Most of the time (though less and less lately), Olivia felt her badge was a shield. It was like the lightest armor ever known to humanity. It was like an invisible force-field that she wrapped around herself and those that she set out to guard against injustice.
It fortified her, concealed her, and empowered her all at once. It reminded her of her responsibility to protect and serve, to pursue justice, to defend those unable to defend themselves.
When she slid it onto her belt or slung it around her neck, she became bolder. She was Wonderwoman- she was stronger than that, she was practically invincible. She was beyond caped crusader, she was the sole pursuer of fairness and right in a world of unfairness and wrongs.
She relished the feeling of handling the metal, of running her fingers over the dips and valleys like you would do to a lover's skin. The badge was her lover, the job her only relationship. She long ago gave up having affairs with men because they were always that- affairs. The job owned her mind, body, and soul, and anything else was only a half-truth or a total lie.
When she was a beat cop, she used to sleep with her badge. Always ready, always vigilant, back then she believed that she could make a difference, that she could change things.
Back then, the badge was more than just metal and leather.
That feeling faded over the years, continues to fade.
But still, it meant (too) much to her.
The badge gave her strength when she weakened, energy when she flagged, hope when she wavered.
It was her sword, her shield, her talisman.
Most of the time.
Today though, it was a burden.
It was deadweight.
Hanging around her throat, the tiny brassy shield felt like the weight of the world.
Her shoulders slumped to bear it, tension gathered in her neck and back. Raising herself to full height felt virtually impossible.
All day long it had been dragging her down.
On days like today, cases like this one, she cannot wait to take it off.
She wanted to cast it into the Hudson. It felt so heavy around her neck, in the palm of her hand, that she was certain it would sink instantly to the bottom of the river like a body tied to cement blocks.
(She hates that all her analogies deal in death, destruction, loss.)
By the time midnight rolled around and their case rolled onto day two, she wondered if she'd even be able to stand up because the weight was so burdensome.
A few years back, even on the worst days of the worst cases, she never felt it this acutely.
She wanted to blame age, to blame her slowing body or maybe to point the finger at the buildup of cases she wears like a second skin. Those things would make it more difficult to bear, it's true, but she knew that wasn't the real reason.
Though she doesn't admit it, even to herself most of the time, the reason is him.
Before, though she can't exactly pinpoint before what exactly, it was different.
He would hold out a hand and pull her up from the ground when the weight of it brought her down.
On the days when the weight of her badge around her neck was so heavy she couldn't lift her head, he would find her gaze, force her eyes to his. He would smile so brightly, so brilliantly, she couldn't help but look up at him. She would forget about the crippling weight of her badge and see nothing, feel nothing, but him.
When her badge failed her, when it didn't protect her or empower her like it was supposed to, he would step in and fill the gap. He would often surpass the power of her badge. For a while he and her badge held equal weight, but the longer she was around him, the more he began to prevail.
Eventually, he entirely surpassed her badge.
Once, she forgot it.
Only once in her entire career, and she remembers it vividly.
He swung by unexpectedly to pick her up for a call, coffee and bagels in hand. A sloppy grin was plastered on his face despite the early hour. She doesn't remember why he was so happy, just that he was.
She had been rushing to get ready and hop on the subway when he knocked, and his silly grin had been infectious. Grabbing her keys and bag, she had finished off his coffee in one long sip before taking the full one from his opposite hand. He had looked at her incredulously for a long minute before his deep laughter resonated through the hall of her building.
"You're lucky I like you so much," he had laughed.
Olivia had simply smiled in return, locking the door behind herself.
In that moment she felt invincible.
It was only a few hours later when the grime of the case settled around them and Warner gave her a quizzical look that Olivia realized she had forgotten it. Flustered, she stammered out an excuse without being asked for one.
That was when she knew- she needed him too much.
She had let someone, a man no less, replace the only thing she could trust and count on. She had spent her whole life convincing herself, and it wasn't difficult to do so, that she couldn't rely on anyone but herself.
And there she was, so dependent on someone else that she forgot the only thing that mattered to her.
It felt like a married woman forgetting her wedding ring.
(The irony of that comparison would only sink in many years down the road when Elliot's bare finger taunted her so openly).
She slept with her badge that night, and many afterwards, to remind herself that she would never be able to sleep with him.
From that day forward she swore she would stop leaning on him but it was a promise she was powerless to keep.
She was hooked on having someone to rely on. Like a junkie desperate for a fix, she threw herself into their partnership hoping for his support in return.
For years, she got it.
He was relentless, tireless, in his protection of her. His duty was to serve and protect the people of New York City but in reality, he devoted himself entirely to her. The people of the city were simply served by proxy- by empowering her, enabling her to do her job so spectacularly, he was able to do what he really wanted (devote himself to her) while doing what he needed (serving justice to the victims).
It didn't seem like that was the pattern then, but what's all that nonsense about hindsight?
Right.
So now she sits at her desk reading the same information she read five, ten, sixty minutes ago, hoping for something to strike her as out of place. Instead it all blurs together, adding to the throbbing in her temples.
Elliot has gotten up to refill his coffee and he takes her mug as well.
She wishes they could just be openly hostile.
They are subliminally hostile, mutedly hateful, silently spiteful. They do not say anything that does not mean something else. They burn each other up, burn each other down.
On the surface, they are still polite, professional. They work together without bickering or juvenile antics.
But underneath it all is the constant, rolling, roiling, searing tension that fills their relationship with restless resentment.
He still fills her coffee mug, makes it the way she likes. He still opens doors (though he pointedly avoids guiding her through with a hand on her back). She still lets him drive without commenting on his inability to navigate or abide by simply traffic laws. She still brings him something to eat when she steps out for lunch and he stays behind.
It was like they were constantly hoping that going through the motions would suddenly assign their relationship meaning again.
Olivia felt the same way about her badge.
She still wore it faithfully, hoping that if she just stayed the course she'd eventually feel the comforting weight of it again without feeling it as a burden.
Today, that didn't feel possible.
Instead, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, gazing down into an endlessly dark abyss. Her badge, slung faithfully around her neck, was pulling her precariously close to the edge.
Soon, it would drag her entirely into the darkness.
She couldn't rely on Elliot, on anyone, to pull her back these days. She wondered if this would be the time she slipped, fell, tumbled headlong into the darkness, or if she would be able to resist the pull of gravity today only to fall tomorrow, the next day.
There was only one way to find out, so she kept trudging toward the abyss.