AN: This story is going to be a compilation of random snapshots from various points throughout Tucker & Olivia's relationship. They may be out of order, going backward and forward in time to build a more complete picture of their gradual relationship. This first chapter takes place right after the events of Manhattan Transfer. Enjoy!


Five missed calls lit up her screen by the time Olivia all but collapsed through the front door. The first notification was from Carisi. The next from Fin, who had undoubtedly received his piece from the rumor mill by now. The rest did not require checking to see who it was, but she couldn't bring herself to face any of them. She set the evidence boxes full of her personal belongings on the ground inside her door, resisting the urge to chuck them across the room. If it weren't for the presence of her toddler and his caretaker in the home, she might have shattered them already. In her pocket, she felt her phone buzz once more against her side. When she pulled out the device, she was almost relieved to see a black screen where it had shut off from the strain of activity. She wished she could do the same. After taking quick inventory of her appearance in the hall mirror, she decided that she could almost pass for someone who hadn't spent the entire walk home in tears. Lucy was on her feet when she entered the living room.

"Liv, hey, is everything okay? On the phone, you sounded-"

Olivia cut her off with a dismissive hand, a tight smile to conceal what was brewing behind her eyes. She couldn't talk about this now.

"I'm fine. It's a long story. Where's Noah?"

"He fell asleep about an hour ago. I think he wanted to stay up for you, but he couldn't fight it anymore."

"No that's," Olivia paused, her eyes wandering to a bottle of wine that poked out from under her coffee table, "That's okay. I'm pretty tired as well."

"You need me to stick around for a while?"

"No, Lucy, thank you. And thanks for staying late tonight - again."

"You know I don't mind," she smiled politely, gathering her belongings from the couch. Wary as she was, she seemed to get the hint that Olivia wanted to be alone. Liv made a mental note to give her a raise.

"Be sure to tell that gorgeous detective Carisi of yours hello for me," she winked at the lighthearted joke between them, but Olivia's heart was anything but light. Usually, the flirtation between Lucy and Carisi was nothing short of adorable, but now her request only served as a reminder that she wouldn't be seeing Carisi to relay the message. Not tomorrow. Not anytime soon.

"Sure."

"Hey," Lucy stopped as she reached the hallway, turning back to meet her boss's eyes, "You know... if you need me, I'm only a text away."

There was a genuine gleam in her eyes that told her the offer applied to much more than child care services. Olivia conceded with a nod.

"Goodnight, sweetie. Be safe."

Despite hearing the key turn in the door, Olivia doubled checked the locks and fastened the deadbolt before returning to the living room, immediately reaching for the alluring bottle of wine. She held it in her hands for a few moments, trying hard to ignore the twinge of something she refused to put a name to in her gut. Because screw that - she was a grown adult, and it wasn't like she had work in the morning to prevent her from getting smashed tonight. The thought crashed over her like it was the first time hearing it, just as it had every time since she left the precinct. She decided her typical bottle of red wouldn't be enough to numb that pain.

She dropped to her knees in front of the kitchen cabinet, the one under the sink where she kept the hard stuff out of sight and out of Noah's reach. She tugged at the baby safe lock once, twice, before it gave way with a satisfying click. Her hand knew exactly where to reach, and she felt a coldness wash over her as her fingers closed around the long neck bottle. It had taken her a while until she was able to stomach hard liquor again after she spent four days choking it down against her will, but once she crossed that bridge, it was all or nothing. The first burn of alcohol was always too addictive, too full of promise for fading images and silencing voices, to stop. She laid out the bottle and a glass on the countertop, hesitating as she heard a small stir coming over Noah's monitor. She tore herself away from the drink, bidding an unspoken promise to return.

She was relieved when she opened the door to find Noah perfectly at rest, his hands clutching to his favorite blanket. His lips were parted to form a perfectly round 'o' shape, his breathing soft and light. It was the picture of innocence. From the doorway, she ached to go to him, to envelop herself in the warm aura that seemed to radiate from him wherever he went, but something stopped her. It was a pang in her heart, like the cracking of a shell that contained the black waters that never stopped stirring within her. Depression, anxiety. In the recent months, the encasement that held these sleeping demons had been shaken, stirred, but it was tonight's events that acted as the final blow to the barrier, letting the flood run free. She could feel the darkness rising to the surface, prickly vines of familiarity that slithered from her pores, binding her limbs. Their thorns penetrated her skin in the form of sensory details - memories. And they injected her with venom, filling her bloodstream to capacity until the cold was all she could feel. Until it was emanating from her in waves.

