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She hadn’t had a second glass of wine with dinner since Noah was a toddler–since the mess at the townhouse, with Ed, with everything. But, something about the date, the timing, the Elliot–the everything of everything–led to a second generous pour before calling it a night.
And now her mother was there, at the foot of her bed, addressing her.
“I was really hoping you were headstrong enough not to repeat my mistakes.”
Olivia blinked. This had to be a dream. And yet, even as she did so she could feel the stickiness in her eyes, the painful dryness in her lips that came this time every winter. “Trust me,” she finally answered, with a wry twist of her chapped lips, “I don’t plan on having that much to drink again anytime soon.”
Serena shook her head in disappointment. “That’s not what I’m talking about, my love.”
She moved around the bed, took a seat on the edge, and began to pat the empty space next to her. “Pretty cold,” Serena mused. “When’s the last time you let someone in here?”
Before Olivia could answer, her mother continued. “It’s probably my fault. I taught you not to trust people, but that’s on me, my love.”
She reached out and touched Olivia’s breastbone. The sensation left her almost breathless, it was as though she was being frozen and scalded all at the same time. “Trust this,” she whispered. “Follow your heart. I know you’ve got it in you. I’ve watched you. You love. You just don’t love yourself enough to let yourself be loved.”
With that Serena reached out to ensure her daughter was paying attention.
“There are going to be three more visitors tonight. Listen to them. Whatever you do, do better than me.”
Mutely, Olivia blinked again, and in that moment her mother was gone. There was one thing for sure, she would never have a second glass of wine.
She flipped her pillow, settling into the cool side. And tried to fall asleep. She focused all her attention on her muscles, reflecting on the mindfulness exercises she’d learned through all her years of therapy. Relax your toes, she whispered to herself and took a deep breath. Relax your feet, she said and put her attention there. Slowly, she worked her way up her body and somewhere around her abdomen she was gone.
It felt like she’d only just closed her eyes, but there was Cragen, at the head of her bed, clearing his throat.
“Captain . . .” She felt suddenly shy and pulled the covers up to her shoulders even though she was fully dressed. She couldn’t help but think back on the last time she’d seen him, and squirmed. The father she’d never had.
“Captain,” he answered her in kind, and she blushed, averting her eyes. “I’ve already told you how proud I am . . .”
She pulled the covers even higher, knowing what was coming, “But . . .”
“Do you remember the day your mom died?” He asked, changing the subject. “There was a lot that I didn’t say at the time, but maybe we should go back.”
She brushed him off. “I’m not gonna be like my mom. I’m not an alcoholic.”
“Olivia–” the single word stilled her. “That’s not the issue.” He paused, ensuring he was meeting her eyes before he asked. “Why did you join SVU?”
She stood from the bed, pacing in front of him. Her former commanding officer, in her bedroom, was just wrong–let alone that she didn’t want to face the question. “You know why,” she said, a simultaneous deflection and answer.
“I know what you said.” He wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “What I need to hear from you is more than your mother’s story. What’s your story, Olivia?”
“This isn’t fair . . . this isn’t any of your business.” She protested.
He took her hand. “You’re right . . . but I think it’s time you spend some time with who you used to be. This is for you; I’m just your tour guide.”
And then the world dissolved into nothing.
When Olivia came to again it was in her dorm room in Siena. She was dressed in a garish outfit of different shades of pink. Her hair was teased and feathered. And she couldn’t help but look at her past self with equal parts of disdain and pride. Young Olivia was so proud and confident and she wanted to lean into that even as her current self both knew what she was going to be facing–nevermind the way that fashion would change.
“It’s fine; I know what happens; we can go back.” She tried to let go of Cragen’s hand, but he wouldn’t let her.
“No, Captain--” The use of her title was the scariest thing that had happened to her yet in the entire eerie evening. “You have to see it through.”
“And then what?” She asked, as fear led to anger. “Someone else gonna come to make me watch what tomorrow’s gonna be like? And then some silent ghoul gonna make me witness my own funeral??”
Even if she hadn’t been brought up as the daughter of an English professor enamored with Dickens, she’d watched more than her fair share of Muppet Christmas Carol with Noah. She knew how this farce was supposed to play out. On the off chance that she could cut it short, she scraped her fingernail over her forearm trying to bring herself back to the present. Point made, Mother, she silently screamed into the universe. You can stop this any time now.
