. And he may have resigned, but my job is to take care of my detectives. And I wasn’t going to lose one to alcohol or his own weapon. Or both.”
“Oh. Shit.” Fin felt a little bad for his semi-violent fantasies after Stabler abandoned them. Just a little.
Jerking his head a few times, a half-nod, half shrug, Cragen took a deep breath and continued. “She needed my help to save her husband. Preserve her family. Stop the bottom from dropping out from under her.”
“And she didn’t call Liv?” From Fin’s view, Kathy and Liv had never seemed to be best friends, but they were friendly. Liv was the buffer between the reality of Stabler’s job and peace in the Stabler family. And Liv would have been there in a moment.
“If he wasn’t calling her, I wasn’t going to play middle man, and Kathy wasn’t either. The fact that he wasn’t calling her was what worried Kathy the most. She knew there’d been a shooting, knew he’d turned his papers in…she’d looked in his phone one night when he passed out, trying to figure out what to do…”
“And found 300 calls and texts from Liv and nothing in return. She knew he was avoiding Liv.”
Cragen nodded, taking another drink of water. “I told her the sanitized version. Told her it was a clean shooting, but also mentioned that Tucker was out for blood and Stabler was his target. Probably Benson, too. Mentioned that the perp was a teenager, she’d killed a nun. I told her about the mandatory therapy they’d probably require if IAB even let him back in.”
His eyes narrowed and he stared hard at Fin. “The rest of this stays between the two of us, you hear me?”
Fin nodded, clutching his own bottle of water until it started crumpling.
“She called me that morning because she’d found him..sitting in the tub, staring at nothing. He was alive, unharmed, but...he had his weapon in his hand, and half a bottle of vodka next to him. Stunk like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. He…had a note…for her…for the kids…for Liv…”
“The bottom was dropping out on her. And him.”
Cragen looked back outside. “The barrier that he and Olivia kept between the job and his family…it was cracking. He was cracking. I wasn’t gonna lose him - I took him to the hospital myself. He…hated me for it. Cussed me out. Told me he was better off dead, his family was better off...Liv was better off…made me promise to burn the notes.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah. When I got back to Kathy, the only two that were opened were the one to Kathy and…”
“...The one to Liv.”
“I didn't ask what they said. Not my place. Kathy kept hers. Handed me Liv’s like it was going to explode. I took Liv’s and the rest and burned them. Made sure Kathy and Eli got to Kathy’s sister’s. Wanted a whiskey. Settled for a walk.”
“You saved his life. I hope he deserved it.” Fin wasn't sure he did.
The radio crackled to life, then silenced. As if someone wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Fin knew how that felt.
“So the window…” Fin continued, knowing that the squad would be looking for them in a moment, and they had countless leads to follow.
“Yeah, so, Kathy and I talked regularly for a while. And as they figured out how to move forward, the calls spaced out. She wanted a clean break, but…”
“It was never really gonna be clean.”
Cragen took another sip of water. “I have her number and an e-mail for Stabler. We have an agreement.” On the street, Amanda and John crossed in front of them with a few bags of carryout, heads down. Amanda’s panicked anger palpable even from the car. Fin couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than coffee or water. Cragen continued, “About 10 or 11 months after the shooting, Elliot called me. Asked after Liv. Wanted to know if I’d give her his new number and have her call him."
Fin thought back to a year or so before. “She was doing well then. Not as angry. She’d probably started dating Cassidy.”
“Yeah,” Don snorted, “that would have gone over really well. That’s when I told him that my allegiance changed. See, my job is to keep my squad up to par, mentally and physically, so they can do the work. When he was in that bathtub, that hospital, Stabler was my problem. I kept him alive, got him back on his feet. He’d started a new job…”
“Now he was someone else’s problem.”
“A thorn in someone else’s side. I wasn’t going to be the go-between. I stayed out of the Stabler-Benson landmine for 13 years, as much as I could-”
“-No one was ever free of that clusterfuck.”
