Inspirational Lyrics from Thrown Down by Stevie Nicks
He fell for her again, she watched it happen
Every day - day by day
But more important - night by night
She watched it all come into play
He held her hands, she listened to what he had to say
Thrown down ... like a barricade
Maybe now he could prove to her
That he could be good for her
And they should be together
You've shaken your faith in me, no
You've shaken my faith in everything else
A decision no one makes, and now you're going home
Faith is a hard thing to hold on to
Something inside you says I don't have to
You're not like other people, you do what you want to
You're not like other people, you do what you want to
Thrown down ... like a barricade
Maybe now he could prove to her
That he could be good for her
And they should be together
You say you're sorry...
Now you should walk away
But it's so overwhelming,
You have nothing left to say
You can sit outside his door and wait
Well, you can dedicate your pain to him
Oh, thrown down ... like a barricade
Maybe now he could prove to her
That he could be good for her
And they should be together
About just how much he never really told her...
About how difficult it had been to be without her...
Sergeant Olivia Benson stifled back a yawn then returned pen to paper from behind the desk of her office at Manhattan's Special Victims Unit. Truth be told, she'd never been happier, but she'd also never been more tired.
Noah was finally hers. A lifelong yearning to become a parent and tenuous year as the toddler's foster mother had taken their toll on the sage sergeant who'd been put in charge of a child's life and an entire investigative unit in recent months. Her days were busier and her nights less restful as a result. Each day with the baby meant navigating new territory, but she knew her way around the 1-6 very well.
The ringing of her desk phone startled her slightly. "Benson," she offered into the receiver. She listened carefully as the caller offered details that she quickly scribbled onto a notepad beside her. "Okay, we're on our way," she said, ending the call.
She rose from behind her desk and walked with determination into the adjoining squad room that was occupied by very few familiar faces these days. The last few years had brought immense change to SVU and to Olivia's life. She'd lost Donald Cragen, her longtime captain and mentor, to retirement. John Munch, her beloved and quirky colleague, had also put in his papers. But most trying was the loss of two partners, one a dear friend and one … well, it was difficult to put into words what he was.
"Carisi, Fin," she barked over the clicking of keyboards and the bustle of support staff moving about the room, "get over to PS29. We have a sixth grader making an outcry about inappropriate contact with a teacher. The principal is waiting on you."
Senior detective Odafin Tutuola simply nodded and rose from his chair. The younger Sonny Carisi offered up, "On it, Sarge," with the enthusiasm and near nerdiness of a less jaded detective.
Before pacing back to her office, Benson turned her attention to her female comrade in the unit, Amanda Rollins. It amazed Olivia that the troubled Georgia peach who'd arrived just four years ago was now one of the elder statesmen in the squad. "Rollins, you're good for court?"
"About to head out now," Rollins said, pushing back from her desk.
Benson merely nodded and returned to her office. As painful as the outcry from the young victim would be, Olivia was relieved to know that her detectives weren't headed out to hover over a body. So she never expected what the day would bring.
When Fin and Carisi returned from the school a few hours later they came directly to her office to run the case for her. There was no doubt based on their initial interviews that this was a legitimate SVU case. Eleven-year-old Zachary Scott had reported to his guidance counselor and reluctantly repeated to the detectives that an adult inside the school had touched him on more than one occasion. He had admitted that it happened but he wasn't yet willing to identify his abuser. The detectives had recommended that the boy's parents take him to the hospital for a thorough exam.
While she made her way to the hospital to further interview the boy and his parents, Olivia advised her team to dig up any security footage they could find from the school that might help them track the boy's movements as well as his interactions with any adults. Experience told Fin that he'd have to cut through some red tape with the district to get the tapes quickly, so he wasted no time in getting assistant district attorney Rafael Barba to draw up a warrant just in case.
Fin knocked with two knuckles on Olivia's office door later that afternoon. She glanced up from her computer, pulled off her glasses and gave him her attention. "What's up, Fin?"