Instead, the clutch of Cragen’s fingers drifted from her hand to her forearm, and instead of her dorm room she was now at a frat party, and some overly-suave Phi Alpha Tau was pressing a red Solo cup into her hand.
“What is this?” her younger self asked.
“Spring break,” he replied with a smirk. “Vodka and Mountain Dew.”
She looked down at the concoction. “I thought it was Valentine’s Day.”
He smirked again. “What can I say; Phi Taus are forward looking.”
“NO!!” Her current self tried to lunge forward, but Cragen held her back.
“You know you can’t change this, Olivia. You’re here only to watch.”
It broke her. Her Captain was here witnessing one of the lowest moments in her life. One she’d never shared with anyone.
To this day she’d never had a drink from a red Solo cup. Not that it mattered that evening.
She watched her younger self take one sip, and then another before finally draining the cup in her hand.
She watched as she was led away from the main party by the smirking frat boy that had first handed her the cup.
She watched again as that same smirking, smarmy son-of-a-bitch took advantage of her, unbuttoning that hot pink blouse - unzipping her jeans - pulling her panties down. And she watched again as he stood aside to let his fraternity brothers take their turns. High-fiving each of them.
She watched as they left her dazed and bleeding. After all, the party was still going on. After all, there were other girls to hand their special drinks to, and more than enough rooms to retire to.
And she watched again, as someone she barely knew from her philosophy seminar smacked her into consciousness and led her back to her own dorm.
She didn’t need to watch the rest; she remembered it. The sudden hyperawareness in the shower back in her own suite. The overwhelming smell of the shampoo (never again would she use Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific) she was using. The disorientation she felt (what had happened between arriving at the party and the showers?). The shame. The determination that every relationship would be in her control.
“So that’s what it was,” Cragen said. “I always knew there was a little bit more.
She looked up. Seeing him as though she was that baby detective instead of the seasoned captain she’d become. It was all too much.
All she wanted to do was comfort her younger self, share with her what she’d since learned, but she couldn’t. “Stop!” Olivia demanded. “This is enough! Let me go home.”
Instead he continued to hold her back, watching as she grabbed a pad to add to her underpants and staunch the blood that continued to flow. Watching as she went to the student health office two weeks later to ensure she wasn’t pregnant. Just watching, and unable to help as the younger her suffered.
“That wasn’t your fault,” he told her as she wiped the tears away. “You need to stop blaming yourself. You need to let your walls down.”
“I know,” she said. She didn’t believe it; she was only trying to make the experience end. “I know,” she repeated, in the desperate hope that somehow that would make it real. It didn’t.
“Fuck this . . .” she whispered into the universe. “I’m done.”
And then, as though it heard her, the world swirled back into darkness. And she was back in her bedroom. Cragen gone.
She tugged at her pajama top. All she really wanted was sleep.
She looked around, cognizant that Noah was only a few steps down, and whispered into the air. “I get it, your point has been made, mama.”
“I don’t think so, Olivia Margaret Benson.”
There was no mistaking that gravelly voice even if the owner thereof hadn't been standing right in front of her.
Still, he was too much; he was not right; he was an easy replacement that never quite filled the spaces.
“Lieutenant Tucker.” She couldn’t bring herself to call him by his name. After everything they’d been through, after everything he knew about her, after how they ended–she had to draw the line; had to put up the walls–he wasn’t Ed; he wasn’t the man she was close to letting father her child; he was Tucker.
And he knew that.
“Back to formalities then, Captain Benson.” There was an edge in his voice that the younger her would’ve felt the need to try to sooth.
Instead, she sighed. “I wasn’t the one that buried evidence, Ed.” She snarled his name, and this time she didn’t care how she was coming across. She was beyond performative formalities. That the head of the rat squad was a rat himself, that everything she thought she knew about him was a lie, regardless. His memory still broke her.
“I always knew I wasn’t the one.” He maintained a careful distance, talking down to her even as he talked to her.
“Brian?” she asked. “Please, that’s not even–”
He cut her off. “I’m dead now, Liv. I no longer have to ask what’s going on between you and Stabler.”