And so she could not go to her son as she ached so badly to do, wrap him in her arms and hold him so close she could feel his heartbeat against hers, because the venom was poison to everyone she touched. She knew this much from her time with Brian. From the day she gained custody, she promised herself that she would shield Noah from the darkness, and though life had no qualms about accepting this challenge, she was going to fight to her last breath keeping her promise. Quietly, she closed the door and went for the only proven antidote that made the thorns retract back into hell.

Just as she suspected, the first swallow burned enough to make her crave another. And another. She had gone through a whole glass before she remembered to plug in her phone. It was probably for the best - she had a feeling she would need alcohol in her system to brave the inevitable conversations that awaited her.

She was right.

Ed Tucker:

8:05 p.m: Let me know how everything goes with 1pp. I can swing by later if you're up for the company.

8:06 p.m: Keep your chin up, Benson. Everything's going to be okay.

It was so inaccurate it hurt. She almost wanted to laugh at how catastrophically wrong he was. Mostly, she wanted to cry. She wanted to sink into the familiar hole that called her name from the bottom of a wine bottle, curl up, block out the world until she couldn't feel the pain. The loss. She flipped her phone facedown on the counter, gripping her glass so tightly in her fingers she thought it might shatter. Slowly, she brought the rim to her lips, sucking back the last of its contents. By now the burn had faded and she was left only with disappointment and an emptiness that mirrored the hole in her heart. Seventeen years. Seventeen years she had signed her life over to her unit - literally. She gave the NYPD everything she had, sacrificed her life, lost pieces of herself that she would never get back, and it only took and took and took. And then it tossed her aside like she was nothing.

Her hand hovered over the phone once more, tempted to pick it up and call him. Then she stopped. During her last rough patch, she had conditioned herself to think that she shouldn't rely on anyone for comfort. It started with the fall of her relationship with Brian. When she knew they were on the cusp of sinking, she started preparing her life vest, inflating the getaway raft. She forced herself to stop depending on his arms around her in order to sleep. She stopped counting on his calls when they became less and less frequent. She had played this game many times with him - her hand dancing back and forth over a phone, battling between the crushing loneliness and the fear of needing someone so badly that she couldn't clear the demons away without hearing his voice. And here she was again.

Lifting the glass once more, she drank until it was empty. Only then did she find the courage to pick up the phone. When she looked down at the screen, her vision was already blurring out of focus, but she finally found his name. She took a deep breath and hit the green button. It rang a few times, each passing second building up her anxiety, and when she heard his gruff voice on the other end, her heart skipped a beat.

"Hey. Did I wake you? Yeah, I'm... Can you come over? It's... bad. It's really bad."


The moment he opened the door, her arms were around him, her head buried in the shoulder of his t-shirt. She curled her fingers into his back, trying to keep her emotions in check. The alcohol wasn't doing her any favors.

"Hey," Tucker expelled in surprise, wasting no time reciprocating the embrace, "Hey, I'm right here. What's going on?"

"I'm out. They fired me." Her voice quivered, small and defeated like he had never heard. He stiffened. She could tell by his change in demeanor that he had not expected this turn of events. Ed Tucker had never known Olivia Benson outside of SVU. It was always a package deal - ingrained in her chemical makeup, woven through her veins. This was the Twilight Zone.

"They what?"

"Transferred," she clarified, her voice falling flat. When she pulled back, he could see the smudges of black mascara that rimmed her eyes. "That was the word they used to soften the blow. Either way, it means the same thing - I'm out."

He blinked at her, mouth agape. Shaking off the shock, he closed the door behind them and put his hand against the small of her back, ushering her further into the apartment.

"Barba? Was this him?" He felt his interrogative voice coming through, trying to make sense of this disorienting news.

"I don't know," Olivia shook her head, her eyes wide and unfocused. Clearly the shock hadn't worn off on her either. "1-p-p won't give up the whistle blower, you know that. I don't want to believe he would do that to me, especially without fair warning. I just… I feel like I've been ambushed here."

"I can't say I blame y- hey, easy," Tucker jutted out his arm just in time to catch her as she stumbled forward, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she steadied herself against his arm, cheeks noticeably flushing, "Just a little dizzy."

It was then that he noticed the slur in her words, the glaze in her eyes. A quick sweep of the apartment showed him the evidence of two empty bottles and a broken glass on the counter.

"What happened here?" He made his way to the bar, carefully brushing the shards into his palm.

"It slipped out of my hands."

"Maybe we should take it easy for tonight, yeah?" He suggested, depositing the pieces into the trash can. When she didn't respond right away, he glanced up at her from across the counter and saw that her demeanor had shifted. Suddenly she was rigid and still, her eyes welling up with the threat of tears. She bit her lip to stop the quivering, but he could spot the tension in the way her hands curled up at her sides.