"Got a minute?"
"Sure," she said, motioning to the chair facing her desk. "Close the door."
Fin settled into the seat across from her and propped his iPad up so she could see it. "We have the security footage from the school. You're gonna wanna see this." She nodded, trusting that if Fin thought it was worth her time, she'd give it.
Fin tapped the screen, setting the video in motion. "Keep your eye on the reception window," he directed. She watched a moment before her expression dropped and her mouth fell open when the grainy image of a sturdy middle-aged man moved across the screen. He looked to be wearing dark clothing and engaging in comfortable conversation with the school's receptionist. He had a way of looking like he belonged.
Olivia sat back in her chair and pushed her hands through her hair while she searched for something, anything to say. It was as if she'd seen a ghost. She was filled immediately with a rush of emotion, a heady cocktail of anxiety, nostalgia and anger. It had hit her like a gut punch, and she was momentarily breathless and speechless as she suddenly became very aware of her heart thudding in her chest.
Fin waited her out, her reaction not a surprise to him. It's why he'd wanted to show her in private. "At least we know he's still alive," he offered, searching for some sliver of consolation in the emotion of the moment.
Finally Olivia gathered herself, planted her elbows on her desk and leaned in toward the detective she likened as her strong second in the unit. "What's his connection?"
"From what I can tell he's working private security there. His kid goes to the school."
Olivia was blown away by the image on the iPad and by the very thought that Eli Stabler was suddenly of school age. He'd been frozen in time in her mind, a toddler with blond ringlets and his father's eyes. It also made no sense to her that the youngest Stabler would attend a Brooklyn elementary school when, last she knew, he lived in Queens.
"PS29 isn't anywhere near Queens," she offered to Fin.
"Not sure what's up with that," he acknowledged. "But I'll find out."
Olivia was silent again. Fin let her mind wander and patiently waited for her decision. Finally she made it. "Get him in here. Keep it low key."
Fin tucked his iPad to his hip and stood to leave her office. Before he reached the door he turned back to question her. "You alright, Liv?"
She inhaled deeply, slowly. "Ask me that after you bring him in."
Fin shut the door behind him, instinctively knowing that his sergeant would need a few minutes to herself. And he was right. Olivia stayed seated at her desk and stared into space. Her mind wandered across more than 16 years since she'd walked into the 1-6 and Stabler had walked into her life. She'd changed since she'd met him and she'd changed since he left. But the woman in between still harbored a confusing collection of emotions for the man. She thought she'd put them behind her, buried them deeply enough in the closet of her life that she wouldn't be seeing them anytime soon. But one look at his face on a grainy security tape had unearthed the past just when she was beginning to get a very firm grasp on her future.
Fin rounded the corner in the lobby at PS29 and entered the school office. Off to the right, on a wooden bench likely reserved for students called to see the principal, sat the sturdy figure he'd last seen amidst the bloodbath that had left Jenna Fox, Sister Peg and an unsavory threesome of skels dead in the squadroom.
The two men locked eyes but said nothing. Fin nodded his head, indicating for Elliot Stabler to follow him out of the office. The words they needed to exchange wouldn't be welcome in the confines of a school. Stabler rose, rubbing his palms down the thighs of his jeans and following his former squad mate through the school's double doors and into the parking lot.
The glass doors had barely shut behind them when Fin spoke. "Stabler, you son of a bitch."
"Nice to see you too, Fin," Elliot offered.
"I shoulda known your dumb ass would be mixed up in all of this."
Although he hadn't seen his former colleague in nearly five years and they'd never been kissing cousins, Stabler was surprised at how quickly the name calling had begun. "Dumbass?"
"Yeah," Fin barked. "Anyone who walks away from the best thing he ever had is a dumbass in my book."
Stabler had indeed walked away from more than 20 years on the force and the potential for promotion when he left the 1-6 nearly five years ago after a squadroom shoot out. But he knew damn well that wasn't what Fin meant.