“For fuck’s sake!” She stood up from the bed and once again grounded herself by straightening her pajama top. Propriety and preparation for a confrontation didn’t matter against what was surely a ghost, but the ritual helped. “If you’re so all-knowing, then you know that there’s NOTHING between us. And now you know for sure that was NOTHING even when we were partners.”
His deep blue eyes flashed almost more deeply than when he was alive. “Olivia . . . you were lying then, and you’re lying now, even to yourself. I loved you; I knew you. I always thought I could break through your wall, but it was more than you. It was him; wasn’t it?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even as she said it, Tucker was holding his hand out. It was an invitation rather than a demand, but she knew it wasn’t one she could turn down.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Where you need to be . . .” was all Tucker said before her world once again went dark.
This time when she came to, she was in Elliot’s kitchen. Eli and Becky were trying to comfort a seemingly inconsolable Owen–offering him a rattle, a bottle, a pacifier–anything BUT picking him up.
She knew the rules though–no talking, no interaction, no way to stop the wailing of the infant.
And then–as though reading her thoughts–Elliot walked in and immediately picked the squawling baby from his high chair. “Go,” he ordered his son and erstwhile daughter-in-law. “You’ve got a reservation. I can take care of Owen.” He bounced the baby boy on his hip as Eli and Becky walked away. “It’s not like I have anything else to do,” he whispered and kissed the boy’s bare scalp. “Just you and me bud . . .”
She turned and looked up at Ed. “What am I supposed to take from this?”
She knew the answer. Elliot had put it out there in so many ways since he’d come back. In words, in gestures, in a necklace.
And even now–even after she’d pushed him off, and led him on, and pushed him off again–he’d been unable to move on.
Was it her?
She didn’t want the answer.
It was a good thing Ed chose to simply take her hand and lead her home.
“Elliot,” she mused aloud before slamming the flat of her hand into the wall. The pain convinced her this wasn’t a dream. The pain was preferable to her emotional turmoil.
And yet–she knew enough to know this wasn’t over yet.
And then she felt the unmistakable chill. There was no reflection in her mirror, but she knew there was someone behind her.
She turned.
“Ellie.”
It was Noah’s mother, just as she’d last seen her–a mere shell of the woman she’d been. Incapable of speech, she just held a hand out.
Olivia wanted to do anything but take it.
She knew what was coming next, and would just as soon avoid it.
Still she also knew there was no fighting with the inevitable. May as well get it over with.
She took Ellie’s hand, and the vertigo hit her almost immediately.
This time it didn’t leave. She was awash in a world she didn't even recognize.
And then there was Noah. She know who he was even though he was like nothing she'd seen before.
He was taller, his hair cropped close to his head with only the slightest hint of the curls she so loved. Dressed in a dark suit, his demeanor was equally sombre.
“My boy . . .” she whispered.
“My . . . boy,” Ellie spoke, barely a rasp, the effort clearly painful, and it only underscored the significance of the words.
She looked back at the shell of the woman behind her, forcing herself to meet her hollow eyes. “I know,” she told her solemnly. “I made sure . . . once he was old enough, that he knew all about you–how brave you were, how strong you were, and how very, very grateful I was for the gift of him.” She paused, finding herself choked up.
“He’s yours,” Olivia said. “He’ll always be yours,” she affirmed. “But he’s also MINE.” There was a profundity to the statement. He was hers, he'd been meant for her from the moment she pulled him out of the bureau drawer. Well before the judge signed the paperwork. Biology didn't matter.
Ellie didn’t respond, instead her empty eyes tracked in another direction, and before she even looked Olivia knew what she was going to see–a cluster of people, a mound of overturned dirt, and a fresh headstone.
“Amanda . . .” There she was, surrounded by Nicky, Jessie, and Billie, Carisi gripping her shoulder supportively. Fin, too, looking as stoic and dispassionate as he always did. And then–standing off to the side, his hands gripped in front of him, his gaze to the ground–she saw him.
“Elliot . . . oh, god . . .”
One by one, roses were tossed into the open grave and walked away until only Elliot and her son remained.
It was Noah who broke the ice, walking up to the other man. She watched her son extend his hands and take Elliot's between them. “She loved you; you know.”
“Did she?” Elliot shook his head. “I wish I could believe that.”
