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She heard the youthful voice call her, softly due to the venue but urgently, before he came pelting up to her where she had taken refuge outside one of the small chapels that circled the perimeter of the massive church. "Captain Benson! Captain Benson!"
Olivia Benson's eyes flashed up in surprise, and the boy halted a few feet away, taking in at one glance her black dress and muted black high heels, and a very simple silver cross she wore around her neck--and the look of pain on her face.
"You've b-been cr-crying," he said, biting his lip. His stammer always returned when he was nervous.
"Oh, Randall," she said with a wan smile that broke out involuntarily, even after the long and emotionally taxing Requiem Mass, and she held open her arms in welcome so that the awkward boy with his untidy dark hair and round black-rimmed glasses could burrow into her embrace. "Sweetie, what are you doing here?"
"I h-had to come," Randall Shaw said, slightly muffled by her warm hug. "Mom said h-he was your r-rabbi, and I kn-know what that means—and you f-f-found me a real h-home after all..."
"Randall-" and she found she couldn't say any more, but simply hugged him tighter. When she finally pulled back and held him at arm's length, she'd regained her composure and could genuinely smile at him, overjoyed at what she saw.
"You're looking so tall!" Benson marveled, remembering the grubby, undersized runaway from Connecticut that Domenick Carisi had brought to her thirteen months earlier. "And very dapper," she added, noting his pressed navy blue suit and pale blue shirt open at the collar.
Randall colored. "Mom had to let down my p-pants real quick last night. She said she was thankful I'd only grown taller, not w-wider."
"But you're supposed to be in school," she said in a mock-chiding voice.
He sighed. "'Livia and I can make it all up tomorrow. This was important. Mom knew the minute the phones buzzed."
For Olivia Goren, it had been a wonderful birthday celebration--one day late due to a commitment on her father's part. They had all dressed up and gone to a formal restaurant, where Randall, usually choosy about his food, had eaten baked stuffed shrimp for the first time, and the server had brought now 12-year-old Olivia a free dessert. Afterwards, they had gone home to change, and then, because they had bought books at the new bookstore in town the night before, Olivia suggested they just drive to the Book Barn. They'd had fun prowling the little sheds and outbuildings that made up the Niantic used bookstore, and then spent an hour or two just watching the surf and the sailboats at Mystic--well, Randall and Olivia had brought books while their parents had sat in quiet communion together, hands clasped out of sight, not saying much--before heading home at sunset.
As Alexandra Eames had pulled the Honda Pilot into the driveway, her phone had chirped. Two seconds later Robert Goren's phone also gave a distinctive alert.
"It's from Liv," Alex had said in a worried voice, because it was unexpected to get a message from her old friend at the NYPD after dark on a Sunday evening.
"Mine's from Mike," Bobby said, perturbed.
But both, they had discovered, carried the same message: Donald Cragen had passed away suddenly. He had been both Michael Logan's boss at the 27th precinct and later Olivia Benson's supervisor at the Special Victims Unit.
"Let me know when the funeral is," Alex had thumbed into her phone after offering Benson her condolences. She knew Cragen had been supportive of Benson at the beginning of her career, and had urged her to take his place as head of SVU when he retired. She said with a little pucker of her lips, "I didn't know Cragen well, but I remember him taking a hit once, framed for murder. Big scandal at the time. Liv and her crew stood up for him fiercely, and she told me once the brass didn't give him half the apology he deserved. If I know Liv, she's putting a brave face on when she'd prefer to have a good cry."
By the time they had made it into the house, Bobby had decided he would go as well, since Logan owed much to Cragen's patience with his younger, undisciplined self and would certainly be at the service. The kids could stay under the care of Abbi Diaz next door; Shard or TJ would willingly take the children to school, and they could ride the bus home.
Randall balked. "I h-have to go," he insisted. "If this m-man was special to Captain B-Benson like you said, then I have to go. She's the r-reason I'm here, with y-you, instead of another awful f-foster home. Please. Please!"
Olivia, standing beside her brother with big solemn eyes, agreed. "I think we all should go. Uncle Mike might need us, too."
Neither adult was a match for the two earnest faces that pled eloquently in return.
Now Olivia's voice, which still retained its British lilt, could be heard. "See, Papa, I told you Rand would find her."
Benson relaxed as she watched four people catch up with her and Randall: Bobby tall and imposing in his best suit but his eyes full of understanding; Alex in her simple black dress and heels, with a look of compassion that warmed Benson's heart; blond-curled Olivia also in navy blue, an A-line dress with a white collar, one of her little kitsune pins brave on its left side; and, looking just a little less under control in his dress suit, tired-eyed, bearded Mike Logan, his visage mirroring her pain.
She moved to hug him first. "Sometimes I forget you had Don as a mentor before I did."
Logan chuckled deep in his throat. "Yeah, well, most of that time 'mentoring,' he kept from killing me--or killing myself--instead. I was a big pain in the ass back then." Then he winked at Olivia. "Excuse my French, Miss Goren."
He inclined his chin to the chapel they stood before, the quarter-sphere chamber that hosted it full of wrought iron banks of candles in red glass holders, about half of them lit, and two paintings, one on either side of the altar, with a statue of the saint perched in the niche above, his sword raised to the ready and his stone face resolute as he faced the armies of Evil. "Should have known you'd be here."
