Chapter Text
Chapter 1
His Child
December 9th, 2011
2:30 a.m.
Olivia's Apartment — Upper West Side
The glow of the clock radio burned bright on the nightstand as Olivia held her tiny newborn daughter in her arms and bounced patiently into the early morning hours.
2:30 a.m.
"Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh," she repeated, attempting to convince herself that this was her new normal—and that she was a natural.
According to every How-To baby book she'd read, and even the hospital night nurse, a little sh, sh, sh, bounce, bounce, bounce was all she needed to soothe a baby back to sleep.
But how long did you have to do it before it actually worked?
That was the case to be solved on this very new night shift.
The baby began to squirm and writhe in Olivia's arms, and this tried-and-true shushing technique was only making her own nervous system feel increasingly unqualified for the position of motherhood.
She was still in disbelief that the hospital had actually let her leave the building with this tiny human.
It had been almost a week, and she'd held it together so far. But the longer these nights went on, the more she felt like an anxious animal being backed into a corner.
Her mind retreated to what it knew best.
Police work.
Mental Technique 101: When trapped in a high-stress situation, bypass panic with cognitive clarity.
"Okay. I can do this."
One: Tactical breathing.
Olivia drew a slow breath through her nose and released it in rhythm with the bouncing.
"Shhh, shhh, shhh…"
Elenora screamed louder.
"Great."
Two: Identify the immediate threat.
Olivia looked down.
"Six-pound baby. Dark room. Sleep deprivation. Complete isolation…"
She frowned.
"Doesn't compute. Noted."
Three: Physical grounding.
She forced herself to focus.
"Baby. Tiny hand. Streetlight. Blinds. Bed. Blanket…"
Her eyes landed on the bed.
"Sleep. God, I'd love to sleep."
If Elliot were here—
Elliot should have been here.
Wherever the hell he was.
She would have given anything to see his name flash across her phone right now.
And suddenly, Elliot was there.
Not really.
Just the faint memory of him tangled around her in those same sheets. His skin against hers. The two of them lying in the quiet aftermath of a decision that had changed the course of her life forever.
Whether he would ever show up at her doorstep again to be affected by the fruit of that decision, only time would tell.
Olivia sucked in a breath.
"No, Olivia, do nit spiral down that rabbit hole."
She bounced harder.
"Sh…sh…sh…sh…shhhhh."
Four: Commanding internal self-talk.
She straightened her shoulders.
"You've handled hostage situations. You've stared down murderers. You've been held at gunpoint. You can handle one tiny baby."
Elenora wailed directly into her chest.
Olivia closed her eyes.
"Hostage situation might be easier."
Here she was: healthy, middle-aged Manhattanite, NYPD SVU detective, career feminist, professional hero—now a postpartum, probably perimenopausal woman with no family, no night nanny, very few people she trusted enough to call at 2:30 in the morning, and exactly one week of experience with a newborn.
A colicky newborn.
"It's insane they just let people leave the hospital with these things."
She looked down at Elenora.
"No offense."
Stop. Stop that now.
Look at this gift you were given.
Women had been doing this since the beginning of time.
This too shall pass.
Live, laugh, love.
Whatever other bullshit people put on throw pillows.
She could do this.
She could handle this beautiful baby girl in her arms.
Her mind paused.
The baby wasn't what terrified her.
Going it alone was.
"You've never needed anyone before this moment, Olivia Benson. You don't need anyone's help now. You are an amazing, capable, fearless woman and mother."
It was objectively terrible advice.
She almost believed it, too.
Just like she almost believed Elliot had abandoned her.
Because that was the part she couldn't reconcile.
Elliot Stabler could be an asshole. He could be stubborn, reckless, infuriating, and spectacularly bad at talking about his feelings.
But disappear?
Without a phone call?
Without a goodbye?
That wasn't him.
And had she known he would suddenly abandon ship, she certainly wouldn't have allowed herself to act on a twelve-year itch without a condom.
Getting unexpectedly pregnant at forty-two, after one reckless night with Elliot Stabler, wasn't bad luck.
Considering the uterus she was working with, statistically, it was practically a miracle.
"Do you have a condom?" he'd whispered.
"It doesn't matter."
"Liv—"
"Trust me."
It had been an idiot-heart move.
In her defense, after three failed rounds of IVF, Olivia had finally accepted that biological motherhood simply wasn't in the cards. She'd stopped the treatments, sold the Tiffany rattle she'd bought in a moment of dangerous optimism, and gone back to the one thing she knew how to do.
Work.
Elenora's cries transitioned into light grunting, and Olivia stumbled into singing an old hymn because apparently that's what you did when you reached your breaking point.
"Go to sleep, little baby. You're a sweet little baby. You and me and the devil makes three—"
She stopped.
"Wow. That's not a great song."
"Sh, sh, shhh…"
Then, inexplicably:
"Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, I'm begging of you, please don't take my man—"
Olivia stopped again.
"Jesus Christ."
Elenora screamed.
"Yeah. Agreed."
Olivia rubbed the child's back and kept bouncing.
"Oh, sweet baby girl, you have to close your eyes."
It was ridiculous, but Olivia blamed his genes for her daughter's turmoil.
Elliot, you asshole.
She blamed him for the endless screaming. For the way Elenora's bottom lip pouted out in disappointment. For the way those eyes seemed to pierce straight through her.
The child was a carbon copy of her father from the top of her head to the tiny shape of her foot—which Olivia hadn't even realized she knew well enough to recognize until she'd looked down to count ten toes and somehow saw Elliot Stabler's foot attached to her baby.
He was everywhere.
Her thoughts flickered back to the night he'd looked her in the eye and quietly told her he loved her.
That he had always loved her.
If only she'd been able to let him.
Why weren't you ready? What could have possibly stopped you?
Then another memory.
Them fighting.
"I'm not your father, Olivia. You don't get to punish me for what he did."
"No. You're worse."
She squeezed her eyes shut against the sob threatening to escape.
It didn't matter what had been said—or hadn't been said.
Elliot Stabler had found a way to haunt her even in his absence.
She only had to look down.
Dammit. Do not shed one more tear over that man.
The tears came anyway.
Her nose was running. Elenora was screaming. Olivia was crying.
The two of them were a sight for sore eyes.
She pulled Elenora tighter against her chest, almost as if she needed to apologize to her daughter for having these feelings in her presence.
Then Elenora's tiny body suddenly tensed.
Her face scrunched tightly.
And a small but unmistakable bubble of gas escaped.
"Oh," Olivia breathed.
Silence.
Just like that, the tension left Elenora's body. She melted against Olivia's chest, her cries fading into a few soft whimpers before her eyes finally closed.
Olivia stared down at her, almost afraid to move.
All that.
Just a little gas.
The clock flickered to 2:55 a.m.
Elenora was finally asleep, her cheeks flushed pink against Olivia's chest.
She looked so much like him that it hurt.
"It's just you and me, kid," Olivia whispered, slowly rocking her deeper into sleep. "I'm going to try not to let you down."
She studied the tiny face.
"He would be over the moon if he were here right now."
Her throat tightened.
"But I'm going to find him."
She kissed Elenora's forehead.
"I promise you that."
A beat.
"You deserve to know your father."
And somewhere out there, Elliot Stabler had no idea he had a daughter.