Title: Thursday's Child
Author: ZombieJazz
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Jack and Benji have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.
Summary: The case of a missing adopted boy rattles Olivia while she thinks of what her and her family have gone through and what they are still struggling with in their day-to-day. A short story recasting the final scenes of Wednesday's child in the AU of Olivia/Benji/Jack.
Author's Notes: So fans of the series asked for some O/S until I'm ready to start the sequel to Hello, Goodbye. I guess you're getting your wish. The timelines of this are a little flexible so as to not spoil some of what will be happening in the sequel. It's likely best to consider it separately from the sequel and to just assume it's happening basically in the present rather than fitting it neatly within the AU's timeline.
This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. Most of the chapters will ultimately take place outside of the work environment, so there aren't going to be too many references to cases from the show. Please let me know what you think and if you distribute elsewhere.
Olivia bit her tongue and held in the disgusted sigh she felt fighting to push from her lungs. She forced herself to barely meet her eyes and then as quickly forced herself to turn to start to leave. To walk away.
It was hard. Looking at the woman. Hearing her ask if she could go see the son that she'd abandoned. The child that she'd just damaged more when he'd already been struggling with so much. She was so much she wanted to say to her. Wanted to scream at her. But it wasn't her place – especially now with her rank. And, she told herself, that woman – she wasn't worth it.
But then she had the tenacity to speak. "I know what you're thinking," said Lisa Moore. Olivia felt herself turning back towards her against her better judgment. But her anger was propelling her. She was fighting to keep it down. To keep it in check because it was pushing to become more than anger. It was raging in her. "But I was having a breakdown."
"I'm sure you were," Olivia managed with an almost even tone. "But you call someone. You ask for help. You don't just discard a child."
She thought of all the times she'd struggled with admitting that she needed help. How hard it was to suck up that pride and to admit to others how hard it was to be a mother. How challenging boy of her boys were. How frustrating it was. How emotional it could be. How completely fucking exhausting. How her perfect little family was so incredibly far from perfect – and she how she knew how visible that was to even the most casual observer. But there'd been countless times where she'd had to stop herself. Where she had to put aside herself and her feelings and her shame and her insecurities and to say she needed help. How she'd had to admit to her partner and to Alex and to her Captain - and even to people who hadn't ended up wanting to help – that she needed it. She needed help. She couldn't do it alone. There were days and nights and weekends that she couldn't handle the boys. There were problems she couldn't solve. There were frustrations that made her want to go into the bathroom and turn on the water so the boys couldn't hear her crying. There were nights where after she was sure Benji was asleep she'd go into her room and scream into her pillow. There were jogs she forced herself to fit in even when she couldn't fit them in because she was afraid if she didn't let out her pent up anger and sadness and frustration she might say or do something to one of the boys that she'd forever regret. So she made herself admit she needed help. Even when she didn't want to. Because she needed it – and the boys needed her to do that. And, it wasn't about her. It was about them.
She thought of how Jack had been discarded as a child. As a little boy. How his mother had walked away and left him. How he'd spent his entire childhood asking why. How he was spending his young adulthood wondering if he wasn't good enough and if he'd ever be good enough. How Olivia sometimes felt that even though she'd earned the title of 'Mom' from him, she didn't think she'd ever be quite enough. That she'd never be able to fill that hole that that woman had left. And, worse, she'd never be able to answer all of Jack's questions when he got tired or scared or insecure about why some unknown woman that he could only vaguely picture - and for which most photos seemed to have been destroyed – had gone away. Why he'd been left standing on a porch while she got in a car and never ever came back.
She thought about the night Jack had discarded Benji. How he hadn't known what to do anymore. How he hadn't known how to ask for help – so the closest thing he'd been able to come up with was to get close to her, to get mad at her and then to leave a crying, scared little boy – little more than a baby – on the stoop of her building. But he was a baby-faced eighteen-year-old. He wasn't much more than a child himself – and he was scared and hurt and confused and completely without resources. But Olivia thought about how much even those few minutes of discardment - those seconds it'd taken her to get from her buzz to the building's front door – had etched themselves into Benji's psyche. How he still cringed when she was leaving him. How his eyes would track how she left. How he wanted to know where she was going and when she'd be back. And, God forbid if she wasn't back when she said she would. How answers could never be time based anymore. She wouldn't be back at 5 p.m. She'd be back 'tonight'. She thought about how he clung to her and how scared he still was that he might be left alone on a doorstep again.
She thought about how his mother had discarded him too. Not in the same way. But how she'd left. How she'd brought a child into the world that she'd never really wanted and how she'd founded unique and unusual ways to display to an infant and toddler just how uncared about he was. Just how unimportant. Just how much she was unwilling to get help or change. How he wasn't ever going to come first. Until she made the choice to put herself first one last time and left him alone forever. How she'd left him wondering too in his own little boy way why he wasn't good enough. Why she'd never be coming back. Why and how and when and where. The questions didn't so much matter as the cause and the effect. And the effect was that no matter how beautiful and wonderful and perfect her little boy was, he was also a little broken. No matter how diligent and loving and tender and kind Olivia was to him, she also knew that she'd never be able to quite put him back together. There'd always be some pieces missing that were always going to be just out of reach. No matter how hard she tried to fix it.