Stabler swallowed thickly. "How is she?"
"Ask her yourself. You're coming in with me."
Fin tossed his jacket on his desk chair and moved to stick his head into his sergeant's office. He'd managed to get a few steps ahead of Stabler downstairs, where a few scattered folks stopped to make small talk with him. He didn't say a word to Olivia. A simple nod to her was enough. She knew it was crunch time.
Olivia didn't speak. She gave Fin a nod of gratitude for the information, for the fair warning. She rose from behind her desk and perched herself just outside her open office door. She waited with her stomach in her throat, her gut twisted into knots and her fists firmly planted in her pants pockets. He appeared in the squad room at just that moment. The place looked different but he looked the same. Of course she didn't, couldn't let her eyes linger long.
He stalled among the desks, looking around briefly until he saw her. She titled her head slightly toward her office door. It was the most subtle of signals, the slightest of invitations. But he needed none. He'd been making a beeline anyway. He dropped his eyes immediately and started towards her, avoiding eye contact with all the bustling faces he didn't recognize and the one he could never forget.
His final steps as he drew close were tentative, like a scared teenager tiptoeing into the next room of a haunted house. He paused briefly, never making eye contact, before he brushed past her, careful not to touch her as he entered her office. He settled into a chair and stared straight ahead at the empty desk before him. While he waited for whatever would happen next, he catalogued her space. Her dark-framed glasses perched next to her laptop, the framed photos of her promotion ceremony, and the cherubic face of a baby boy he didn't recognize. He wanted to ask but he knew he was no longer privileged to her personal life.
She watched him sit, took a deep breath, then motioned to Fin who was at her side within seconds. "I don't care what it is or who calls," she whispered. "Handle it."
Fin simply nodded again. He knew far too much of their history to need an explanation. He would allow no interruptions to a conversation - or a confrontation - five years in the making.
She backed into her office and closed the door. She moved behind him and pulled the slatted blinds shut then took up post at the front edge of her desk. Even though she was half seated on the corner of the desk, she hovered over him, and he felt the weight of her piercing gaze.
She took a minute to take him in. He looked much the same but - like her - had a few more lines in his face. He was gray around the temples and his closely-cropped hair was receding just a bit more than the last time she saw him. He was still full-chested but managed to appear small in their current proximity. She'd taken time for her perusal of him and to slow her heartbeat. Yet it continued to thump in her ears, banging out a cadence fueled with regret and resentment. All she wanted to feel in this moment was anger. But there was something else still pulsing underneath and threatening to shatter her game face. She silently chided herself for thinking it, feeling it.
She didn't speak. She challenged him with her silence, clearly tossing the ball onto his side of the court. It was a strange standoff considering that every other time they'd been in this office they'd had each other's backs to a fault. Yet here they were, the chasm between them seemingly insurmountable after twelve years of Semper Fi and five years of silence. The quiet seemed to drag on forever but only a moment or two had actually passed before he ran his palms down the thighs of his black jeans and mustered the courage to speak.
"The office ... the desk ... they suit you."
No matter how long she had to wait she wanted him to speak first. It was in a way her first attempt at punishing him for his hasty exit from their partnership, their friendship, their fucked-up unrequited love affair. She really didn't have to think about her strategy to have him twisting in the wind as the chip on her shoulder had already offered him the rope he could use to hang himself or to hoist himself back up onto the ledge.
After waiting him out she found herself sharply disappointed by his offering. She let his simple yet shockingly meaningless words hang between them for a minute until she couldn't mask her disdain. She snickered, tossing her head back with a smirk and throwing her eyes toward the ceiling before refocusing her gaze on him.
"That's it," she scoffed, thrusting her hands upward until they slapped back down to her thighs. "That's what you went with? In the all the times you've imagined this moment - and don't bullshit me because I know you've imagined it - that's the line you went with?"
