It's inevitable that they'd work together on a case. Unfortunately inevitable, but inevitable all the same. Addison works with pregnant women, Olivia works with rape victims. Sometimes there's overlap.
Olivia's waiting outside the OR, precisely where she shouldn't be, when Addison pushes open the doors and exhales the deep breath she's been holding since about hour four. Olivia's holding a cup of something steaming and Addison doesn't care if it's cocoa or coffee or tea or something with a lot of booze in it. She takes the cup and savors the first sip. Cocoa.
She goes over the details with Olivia while they walk toward the elevator – severe internal bleeding, broken ribs, some vaginal tearing, but miraculously, the four month-old fetus is as healthy as it should be and still inside its mother. "Tell me this guy's in custody."
"Elliot's working on him now," Olivia says. By the smirk on Addison's face, it seems that her partner's reputation for tact precedes him. "Seven hours, huh?"
Addison switches her gaze from the floor numbers to Olivia and wonders if she's been waiting here the whole time. "Sadly, not a record." Her current record's sixteen; seven's routine these days, and it's just luck she caught this case on her on-call night. She takes another swig of her cocoa before it gets too lukewarm to be tolerable. "She'll be out for a while. It'll be at least another eighteen hours before you can talk to her."
"We'll keep a couple uniforms outside her door just in case." There'll be a small window between when they have to release him without a victim statement or evidence results, and when she wakes up.
The elevator dings and opens up on the main surgical floor where Addison will lose Olivia and return to a mountain of paperwork needing to be done in triplicate because of the police involvement. She's not looking forward to court. "See you around," she says out of habit, leaving Olivia in the elevator. Olivia nods and hits the button to close the door.
It's only when she's halfway to her office that Addison realizes how morbid that sounds, given their jobs.
They both need friends outside of work and the times when they need to work together are far enough apart that they can ignore it and go out for drinks on as much a regular basis as their hectic and unpredictable schedules allow. It's not a cop bar and it's not a hospital bar. It's a classy bar in Midtown, with enough darkness in their table's corner that no one would ever recognize them.
Olivia tells Addison about Alex – leaving out Witness Protection – and clenches her fist because she didn't know you could miss someone that much who was still alive. She doesn't talk about Elliot outside the context of work, because she's afraid that speaking those words aloud will make it real.
Addison tells Olivia about Derek – leaving out how difficult things are – and bites the inside of her cheek because she doesn't want to think about what the unspoken words mean. She doesn't talk about Mark much, because she feels herself barreling toward inevitability.
The week she has to put up with Derek is the week she finally understands Addison's frustrations with her husband. He's not at all interested in telling them about his patient (their victim, Olivia keeps reminding him; there is a crime here and a perp to catch) even on the thirty-second elevator ride from the OR floor to the neurological ward when he ostensibly has literally nothing else to do. Olivia walks away, feigning a phone call, leaving Elliot to deal with him.
"He's not that bad when it comes to patients, usually," Addison defends over drinks, because he isn't; it's actually completely unlike him, and a sign that things are falling apart faster than she thought. "It's been rough at home."
Addison may not be an abuse victim, but Olivia's talked to enough of them to know how to translate. She changes the subject to the Amazing Race, because they've both had terrible weeks at work; even if they both know they're pointedly Not Talking About It, at least they have something to distract them for a while.
Addison hesitates with her hand on the door of Olivia's cab. Olivia can read that sign, too. Empty houses are horrors for everyone. "Stay with me tonight," she says, less an offer and more a strong suggestion. The driver grins a little, totally misinterpreting the situation, and she just rolls her eyes. Some fights aren't worth the effort.
She doesn't think, just slides in the cab.
"I've slept on that couch," Olivia says, and it's not a recommendation. "The bed's big enough."
She's being practical, and Addison doesn't want practical, she wants emotional. It's been that kind of week. Olivia opens her mouth, like she's going to make an I won't try anything, promise crack about it, but decides against it and opts for a hug instead.
Addison doesn't want to let go, but she has to because they're both tired and can't sleep standing up in Olivia's kitchen. As Olivia turns out the light, a good six inches of space between them, Addison realizes that's the first time she's been hugged in a while.
If Derek cares that she didn't come home, he doesn't say anything the next morning. She doubts he was home at all.
It's been a year since she's had to work with SVU, and she's taken aback when Elliot shows up dragging along a bouncy blonde in cords instead of an impeccably-dressed Olivia. The past months have been crazy for both of them, but she thinks that Olivia would've at least called if she and Elliot had fallen apart.
The blonde goes to talk to the victim and Elliot looks wary, like a coach finally letting a gymnast try a dismount without a harness only because she's asked so many times. Addison pushes a cup of cocoa toward him, though he's really not a cocoa guy. She knows, through Olivia, that the two of them could probably sit down for a week and still not run out of material about marriage problems. Cocoa helps everything.
"Where's Liv?"
Elliot shrugs. "She left." He's not supposed to talk about it, doesn't have any faith she's ever coming back.