"I know that now," Moore said. She seemed broken. But Olivia didn't care. For as broken as she might be – it was the child in the next room that needed and deserved the attention and the fixing, especially when this woman was the immediate cause.
"Do ya? Do you have any idea how lucky you are that your child came back alive? Unharmed?" Olivia spat through gritted teeth.
"You don't understand," Moore near whined at her but the eye contact was gone.
It was the wrong thing to say, though, and Olivia choked on her disgust.
"I don't understand?" she near spat in a laugh at just how stupid this woman actually was. "I don't understand?" she found herself saying again, as the impetus to just walk away faded and the anger took over.
"You have no idea how much I understand," Olivia heard herself saying as the rage at this woman bubbled over. "I'm you. But I don't have the nice home and the husband with the fancy job title. What I do have, though, is a son. An adopted son. He's five. He came to live with me when he was four. And you know what? All those things you and your husband listed off about Nicky? Not adjusting well? Problems at home? Bolting ahead in the streets? No real friends? Wild child? Ongoing socialization and developmental issues? Attachment issues? Difficulty bonding with other children? You think that's unique to you? You think that's something that's exclusively to Nicky? It's not."
Olivia glared at her. She didn't care anymore that this woman looked tired. She didn't care that she looked regretful. She wasn't sure she bought any of it. And, her sympathy certainly wasn't with Lisa Moore. It was with the little boy who'd just gone through hell and who had nearly died because of this woman's selfishness.
"My little boy. My beautiful, loving, wonderful little boy – has all those problems. All of them. And you know what? I come to work every day and have to deal with people like you. I put my energy into helping people like you, fix situations that you've created. And, then I get to go home and be with him. And do you think by the time I get home it's some sort of fantasy-land of motherhood? It's not. More often than not he's had a bad day. Something's happened at school or daycare. He's upset. He's clingy. Or worse. He's off the walls. And getting him to sit still or listen? It's just not going to happen.
"There's no such things as a perfect child, Lisa," Olivia spat and felt her hand come out and jab a finger at the other woman. She had to force herself to let her arm fall back to her side for fear she might lash out with more than a finger. "There's just not. It wouldn't matter if Nicky was your flesh in blood or if it was a child that you met and fell in love with instead of your husband. Every child – every person – comes with their own challenges. And, motherhood – parenthood – it isn't pretty. It isn't a Disney movie. It's not sunshine and rainbows. It's hard fucking work. And from that child – it is going to be thankless if what you're expecting is to hear a thank you. But do you have any idea how many people long to be parents? How many people spend years wanting it?"
"We wanted it," Lisa near whispered. "We tried for years to get pregnant."
"But you didn't," Olivia hissed at her. "And what you got – who you got – was Nicky. And, he is perfect. He isn't the problem. He has some problems. He has some things to work through. He has some baggage. But HE is not the problem. You are. And what you did was just add to that baggage he is going to have to carry for the rest of his life. You betrayed his trust, Lisa. And, if there were any better options for Nicky, I would recommend you don't get him back. Because right now the only consolation I have is that he has a father who loves him. But that's only going to count for so much if he's father is never home and he's stuck with you."
Lisa let out a small gasp and glanced up at her from her downward cast gaze. She looked like a timid mouse. She looked like she thought she was going to be squashed and Olivia thought if she could, she'd like to squash her. She'd like her to experience a small part of the pain and torment she'd caused that little boy.
"We don't all get to pick our children," Olivia said. "We don't get to pick when they'll arrive or who their genes will have come from. Some times they just arrive. I wasn't ready for my son. I wasn't expecting him. At all. He just … came home. Stop being so fucking selfish. You better be prepared to spend the rest of your life making up what you did to him."
Olivia turned on her heel and moved to storm from the room.
"It's going to be different," Lisa said quietly in a weak call after her.
"I hope so," Olivia said forcibly without even looking back. But as she turned the corner she ploughed smack into Rollins, who was leaning against the wall just outside the medical supply alcove.
Olivia gaped at her and Amanda gaped back. Reality came crashing back. She was a lieutenant with the NYPD. She was commanding a squad now. She'd just laid out her personal life and her personal opinions and had ripped into a civilian. She'd let her personal feelings cloud her judgment. But even then she didn't feel like she'd said the half of what she had really wanted to say to that woman. Not even an ounce of what she wanted to do to her.
"Sorry," Rollins sputtered, caught in her eavesdropping. She must've heard all of it. She was only steps from the door to Nicky's room. His father still inside and talking in hushed tones to the little boy. Olivia suddenly hoped she hadn't been so loud that they'd heard her raging at their mother and wife too. Though, maybe they needed to hear it too. To know they were supported by someone. To know they were worth it. If Lisa couldn't see that – at least someone could. Someone cared.
"You didn't hear that," Olivia said flatly.
Amanda looked at her innocently and shrugged. "Hear what?" she asked.