“No, but I had to put down a boundary. We argued. That’s how I knew he was really on the road to recovery, he fought me every step of the way. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that his relationship with Olivia was his problem, and his relationship with his wife was also his problem, and that all he’d get from me was assurance that Detective Benson was alive and well. He had her number and a dozen voicemails that he could respond to. The ball was in his court,” Cragen said.
“And he accepted that?”
“Ha, no way. It was weeks of arguing, trying to get information, practically begging me to have her call him, since he was too ashamed to pick up the phone. He dodged her calls for months and I wasn’t going to ask her to call and get rejected or ignored again." Cragen put the cap back on his bottle of water. "To appease him, I agreed to get him a message on three, and only three occasions: the first was if Liv asked me outright. Not a ‘I wish Stabler was here’ or ‘too bad I can’t contact Elliot,’ or lashing out at people, but if she outright said to me, ‘please go find Elliot Stabler on my behalf.’ Then I’d give her his contact.”
“She’d never ask for that.”
“Nope. And he knows it, too. It’s up to him.” Cragen shut off the car and motioned for Fin to follow him.
Fin tried to imagine Liv asking outright for Elliot. “They’re both stubborn assholes.”
“Stabler’s only alive because he’s a stubborn asshole.”
“Then he’s gonna live forever.”
Cragen sighed as they entered the precinct, his face weary again. The sympathetic nods from the unis at the front desk weren’t reassuring. The men looked like they were at a funeral, offering sympathy to the bereaved. Cragen muttered, “quit acting like she’d dead already.” As they waited for the elevator he said softly, “Liv’s not an asshole, but-”
“-She’s an asshole if you’re a new detective, or if some other asshole won’t return her calls…” That quip got a tight smile out of Cragen.
“She’s stubborn. She’ll make it.”
“You got that right, Cap,” Fin said as he pressed the button.
The elevator fell into silence. Cragen seemed to be steeling himself, putting on his ‘Captain’ face. After tightening his tie and straightening his suspenders, he closed his eyes for a moment as the doors opened, then strode into the room.
It was like a different man walked through the desks. Don was calm and commanding as he said, “okay people, grab some food, a shower, a nap, whatever you need to be at the top of your game. You’re no good to Detective Benson or me if you’re tired or hungry. I need to talk to Fin for a few minutes, and when we come back, I expect every single one of you to be doing something to refresh yourself.” Cragen looked around the room, making eye contact with each person. Amaro, in particular, looked like he was about to argue, and Amanda wasn’t far behind. “No arguments. The entire NYPD is backing us up on this, so take a few to take care of yourself. When we find her, she will need us. We need to be ready.” He made direct eye contact with Amaro. Nick glared back and disappeared into the kitchen.
As Fin wound through the office, Amanda shoved two sandwiches into his hands and gestured toward Cragen. Munch, who was uncharacteristically quiet, nodded and added a couple of bags of chips. Munch and Cassidy returned to their quiet argument in front of the bulletin board, oblivious to the rest of the hustle in the squad room. Cassidy, who always struck Fin as an eternal teenager, looked younger and more lost than ever with his rumpled clothes and tired, worried eyes.
Fin handed a sandwich and chips to Cragen, closed the door and shut the blinds before he sat down on the couch. The sandwiches, much like Amanda’s salad on her desk, probably wouldn’t get eaten. They sat, Cragen’s head in his hands, elbows on the desk, Fin fiddling with a sandwich wrapper.
“It’s gotta be rough, Cap. Keeping them all pepped up.”
Cragen nodded into his hands, then tipped himself back in the chair. “Fin, I need a fresh set of eyes and ears. I’ve turned it over in my head all day. Out of everyone out there -” he gestured to the squad room, “you’re my best bet. John won’t give me a straight answer to even the most basic questions. Amaro’s gonna punch something, Amanda may have a panic attack, and neither of them know Elliot anyway. I know what Brian will say…”
“I’m here, Cap. I know her. I’ve had her back longer than any of them, ‘cept maybe Munch.”