Addison doesn't know how to process this, so she puts it aside for the moment. She hears the defeat in his voice, but her pager goes off before she can decide what to do with it. "Drink your cocoa," she says, and slips her card into his pocket as she passes.
He doesn't call, but she isn't surprised.
Olivia comes back the same week Derek leaves.
"Take a deep breath," Olivia says. They're drinking in Addison's brownstone because Addison was already half-bombed when Olivia called and there was no sense in taking it elsewhere.
"Don't," Addison starts, swaying a bit. She catches her balance on the wall. Olivia had interrupted her mid-rant, which she could feel ratcheting up to hysteria. She takes a deep breath anyway, feels it course through her, calm her down. "Don't use the Victim Voice on me."
"I was not using," Olivia stops before she can finish the sentence, because she was. She's been back in New York two days, hasn't even called Cragen yet. The FBI would gladly have her if she wanted, but she knows where she belongs. "I just think it would help if you breathed."
Addison sighs and flops into a chair. She turns her head, resting her cheek on her shoulder. "How do you avoid all this?" All these years and she's never heard Olivia talk about her relationships. Things don't always end as dramatically as she thinks her marriage probably just did, but no one gets through life without a few bad breakups.
Olivia shrugs and lifts the glass of wine to her lips. "Been a while since I dated."
Mark calls then, and Addison disappears into the dining room to pretend to be sober and rational about the situation. Olivia slowly sips at her wine, savoring the taste. Wind blows through the open windows, threatening rain. She decides to call Cragen tomorrow, find out if the blonde Addison told her about is still hanging around.
There's a curse and then a crash, a chair falling over. Olivia cautiously checks in on Addison, not entirely sure what she's going to find, and bites back a laugh. Addison is glaring at the upturned chair, like it's the sole reason her life is such a mess. Olivia's concerned that the chair's going to burst into flames, so intense is Addison's hatred for it. "Come on," she says, gently tugging on Addison's arm. "Let's go to bed."
Olivia crashes in the guest bedroom – she's sober enough to get home safely, but it's late and the brownstone's much closer to the precinct. As the rain starts, she wonders what it would be like to lose someone who'd been part of your life for so many years, suddenly ripped away. She turns over and hugs the pillow.
When she wakes in the morning, Addison is curled up next to her.
She could take a cab, it would probably be saner and easier, but Addison takes Olivia's offer and accepts the ride to the airport. She looks out the window as they drive to LaGuardia. She has the curls and the coat to change into at SeaTac and her one-liners have been planned out for days, but she's nervous. She doesn't know if she'll ever be back.
Traffic's a little heavy and Olivia slows the car to a stop. She glances over at Addison, who doesn't look like she comprehends that she's even in a car right now. "You want me to use the Victim Voice?" It's been a few weeks since that night in the brownstone.
Addison startles, Olivia's voice bringing her back to reality. She smiles. This is her last chance to have someone talk her down; she'll be in Seattle in a matter of hours, all bitch curls and black coat and Satan. She's heard about the intern, and isn't currently speaking to Mark. "Sure."
"You're gonna be okay." Traffic starts moving again, slowly.
Addison slips her sunglasses on and leans her head back, letting Olivia's voice watch over her. It's not the words, they're a variation on a theme she's heard before, but the tone. She's always known Olivia was good at her job, now she understands why.
They pull up at the terminal and Olivia pops the trunk. She gets out and lifts the suitcase before Addison can protest. "Call me when you land."
"It'll be one in the morning."
Olivia tilts her head and lifts her eyebrows. Addison should know better. "I'll be awake."
The hug is far more awkward than it should be. It's good luck and goodbye maybe and be safe and I'll miss you. Olivia wants to wait until Addison's inside the terminal, until she can no longer see the red hair and the jeans and boots, but the traffic cop blows his whistle at her to move along. She brushes her jacket aside, flashing her detective's badge, but gets back in her car all the same.
"Hey," Mark finds her by the coffee machine and Olivia's never seen him this flustered. Usually he finds a way to hit on her. "Have you heard from Addison?"
Olivia covers a yawn; it's been a crazy night. "She's in Seattle." At the confusion in Mark's eyes, she tilts her head. "She didn't tell you." She's only halfway surprised; she'd heard about the abortion – was even her emergency contact – and the mess surrounding it, but she thinks Addison might've at least left a note.
"Detective," a nurse calls, "your victim's awake."
Olivia tightens her lips into a smile and stirs her coffee. She slips her card into his lab coat as she passes him.
He calls, but she's undercover.
"Come to Seattle." Addison squints up at her ceiling. "Please."
"You're drunk," Olivia points out. She pulls up Expedia anyway.
"Doesn't change the request."
Olivia cradles the phone against her shoulder and mentally crosses her fingers that booking a flight across the country will cost something less than an entire month's paycheck. "Don't you have a booty call for this kind of thing?"
Addison tries to form her mouth around the words yes, but he's not the person I want right now because he's part of the reason I'm even in this mess, but she blames the half-empty bottle of wine for her inability to express the sentiment and settles for, "not at the moment."
