Chapter Text
I. 2001
“I’m sorry about your mother, Liv.” “Condolences, detective Benson.” “I heard about what happened, Liv.” “Sorry, Olivia.”
Each phrase was a tiny, relentless tap on the glass of her composure. She could feel the fragile pane starting to splinter. She just wanted the words to stop. She wanted the sympathy to vanish, taking with it the suffocating awareness that everyone knew. They knew about the call, they knew about the hospital, and they knew about the final, awful quiet. If one more person offered a soft-spoken regret, she was going to shatter, and the thought of breaking down here, in front of the job she used to hide in, was unbearable.
Her jaw was locked so tight it ached. She was supposed to be working. She was supposed to be processing the paperwork for the case, but every time she looked at a form, the letters swam into the shape of the word Gone. She just needed a place to breathe.
She found herself walking, a blind, determined march, and the next thing she knew, she was in the hallway outside Alex’s office.
Alex must have heard her stop. She didn't knock. The door opened slowly, revealing Alex standing just inside. Her expression wasn't pitying; it was simply seeing. Alex didn't offer any condolences; she just quietly closed the door behind Olivia.
“Benson, you look like you’re about to punch a wall,” Alex said, her voice low and steady, entirely devoid of the gentle, fragile tone everyone else was using. It was the first normal sound Olivia had heard all day.
Olivia took a shuddering breath, the air burning in her lungs. “I can’t. I can’t listen to one more goddamn person tell me they’re sorry. I’m fine. I’m at work. They need to stop looking at me like I’m going to cry.”
“I’m not sorry,” Alex said, stepping closer. “I’m angry with you. I’m here with you. And I think you need to sit down before you actually punch a wall and get disciplined for it.”
Olivia’s eyes were fierce, dark with grief and exhaustion, magnified by the pain she was holding back. She felt the urge to push Alex away, to retreat into the sterile isolation she thought she needed.
“Alex….” Olivia warned, her voice strained.
Alex didn't retract. Instead, she took the final small step, closing the distance. She didn't embrace her or pat her shoulder. Instead, Alex raised her hands, palms open, and gently placed them on either side of Olivia's face.
Alex’s hands were warm, firm, and grounding. They cradled Olivia’s cheeks, her thumbs resting just beneath her sharp cheekbones. It was an act of profound stillness in the chaotic world of Olivia’s grief. Alex’s gaze was locked on hers—intense, unblinking, and utterly fearless.
The room, the office, the precinct, the relentless, echoing words of condolence—everything seemed to warp and compress around them, disappearing into a velvet silence.
“I know what you’re doing,” Alex whispered, her voice barely audible. “You’re trying to scare everyone away. You’re pushing the grief down and pushing everyone out because you think the hurt is too much to share.”
A tear finally escaped Olivia’s eye, a single, hot track down her cheek, and Alex’s thumb was there instantly, soaking it up before it could fall.
Olivia saw the reflection of her own brokenness in Alex’s eyes, and she finally felt the scream build in her chest. She needed to rage, to cry, to break. She pulled away slightly, the raw pain in her face an invitation to retreat.
Alex held fast, her hands a steady, unyielding anchor. She leaned in, her eyes shining with absolute resolve.
“It’s okay, Olivia.”
The silence here was different—it was a full silence, a quiet that felt earned. Olivia never knew that a voice could silence the entirety of New York.
II. 2003
Olivia had never wanted to see someone than she does now — just to sit and look at her, her Alex.
She knocks three times, out of habit. She hears Alex say come in faintly. Olivia pushed the door open, the old wood groaning a polite welcome.
Alex was sitting at the worn wooden desk in her office, bathed in the soft glow of the desk lamp even though it was mid-morning. She was hunched slightly over a manila folder, her brow furrowed in that familiar concentration Olivia loved and sometimes envied. A half-empty mug sat precariously close to the edge of the desk.
Alex looked up at the sound of the door closing, her expression shifting instantly from focused professionalism to one of mild, affectionate surprise.
“Detective,” Alex said, the title sounding formal and yet somehow intimate on her tongue. She gestured vaguely at the chair across the desk. “Anything I can do for you?”
Olivia didn’t move immediately. She stayed leaning against the door frame, crossing her arms loosely over her chest, just taking Alex in. The way the light caught the wisps of hair escaping her ponytail, the faint crease of her forehead above her left eyebrow—a silent testament to a bad day—the slight crinkle at the corner of her eyes. The way the bustling outside, in the street of New York, could never break her out of her reverie. She felt the tight knot of stress that had been living in her shoulders since Tuesday began to loosen.
“I was in the neighborhood,” Olivia lied smoothly. The neighborhood was the next floor up, and she'd been walking in circles for ten minutes trying to find an excuse. “Just checking in on the resident expert.”
Alex smiled, a slight, knowing quirk of her lips. She closed the folder and steepled her hands on top of it. “That’s me. So, what’s the complex legal loophole or ethical quandary I need to solve for you this time?”
Olivia finally walked to the chair and sat down, dragging it slightly to angle herself better. She didn't want to talk about the case; she wanted to talk about anything but the case. She looked at Alex’s face, tracing the lines and curves with her gaze.
“I don’t know,” Olivia said, her voice dropping a little. It was just a glance, a connection, a profound feeling of being exactly where she was supposed to be. The kind of moment that didn’t happen when they were on the phone or rushing through a hallway. “I just… I missed you.”
Alex’s smile softened, turning tender. She leaned back in her chair, the wheels giving a small squeak. She didn't pretend to misunderstand the feeling or the depth of the admission. “I saw you yesterday,” Alex pointed out gently.
“Yeah, but I didn’t get to look at you for five minutes without talking about the lack of warrants or the new DA’s incompetence,” Olivia countered, settling her chin in her hand. She continued to simply observe, letting the quiet of the office and the shared history between them fill the space. It was comfortable, reassuring, and necessary.
Alex laughed, a warm, low sound. She watched Olivia watching her, an open invitation in her eyes. It was a silent acknowledgment of the crazy, consuming jobs they had, the small moments they fought for, and the deep reservoir of affection they held for one another.
Alex picked up a pen, twirling it slowly between her fingers, her gaze unwavering and fond. “Well, you’ve got five minutes. Go on, get it out of your system.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed slightly, a teasing spark lighting them up. She felt a genuine smile break through her own fatigue.
“Are you going to watch me for the whole day?” she asked. The question was a challenge, a plea, and a joke all at once.
Alex tapped the pen against the manila folder once, decisively. “If you don't start telling me why you're really here, I might just have to. Now, about that arrest warrant you wanted drafted…”