“Do I…do I need to call in Elliot Stabler?” Cragen was still looking at the ceiling. Or he was asking God. Then he shook his head and leaned forward toward Fin. “I can’t believe this is a question I’m asking.”
“You asking whether to throw a grenade on purpose?" A week ago, if you'd asked Fin whether he should invite Stabler into the 1-6, he only would have said yes if it also came with permission to kick the man where it counts. But now...he wasn't so sure. "Well, Cap, what were the other times you’d get a hold of him?”
“So, like I said, he has her number, so he can call her if he’s that worried about her. I’d give her his contact if she asked, so that’s one. I told him I’d tell him if she left the force, two. And…” Cragen trailed off, breaking the eye contact. His voice got quieter, and his hands fisted. “If he needed to come back. For…a funeral. That’s three.”
A beat as Fin absorbed that possibility, and the expression on the Captain’s face. “Well, you’re not gonna have to make that call, Cap. We’re gonna find her.”
Cragen didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m telling you this because I need a sounding board. ‘Kidnapped by a monster’ wasn’t a condition we considered,” he seemed almost in tears, and his hands still fisted.
Fin wasn't sure anyone had considered this possibility. But he knew Stabler. “He’d be here in an instant, guns blazing, ready to burn the city to the ground to find her.”
“He’s not NYPD any more. He’d be a liability. He’d need a babysitter.”
“Probably kick all our asses for not knowing she was gone. But he’d wanna be here.”
“He would, Fin, it would be what he wanted.” Another beat, as Cragen flexed his hands a few times, like he was testing out whether he could unclench them. “But would it be what’s best for Liv?”
Fin hadn’t thought about that. Would it find her faster? Or would the Captain need to take time away from the case to manage hurricane Stabler? And if - when - they found Benson, would she even want him there? The gnawing feeling in Fin’s stomach - guilt or hunger or anger, increased.
Cragen kept staring at him. As if Fin knew what to do.
“I dunno, Cap. Like you said, he might be a liability. And I ain't gonna babysit him.”
Cragen stared, his hands back to fists, his chest rising and falling quickly. "Trauma changes people," he said as he tried to slow his breathing.
"You talking about Liv? Worried she might not want him here?" Fin said.
"I'm also talking about Stabler."
Fin tried to imagine Elliot Stabler bursting in from God-knows-where-he'd-been, after two years’ absence, to either save the day or blow things up. The thought sent Fin into a fresh cycle of fight-or-flight. He tried to imagine Liv, how she was after Sealview, eerily quiet and shut down, trying to cope internally. He'd seen countless victims in his time. Some fought through their trauma and became survivors. Some crumbled and struggled for years. And some took their own lives. He knew that Liv was a survivor; he'd seen her survive before, but Lewis...he again found himself praying that Lewis wouldn't be the thing that broke her. As for Stabler...Fin couldn't pretend to comprehend how he'd respond to Liv's kidnapping on top of his own trauma. At the same time, he missed the man (and wanted to kick his ass) and knew that Stabler could get through to Liv when no one else could.
“But…” Fin continued, ”a fresh set of eyes…”
“We’ve got the entire NYPD with fresh eyes.”
“Yeah, but Stabler’s eyes will be more motivated.”
Standing, shoving his chair sharply into the desk, Cragen muttered, “I fucked up.” He began pacing behind the desk. “ I should have been motivated enough to check in.”
“Don. This isn’t on you. This isn’t your fault.”
The Captain's voice got louder, more sure. “It is, Fin. It is. I sent her home. I sent her to that monster. I - I -” his facade dropped further and his eyes filled, his hands slammed on top of the filing cabinet. “-I didn’t call to check. I didn’t…” Cragen looked around the room, almost lost, the sweat on his head beading. Fin gripped the water bottle that still somehow crumpled in his hand as Cragen paced, “God, even with Stabler. I fucked that one up first. I should have - I knew Stabler was spiraling. I didn’t listen to Huang. I didn’t intervene, I…figured Liv would handle it, and look what happened.”