She books the ticket – Addison's worth the six hundred bucks, even if it is a middle seat and she inexplicably has to fly to Charlotte first. They're miraculously between cases, and she isn't needed for court until next week. She'll call Cragen when she hangs up with Addison, claim personal emergency or something. She has the time off built up. "My flight leaves tomorrow morning." She checks the clock: her flight actually leaves in five hours – she should probably pack. "I'll get there around 1:00."
Silence.
"You going to make it until then?"
Rustling. And then, "Yeah, sorry. Fell asleep for a second."
Olivia smiles. "I'll try not to take that personally." She needs the break, and focusing on Addison will give her something to think about other than that moment in prison.
"What happened?" The remnants of room service have been left outside to be taken away, and they're slowly finishing the bottle of wine.
It's not any one incident that made her call Olivia, and she has trouble manifesting a clear answer that isn't, simply, everything. Mark, Derek, Meredith, the dog, the trailer, Alex, the trip to LA, everything. Addison looks away, out the windows that look onto the Seattle skyline.
Olivia nods to herself. "Got it," she says quietly. She's beginning to understand what it feels like to have your life careening toward something you can't possibly avoid. She tops off Addison's glass with the rest of the wine.
They don't see each other much since Addison moved to the other side of the country. Addison's been back to New York a few times, to pack up the brownstone and for surgery, though Olivia's hip-deep in a case each time. Olivia came out to LA once for work, but couldn't stay; they'd managed to squeeze in lunch before her flight left.
Something's changed in Olivia, Addison can't put her finger on what. She carries herself differently, like it's all going to fall apart. They've kept in contact, but the time difference and their unpredictable schedules make the phone a bit irrelevant. There's only so much you can understand over email and text. She drives Olivia to the airport and they make a hard phone date of every Sunday afternoon. They hold to those, mostly.
Her phone buzzes when they're out on the deck with Henry, enjoying the morning sun, and she shades her eyes to read the screen.
Elliot left.
Her stomach clenches. She wonders how long it took Olivia to write those words, how long it took her to hit send. She stands up, the computer's inside. "I have to go to New York," she says when Jake looks at her strangely. It's not an explanation for anything, and she'll give him one later if he asks, but right now she needs to book a flight. Preferably one that takes off today.
She grabs the last seat on the 11:30am JetBlue flight and throws together an overnight bag in five minutes, forgetting toothpaste and a hairbrush. She kisses the top of Henry's head and hugs Jake. "I'll call you from the airport," she says, because she has to leave right now if she's going to make it through security in time. "I love you."
I land at 8:00, she texts back once she's safely in the security line. Be there at 9:00. She calls Jake and explains the sudden departure. He's never met Olivia, never even heard about Elliot, but he understands about needing to be there for people.
It's the first day off she's had since Elliot left for good and Olivia's already cleaned her apartment from top to bottom and gone grocery shopping for things she will never cook and will instead spoil in her fridge. When she was at work, she could not think about it; focus on the case, focus on the victim, focus on showing the new kids the ropes. Fin, Munch, and Cragen were there with coffee or a distraction if she started to look too long at the desk across from hers, seeing someone else in that chair. She reads Addison's text and swallows down a wave of emotion. Seven and a half hours.
Thank you, she texts. She sets her phone to do not disturb, letting only Addison's number come through. She doesn't have any faith that she'll ever see Elliot again. Once he's gone, he's gone.
It's 9:03 when Olivia buzzes Addison in.
"I stopped for pie," she says, explaining the three-minute difference from her promise. She pauses. "You look like hell."
"You smell like airplane." Olivia shuts the door.
Addison sets the pie on the counter and her bag by the couch. She lifts an eyebrow. They're both professionals at pretending like nothing happened, but Olivia's always been better at it. "Come here." She waits for Olivia to step forward before she opens her arms for the offered hug.
Olivia exhales shakily and rests her head on Addison's shoulder. "He's just gone." She pulls away from Addison earlier than she'd like, but if she stays there for too long she knows she's going to lose it. And she's scared of losing it.
"You want to talk about it?" Olivia shakes her head. "You want to drink about it?"
Olivia laughs at that. "No. What kind of pie did you bring?"
"Apple and peach." She takes the hint. She's been in Olivia's apartment enough times to know where the plates and forks are, and sets out the pie.
There's ice cream in the freezer and Olivia sets about scooping some. "Tell me about Henry."
Later, Addison borrows Olivia's toothpaste and discovers that she also forgot pajama bottoms. Olivia lends her a pair and sleeping on the couch isn't even a consideration this time.
Addison slides her arm around Olivia's waist and tugs her close. Olivia stiffens at the contact and then relaxes; Addison can feel the tension in the other woman's body, even in near-sleep Olivia's holding tight to control. "You're gonna be okay," she whispers.
Olivia sniffs and wipes at her cheek. If she's going to completely break down about this – and she isn't sure that she will – it'll be alone, because that's how she operates. "Yeah."
"I promise."
Olivia closes her eyes. Addison's using her Patient Voice, and Olivia doesn't think she's ever heard it before. But she believes it.