Noah reached into his pocket and handed him a small piece of metal. “She had this with her when she was shot.
There it was. Elliot’s Marine Corps medallion. She’d never been able to tell him that the tiny piece of brass meant far more than the precious compass did. She’d never been able to tell him how much it had broken her when he’d left, how she’d clung to that tiny, tinny reminder for forever. But Noah knew, Noah had figured it out.
“It took me a while,” her son continued. “I knew you mattered to her before I even met her. I saw the pictures. I heard the stories from everyone else in the squad. I saw how she changed when you came back. I was so excited when she finally let me meet you; it was like she trusted me enough.”
She saw the sharp intake of Elliot’s breath as Noah was talking. And then the single word. “Same.”
“You know my dad was a rapist,” Noah spoke again. “And my birth mom was . . .” he paused. “Troubled.”
“I know,” Elliot confirmed, finally lifting his eyes to meet Noah’s. “And none of that defines you.”
Noah nodded. “She and I are a lot alike that way. I think she wanted to help me go beyond where she ever was.” He paused for a moment. “And she did. Jake’s waiting for me back at the wake.”
Elliot was silent for a long time, and then he worked his jaw. “You know why I can’t go.”
Noah squeezed the other man’s hand again before letting go. “I know. I’m going through her stuff now, I’ll set some things aside for you.”
She couldn’t help it.
She screamed.
Primally.
Viscerally.
From the very core of her being.
And then Noah was there again.
“Mom??” He asked, the anguish on his face at her pain nearly matching her own internal turmoil.
“C’mere, baby,” she patted the bed next to her. “I’m sorry. It was just a . . . I had a nightmare.”
He nodded, the solemnity on his face slightly disconcerting as she had to acknowledge that she now had a young man instead of a boy. “William Lewis?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I don’t let him into my mind anymore.” She pulled Noah closely and kissed his temple.
“Do you know how much I love you?”
“Mommmmm . . .” he rolled his eyes.
“I mean it,” she said, and ruffled his hair. “You’re my dream come true.”
Noah remained quiet and then finally spoke. “I love you, too.” The admission seemed to cost him a lot, and that hurt her.
“But . . .” she filled in the blank on his behalf.
Noah sighed. “How long did it take for you to agree to let me spend the night at Jake’s?”
Jake’s. She tried not to give anything away. Was this the same Jake that was waiting at her wake?
Instead she deflected. “Noah, we’ve talked about this–”
“Yeah, Grandma Sheila kidnapped me; I know. But, Mom, really . . . you cling.”
She wanted to defend herself. She wanted to explain. She wanted to let him know that she wanted him to be anything but the little girl she was with the threadbare socks and the missing birthdays.
“I love you, too. And I know . . .” He sighed and started again. “I know what I mean to you, why you’re doing what you do.” He bit his lip. “But maybe I need to figure stuff out on my own. Maybe you need to be happy without me.”
She pulled him closer. She couldn’t help herself.
“How did you get so smart?” she asked.
He wiggled out of her grasp with another eyeroll. “I’m going to bed," he announced. “Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”
He was still her baby. Saturday would always be pancake day. “You bet.” She resisted the impulse to get out of bed and hug him. As he was half out the door, she stopped him again. “Noah . . .”
“Yeah,” there was a level of apprehension on his face as he responded.
“I promise I’ll answer any questions you have.”
She saw him tense and release before he replied. “I know.”
And then it hit her; maybe there were questions he wasn’t ready to ask.
She didn’t sleep.
It was all too much.
Had it all been a fever dream, or had it been real?
What did it mean?
She watched the clock on her bedside table click the hours.
3 AM.
4 AM.
5 AM.
6 AM.
Finally, at 7, she could wait no longer.
“Liv–” the warmth in Elliot’s voice as he greeted her was a balm she hadn’t realized she needed.
“El,” she answered. “It’s been too long. I’ve missed you.”
She could almost see the range of facial expressions that he was going through in the silence on the other end of the line. What she couldn’t predict was his response. “It’s nice to be missed.”
It was the opening she needed. “What are you doing tonight?”
He was silent for so long, she thought for a moment that the call had dropped. “Babysitting . . .” he finally said. “Eli and Becky are going out, so I agreed to watch Owen.”
