I own nothing.

I would never say that I know my dad better than my siblings, but I think I might understand him more. Lots of stuff made it that way, but I think mostly it's because I'm the oldest. The guinea pig. The product of the first attempt at parenting by Elliot and Kathy Stabler.

My dad never talked about work if he could help it. He wasn't home tons anyway, and when he was, he did everything he could to talk about basketball or something. It always seemed to turn into some ridiculous metaphor for life though. We all…I mean Kathleen, Lizzie, Dickie, and me…laughed about that. Like the time he was telling Kathleen how to be a goalie but really warning her about the freaks in the world and trying to find out if she was a virgin. When she was twelve. I get that things happen, but geez…my dad sure could overreact.

I had more fights with him than any of the rest of us. I was the ground-breaker. I tested…or I guess, more accurately, broke…curfew, and my sisters and brother got to see what would happen. And my parents got to figure out how to act.

It was always me who got the explanations when my dad was being particularly paranoid about something. I heard the most details about his cases, and I told my siblings. Sort of because they were my peers, but also because I didn't want him to have to. I know how hard it was, and is, for him to open up to anyone, especially his family, about what he sees everyday, and if I can save him any pain by just passing along his warnings myself, I'll do it. And I always have.

There were times that I resented his job. He was never home. He saw the other officers more than us. We were brought up fearing New York City. I guess that's kind of smart, but also too much. I sort of feel like we lost our innocence early…but better to lose it by being told what can happen than actually experiencing it. And that's why I can't be mad at him, and the resentment has an end.

I worry about him. We don't see him much. Not since my mom took us away. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. It seems like I should want my parents to be together, but I don't think I do. I know they aren't right for each other, which makes me feel guilty. If I hadn't been born, they might not have ended up together. I was their obligation. On the other hand, I blame their religious views. Only in Catholicism. You're supposed to wait to have sex until you're married, but if you don't, you still can't use a condom. How ridiculous is that? It seems to me that if you break the pre-marriage rule, you might as well break the birth control one.

They were never that happy. They got along, for the most part. My mom was upset a lot that my dad was gone so much, but that's understandable. What I could never support was the way she got on him about it. Being sad that we didn't see him is one thing, but holding it against him is another. I've already said that I resented him a little, but I still understood that he was really doing it for us. Why couldn't my mom see that? Or maybe she just wouldn't. Maybe she was looking for an out for all those years, and his job was the easiest one. It's hard to come up with a reason to leave your husband after you've had four kids.

I'm hoping that my dad gets with his partner, Olivia. I just think it would be better. She understands what the job means to him. She has to, since she chose it too. She knows him better than any of us. She's risked her life for him, and I know we owe her for that. We are so lucky to have a dad as amazing as him, and she has done her best to make sure we can keep him with us. Beyond that, Olivia is just a good person. She's so nice and fun, and…I don't know. There's something about the smile on my dad's face when he's around her that is so different from any smile he ever had with my mom. It's purer or something.

I also know that she has some control over him, and I'm glad someone does. I know that sounds like a horrible thing to say, that someone needs to control my dad. But it's true.

One time, I forget how old I was, but it was when I was in high school, I was sitting out in the living room doing homework until I fell asleep. I woke up when I heard his key in the lock. I didn't say anything, because I could tell he was pissed off.

I heard him go into the kitchen and get a beer. That was rarely a good sign. Especially at one in the morning.

I sat there, listening to him, for about twenty minutes. I heard the fizz of opening a new bottle five times before I realized that I was crying. Oh, Daddy.

Then, I realized that I wasn't the only one. He was crying. He never let himself be like that in front of us, and if he had known I was there, awake, he would have held it in. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if he hadn't let go that night. I wonder if it would have been the final straw after years of cases that haunted him and made him look at us with such fear and anguish in his eyes. I wonder if he'd still be alive.

I think I cried myself back to sleep, because the next morning I was still on the couch. I woke up again when I heard my dad's phone ring from the kitchen. He had fallen asleep with his head on the table, the empty bottles scattered around him.

"Stabler."

Is it weird for me to say that I get a surge of pride every time I hear him say that? That I feel uplifted whenever someone calls me Maureen Stabler, because I know, even if they don't, what an amazing man my dad is?

"Oh, hey Liv. I'm fine."

I couldn't hear her reply, but I could imagine it. It was obvious to me that he was lying his head off, and Olivia could read him far better than I could.

"Five," he said, and I knew she was asking him how much he drank. There was silence again as she replied, and then my dad said, "I know that. But…God, Liv." Then he actually laughed. It was then that I decided how much better everything would be if he were with Olivia, and not my mom. "I'm not that hung over." He laughed again. "Fine. Pick me up on your way."

He hung up and moved around the kitchen for a few minutes, no doubt clearing up all the evidence of his breakdown. He wouldn't want to explain anything to us, or worry us. And he wouldn't want to face my mom's disapproval.

He came out into the living room, so I immediately pretended to be asleep again. I'm really good at looking asleep but having my eyes opened just enough to see, so I watched him as he came over to me and kissed my forehead. He ran his hand over my hair a couple of times, his other hand hanging in front of my eyes. His knuckles were torn and bloody. I prayed for him to leave before I lost it completely. He wouldn't have been able to deal with knowing that I knew what he had done the night before, but I couldn't hold back my tears much longer.

He finally got up and went outside, and I let myself cry, my face buried in a pillow. When I heard a car pull up, I knew Olivia had come for him.

I said a silent prayer for her safety, and for my dad's. Just like I do every day. I know my dad has faults. I know he has a temper and he's stubborn. But I also know that the world would be a much worse place without him. There are so many people who rely on him, from Olivia to Captain Cragen to all the victims. And us.

I've always known that I need my dad. It took me a while to realize that he needs us too. And I'll never give up on him.