“Don, that’s not on you either.”
“Dammit, Fin!” he yelled, louder than he probably meant to, and immediately looked like he regretted it. He swept some files off the desk, kicking uselessly as they floated to the floor. His face was red and his eyes were puffy, but he was still making an effort not to make too much noise, not to let the rest of the squad hear or ask, shaking as if his anger and grief were trying to burst out of his skin. He turned and knocked a few clipboards off the wall. They sounded hollow as they hit the ground.
Everyone had broken down in the past day, each in their own way. But Don had been steady. Sure. Until now. He re-loosened his tie, roughly pulled out his chair and plopped back down, face in hands again. “I’m second guessing everything.”
Fin sat with him for a moment, unsure of what to say. Liv needed the Captain at the top of his game, Fin needed the Captain at the top of his game, and the Captain needed…something.
“You want me to make the call on Stabler.”
Cragen nodded into his hands. “I’m not objective. I don’t trust myself. I can make calls on investigations and stand up to IAB and advocate down at 1PP. I can tell a parent their child is dead or look a raped woman in the eye, but this…them…”
“It’s a landmine, Cap.”
“A nuclear bomb, waiting to go off.” Cragen was staring at his sandwich and chips, like they may have an answer. All they did was remind Fin that the rest of the world carried on (assembling sandwiches, ordering carryout) while Olivia Benson was missing and his captain, the steadiest man he knew, was crumbling.
“You know,” Fin said after a too-long silence, his voice low, his heart in his throat, “to set off a nuke, there’s two sets of codes.”
Cragen tapped his fingers on the desk a few times, then fidgeted with the edge of the chip bag. “Two metaphorical keys. Both have to turn to move forward.”
“No one can make a decision like that alone. Can’t be the only one responsible.” Olivia needed Cragen to lead the charge in finding her. Cragen needed someone to share the load. Fin could do that much. Help Cragen make one choice out of the many he’d make today. Fin didn’t ever want the captain’s job. Usually because of the paperwork (although Cragen seemed to do a bit less chasing after perps, which Fin’s knees envied). But today the weight of making every decision, assessing every situation seemed suffocating.
Cragen kept staring at the sandwich, tapping his fingers, one at a time, and said, “we have to agree on what to do about Elliot. Or we do nothing.”
Fin thought for a few minutes. Getting a hold of Stabler had been his idea, a ray of possibility in the fog of panic. But Cragen recognized the liability Stabler would pose. And Fin thought about Liv’s anger, and wondered if she’d even welcome Elliot’s presence.
Fin made a choice and breathed. “How ‘bout we do this:” he said, “Friday night. If she’s still gone Friday night - which she won’t be - but if she is, we call him in.”
“That would make it…” Cragen swallowed and began peeling at the wrapper on the sandwich. “That would make it five days…five days since she was taken.” He sounded resigned. Deflated.
“Seems like a good number. But we’ll find her before then, Cap. She’ll be ok.” Fin would have his own breakdown later that night, alone, punching a locker. No one would question the new dents. If this was the Captain’s breakdown, and the captain needed him, he’d be here for this.
“Friday, then.”
Fin knew they should head back to the squad room, and pick up another tip, follow it through, and pray that this was the right one. But he was exhausted from Amaro’s guilt and Amanda’s panic and John’s silent support of Cassidy (despite his actual feelings on the man)…he looked at the papers scattered on the floor and tried to re-focus.
The captain took a small bite. “Eat, Fin. We gotta…”
Fin swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah, take care of ourselves. I know.” He unwrapped his own sandwich and picked at the bread.
Ten minutes later their food had barely been touched and few words had been said, but Fin felt better. The captain had turned a corner, it seemed. He’d picked up his papers and re-tightened his tie. Hung the clipboards back on the wall. Fin took a deep breath as he stood up, and Cragen clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you’ve always got her back,” he said as he opened the door to the squadroom.
“You got that right, Cap,” Fin muttered as he followed him out.