His right hand explored his suit pocket, then he stepped forward into the chapel, thrust some dollar bills into the locked money container, and, choosing a bamboo taper, ignited it from an already-lit candle, then hovered the fiery taper over a fresh candle directly in front of the altar. As he did, his hand trembled visibly, and, without thinking, Benson stepped forward to steady his arm. Their eyes met, Logan’s mouth quirked, and Benson nodded as she moved her hand on top of his. Together they set the burning taper to the wick of the candle he’d chosen. The flame flickered, then bloomed bright and tall for a moment before settling into a steady glow.
"Thanks, Cap, for everything," they heard Logan murmur in a thick voice as Benson blew out the taper.
"You were the best," whispered Benson.
Without being asked, Bobby quietly handed Alex the handkerchief he always kept ready in his pocket.
Randall read the brass plaque next to the chapel. "St. Michael the Archangel." Underneath was some verse. He looked up at Bobby questioningly.
"Patron saint of police officers and other law enforcement...um...and soldiers, mariners, firefighters, EMTs--almost anyone else who risks their life at their job," Bobby explained. "He was one of the archangels who led the fight...the battle against Satan." He paused, then quoted, "'The supreme foe of Satan and the fallen legions.' And he transports the s-souls of the dead."
"I remember my dad wouldn't set foot outside the house without his St. Michael's medallion," Alex said a little wistfully. "Once it fell off, and the three of us kids ransacked the house until Jack found it next to the sofa. We were late for school and reprimanded, but Daddy made roll call on time, and that's what counted."
Benson turned away from the chapel first. "I keep mine in my wallet. Don gave me one when I got promoted."
When Logan finally turned back to them, he was able to smile slightly and banter, "Hey, before I forget and get The Stare, Carla sends her condolences and her apology for not being able to come. They got a librarian out on maternity leave and another two in training class, so someone had to mind the store."
"You tell her I said thank you," Benson said sincerely. She knew Logan only through Alex and Bobby and NYPD gossip, but she was touched that he had shown up--Bobby once mentioned that he rarely "darkened the door" of a church.
"I guess, in a way," Logan said sardonically, "we were all kinda Cragen's 'kids.'" He wagged his eyebrows and smirked. "I was the unruly one."
"Please. As if all of us didn’t fall under that category one time or the other," Benson scoffed. "I think Elliot got sent to 'the principal’s office' every other week."
Then she sobered. "There's a get-together for Don at the local later this afternoon, into the evening. Maybe Carla can make it then. Olivia Two, may I have a hug? Happy birthday in person, sweetheart."
Olivia grinned and darted forward for the promised hug. As she still nestled in Benson's warmth, a smiling voice said from behind them, "Hi, Olivia."
Now the child stepped back and beamed as Benson's son Noah grinned at her. They were both adopted, which Olivia claimed made them "kindred spirits." She blurted out, "You get taller every time I see you!"
Noah shrugged and brushed back his dark curls self-consciously. "It's not like I do anything special."
"Except eating me out of house and home," Benson teased, curving an arm around him. "Didn't I leave you shadowing Elliot?"
"He gave me the slip, Mom," Noah said ruefully, shaking his head. "I stopped to say hi to Jesse and Billie, and when I looked back, he was gone. Of course, we nearly missed him the first time, the way he came in the side door right as the service started."
"Undercover seems to be Stabler's persona these days," Bobby observed soberly.
"He's still torn up about his brother," Benson admitted.
"And his mom?" asked Bobby shrewdly.
"I get my weekly report from Elliot--or Kathleen if he's hush-hush. Bernie has her good days and her bad days, but she's as feisty as ever," and Benson made a wry smile. "Something you remember intimately, I'm sure."
Bobby nodded, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes.
"We can't stay for the tribute later," Alex confessed reluctantly. "Missing one day of school is enough for these two. But could we take you and Noah out for coffee right now?"
"I think we'd like that," Benson said, smiling at her son. "We'll get two booths--we can swap Cragen stories, Mike, and let the kids have their skibidi chat."
Olivia giggled, Randall snorted, and Noah burst out laughing. "'Skibidi chat.' Wow, Mom, where'd that come from?"
Benson feigned bewilderment, giving a mischievous look to the other adults. "Isn't that the current slang?"
"Mom," Noah coughed to keep from sputtering. "Just stick with 'cool' and 'neat,' okay?"
"Evidently not the cool mom anymore," Benson said, winking.
Alex arched her eyebrows. "I think we missed that by about ten years."
"Acquired taste," Bobby said, tongue-in-cheek as Alex bit her lip, "never cool."
Olivia said softly, "I think you're cool, Papa."
"C'mon," Logan said with a grin. "There's a good coffee shop a coupla blocks down and I've got a big backlog of Cragen stories worth telling."
"Me, too," Benson said, a wistful smile appearing. "Enough to last a lifetime."
In the eddy of air left by their departure, the candle that Logan and Benson had lit for Donald Cragen front and center of the altar flared once more as if saluting them, then lowered into a slow and constant flame.
Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou,
O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.