Now it was her turn to weigh her words. “Do you need some help?” she finally asked. “You know what a sucker I am for babies. I could bring some takeout from Wo Hop.”
“That would be . . .” He paused and then started again. “I’d love that.”
He may as well have said I love you. And she replied in kind. “I would too. Six too early?”
“Perfect,” he replied. And then, “Liv,” before he hung up.
The sound of her name sent shivers through her. She closed her eyes thinking back to everything she’d gone through last night. “Mom,” she spoke into the universe. “Why now?”
Part of her expected Serena to show up, but she didn’t. It wasn’t necessary; Olivia already knew why, and she knew what. She grabbed the bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door and tied the sash before heading to the kitchen. She’d promised Noah pancakes.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Her bed, already a tangle of sheets from her sleepless night, grew only messier as she tried on–and discarded–outfit after outfit.
At the back of her dresser she found a well-worn sweater and an equally broken-in pair of jeans. Comfortable and flattering and old enough that she wouldn’t feel terrible if a baby spat up on them.
Noah had long since left. The pile of discarded clothes on his bedroom floor rivaled hers. She resisted the impulse to pick up after him. This was his mess; he could clean it when he got back tomorrow.
Instead she turned her attention and her restless energy to the pile of clothes that she’d left behind. She was sliding a blouse onto a hanger when her phone buzzed.
“Elliot,” she answered the moment she saw his name. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m giving you a chance to back out,” he told her. “Turns out Owen’s teething. Eli and Becky left that detail out until they dropped him off. I don’t want to saddle you with a fussy toddler.”
She smiled. “How ‘bout I head over now. I’ll pick up some Ambasol to go with our takeout. I . . . I really want to see you, Elliot.”
There was another pause, and then the change in his voice was palpable. “I really want to see you, too.”
And now she was standing in front of his door–one hand ringing the bell, the other holding the trouble burden of a Wo Hop bag and a Duane Reade bag.
“Come in!” He’d clearly been waiting for her even as he tried to take on an affect of nonchalance.”I’ve been trying to give Owen his bottle,” he added, “but I think he’s just too uncomfortable.”
“Here,” she handed him the bags. “You take care of this and I’ll look in on . . .” She needed a moment the weight of it only just settling on her. “Your grandson.”
Owen was plump, healthy, and beautiful. She didn’t even have to think before scooping him out of his travel crib and nuzzling him.
“I knew your daddy,” she whispered, swaying back and forth. “I loved him so much,” she added and nuzzled his head, reveling in the delicious baby smell. “Just like I love you . . . just like I love your grandpa.”
“Is that so?”
She should’ve known Elliot was right there. He was never more than a step or two behind her. She should’ve also been abashed at her unintentional disclosure. At the same time though, it felt right, it felt timely, it felt necessary.
Owen had stilled and was quietly sucking his thumb. She set him down, and brushed her fingers over his forehead before turning her attention back to Elliot.
“Yeah,” she said, biting her lip and closing her eyes. “Yeah,” she repeated and then sighed. “It’s dumb. I’m still so scared, and I didn’t want to make a thing of it, but . . .” she was crying and wasn’t even sure when it had started. “I need you to know.”
He reached a single hand out without touching her. “I know. I’ll be here. No matter how long it takes. I won’t push you.”
The last four words were all it took to break her. Gravity took over, and she simply slumped onto the floor, unable to maintain her front any more. She pulled her knees into her chest, an unnecessary buffer. “You won’t have to . . .” she promised, and slowly uncoiled, underpinning her words. “I’m here. I’m ready.”
She took a step toward him, letting her fingertips graze his breastbone and meeting his eyes. “Elliot, I love you.”
He pulled her closer and brushed his lips over her temple, her cheekbone, the bow of her lips, and then finally her lips.
She melted into it. For the first time in forever she just went with what she was feeling.
It felt like forever before they both had to break for breath. “I love you,” she said again. “God damn you,” she couldn’t help but add.
“It’s okay . . .” he once again was right there, once again knew what she was feeling. “I’m here. I love you, too. Just take your time.”
She pulled back. “No.”
Off his recoil, she continued. “I don’t need any time. We’ve wasted too much time.” She stepped forward and slid her hand into the waistband of his jeans. “I’m ready.”
FIN