"Liv?"

"Please don't say that." Her voice was so quiet, he almost couldn't make out the words. A wrinkle formed between his brows, but before he could question it further, she let out a humorless laugh.

"What?"

"I promised myself I wouldn't do this with you," she shook her head, talking more to herself than to him. She was spiraling.

"What exactly is it you're doing?" He rounded the counter that separated him from the living room.

"This," She made a haphazard gesture at herself, at her surroundings, "I'm not going to be the mess you clean up."

"Slow down. What are you-?"

"Don't tell me what to do," She snapped, jerking away from his outstretched hand. He immediately pulled back and blinked at her, surprised. The room swelled with silence between them, the scene of a standoff. She was too far gone to realize that it was concern, not accusation, in his eyes.

"See what I mean?" Her voice broke, the sound of her desolation haunting, "This is messy. I'm messy. Maybe it's best if you go."

The sudden hollowness in her eyes, like she was bracing herself for pain, cut straight through him. Did she really expect him to turn and walk away from her, just like that?

"That's not happening."

At this, she balked at him.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll go home tonight if you really want me to," he clarified, "But as far as walking away from this? You can't get rid of me that easily."

"You don't get it," she shook her head, "You really don't."

"Enlighten me," he took a careful step in her direction, "Please. Sit down. Talk to me."

She had no intention of listening to him, so it must have been out of instinct - or self preservation perhaps, as the room was now spinning - that she found herself sinking into the cushions. She took a shaky breath and rubbed her palms against her eyes, trying to pull herself from the strong current of darkness that carried her quickly downstream. Tucker sat beside her but hung back to give her space.

"I can't play this role again," she slurred, "The drunk. The victim. I dragged Brian through the fire once, and I can't do it to you."

He looked over to her through soft eyes.

"Cassidy was here because he wanted to be - trust me on that. He's a big boy, and so am I. Olivia, you aren't dragging me anywhere, and I wasn't accusing you of anything. I just think diving into a bottle isn't the greatest idea with everything that's happening."

"I'm not an alcoholic," she said.

"I know that."

"My mother was an alcoholic."

"I know."

"I'm not like her."

"I-"

"If you say 'I know' again…"

"I was going to say… I think you're a lot of things, Olivia. A lot of incredible things. But an alcoholic and a victim are not among them. You're allowed to have a bad night - especially right now."

"No. No, you shouldn't have to see me fall apart like this," she rebutted, "You could lose your job, too."

"Yeah, I could. Which means we're in this together. If you're a mess, then I'm a trainwreck."

Maybe it was the alcohol coming through, but she had to stifle a laugh. She looked over at him and he met her gaze with a small smirk. But the moment was fleeting as the gravity of their situation set in again, weighing down their smiles. The atmosphere seemed to melt around them as they kept their eyes locked, their expressions falling in sync.

"I can't believe this is happening," she said, "It feels like a bad dream."

Tucker swallowed hard, pushing back the waves of guilt and similar distress. He wanted to be strong for her, but he could feel his own emotions slipping.

"I know," he said. He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, testing the waters. When she didn't pull away from the contact, he gave into his urge to comfort her - and to feel the comfort she gave - and pulled her into his side. "I know."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "About…Everything."

"It's okay. You're okay."

It felt like there was nothing left they could say. They were helpless in the face of this, both their worlds turned upside down in unison. The silence that flooded over them was heavy and full of dread, but even amidst the chaos, he found it within himself to feel gratitude that he had her by his side. He couldn't help but think she was the only reason he was staying afloat.

"It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, you know," he spoke up after a few minutes.

"What?"

"I'm not one to use the phrase blessing in disguise, but maybe that's what this is. I'm not guilty here, so they're not going to find anything that will put me in prison. But if the optics are bad enough to keep me out of a leadership position at NYPD… Well, so be it."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing," he rubbed his palm up and down her arm, "Just that I've given a lot of my heart and soul to IAB over the years," he looked down at her, at her weary head resting on his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered closed, losing their battle to the exhaustion that weighed them down, and he was relieved. Sleep wouldn't solve their problems, but she needed it. In the dim ray of moonlight that shined through the window, her beauty dawned on him like it was the first time he laid eyes on her, just like it did everyday. And he couldn't believe how he got so lucky. Despite their grief, he saw strength and resilience personified when he looked at her, at everything she continued to overcome. Tragic, he thought, that she saw nothing more than a mess for him to clean up. Perhaps she truly didn't realize how much it was he that needed her.

"Maybe it's time I gave a little bit of it to someone else."