He'd gone with something safe to break the ice, hoping that his vague congratulations on her promotion would be a harmless enough topic to divert her away from the angry questions he was sure she wanted answered. He'd also opened his mouth simply to put an end to the silent standoff. But he knew that no matter what he said it wouldn't be enough. He was ready for this fight or at least to crawl back into the ring each time she tossed him over the ropes.
He lowered his eyes to his hands crossed in his lap, needing to look away from her for even a moment. When he looked up again he didn't speak immediately. He considered her sarcasm as he took a visual survey of the woman who'd walked beside him for more than a decade and had lived only in his head since he threw it all away. She'd put on a few pounds in all the right places, let her hair return to its natural chestnut, and replaced the insecurities he knew so well with something he couldn't place. She was as gorgeous as the day he left. But she was different.
Finally he raised his wandering eyes back to hers and uttered his reply. "How did you imagine it?"
Interesting tactic, she thought. Answering her question with one of his own. Perhaps he thought she didn't have an answer. But indeed she did because as much as she hated herself for it, she'd imagined it too.
"Oh I have a few versions," she said piercing her lips and shaking her head in sarcastic disbelief. She pushed her hands into her pockets and paced around behind her desk.
He was quiet, his eyes examining her and daring her to continue. She wasn't one to back down from a dare so she pressed on, stammering out her manifesto.
"In one, I find out something terrible happened to you," she offered. "Not terrible enough to kill you but bad enough to explain where the fuck you've been for five years."
He broke her gaze momentarily, shame dragging his eyes to the floor. He let the thick tension hang over the room a minute before he raised his eyes again. It was as if she was waiting him out, demanding his eye contact. She didn't speak until his eyes met hers again.
"Of course, there's another version where I can't control my anger, my hurt, and I unload on you."
"I never meant to hurt you, Olivia."
She raised her palm to him in silent protest. She didn't want to be patronized and she wasn't done, dammit.
"And then there's a completely different version," she said, dropping her own eyes to the floor for fear he might be able to somehow see the thought in her head. "But you don't deserve that one."
Elliot had learned over the past five years that he was a very weak man walking around in a strong body. And he hadn't felt this weak since the very moment he'd leaned down to check Jenna Fox for a pulse after he'd shot her. As angry as he was at the circumstances - that this moment with Olivia was forced upon both of them by outside forces - he knew he'd had every opportunity to make this moment himself. But the weak son of a bitch that he was couldn't live up to any of the ways that he'd imagined it. She'd counted off three versions, but he had more. And in this moment he couldn't reach into any one of them for a lifeline. So he did something a weak man would do. He put it back on her.
"What would have been your opening line?"
She was damn near furious now. "Oh no. Stage is all yours. Take all the time you need," she barked at him. "I'll wait. Christ Elliot, I've gotten pretty good at it."
She said she'd wait and she would. But the silence was deafening, and she couldn't resist poking the beast a little more. She pulled her phone from her back pocket and swiped the screen to life. She thumbed through her contact list and tapped the number she chose. Then she waited, not even bringing the phone to her ear. It took about 10 seconds before they both heard it. The muffled sound of a cell phone ringing ripped a hole through the tension between them. As as he heard it, felt it, he closed his eyes in defeat. Her attitude was nearly a third person in the room with them then. "Same number. Phone works. Imagine that."
He smirked then. He was proud of her. She'd always been passionate. And here she was reading him the riot act with every bit of fire he'd seen her launch at pedophiles and rapists. She was so damn ready for a fight so he did the only thing he thought might work in the moment. He rose from the chair and started toward her. She turned and squared her shoulders to him, almost daring him to keep coming. This thing between them was worth the beating she was dishing out, so he pushed through the five treacherous steps until he reached her. He put his arms around her then and pulled her reluctant body against him. Then he spoke quietly into her ear.
"I guess I should have started with 'I'm sorry.'"
