It feels early, too early.
Olivia rustles against the soft texture of her bed sheets and burrows in deeper.
Her phone chirps next to her, and she sighs heavily into her pillow, sleep still bellowing her subconscious. Olivia sneaks a quick glance at the clock on her nightstand and confirms that it is in fact, too early to rise on her day off.
She squints hard, holding onto the last moments of sleep before giving in, grabbing her phone from the nightstand next to her.
She stares at the screen trying to focus her sleepy eyes on the information it carries.
It's Amaro, letting her know that the Kelly girl is awake and ready to give her statement.
Last night was rough.
It wasn't until almost 2am that she finally crossed over the threshold of her apartment. She smiled when found Lucy sleeping peacefully, sprawled out on her couch. Olivia quietly woke her, and thanked her repeatedly for staying so late, before thrusting some extra cash into the girl's hand.
She sits up, and digs the palms of her hands into her eye sockets, rubbing the sleep out. Multicolor dots momentarily float in her line of vision then quickly disappear.
She feels exhausted.
She knows she's not the only one who feels this way.
Times are far from easy for her squad. The secondary affects of the job are hitting them hard this year. Even if she doesn't outwardly admit it she recognizes it in the slight bitterness of Nick's voice, the isolation in Amanda's gaze.
The detectives who seek employment in one of the NYPD's most prestigious squads are never without their own scars, their own stories, their own haunted pasts. There's enough unclaimed baggage laying throughout the one-six that even the slightest misstep could send any one of them tumbling downward to lay amongst the carefully encased insecurities and violent images that hold stake in their subconscious.
The distraction from personal reality is welcomed in a morbid way. The ability to help those inflicted in the most horrendous of circumstances has its moments of celebration and gratitude.
The job brought Noah to her, and for that, for the love she has for that little boy, she is forever grateful. He saved her life. She'll tell him that someday when he's old enough to understand. When he's old enough to hear about his past, about their marred journey to each other. Before him, most days throwing a rapist in jail was enough. Before him, some days it was a struggle to get out of bed.
A small noise from the baby monitor pulls her from her pre-dawn contemplations.
She swings her legs to the side of her bed and makes her way into the hallway, quietly peaking into Noah's room. She reaches for her robe that lies haphazardly on a chair in his nursery, and wraps it around her shoulders before tightening it around her waist.
He's sleeping peacefully, and the image warms her from the inside out. She ducks out quietly and tiptoes the short distance to her kitchen.
The sun begins to slowly brighten her living space as the rich brown liquid runs into her mug. It steams, and the aroma heightens her senses.
She returns to the overstuffed chair in Noah's nursery, coffee in hand and pulls a blanket over her bare legs. She doesn't want to disturb his slumber, but she's excited about the day she's planned for them. She wants it to start as soon as his eyes open.
::::::::::
It's a beautiful early spring afternoon. The trees are beginning to sprout new leaves; blades of grass are emerging from the hardened gray clay near her home. She loves the city so much, but the winters are rough. The March sun warms her face and she pulls her scarf off her neck, and tucks it away next to her water and latest novel. The small beads of sweat on the nape of her neck instantly chill. She pulls her phone from her pocket to check her messages. According to Fin, they've started a canvas near the victim's dorm room at Hudson. She's identified her attacker and they're close to an arrest.
It's someone the poor girl knows.
"Everything's under control," Fin adds, "We got this."
She tucks her cell back away in the contents of her tote and lazily continues south down 2nd Ave. and finally across 7th towards Tompkins Square Park. It's quiet a distance from her home in Riverside Park, but she doesn't mind the walk on such a beautiful afternoon.
She feels the street fair before she sees it; music vibrates off the neighborhood buildings several blocks before the entrance.
Over the last 20 years she's watched the magnitude of change encompass this once less than desired but deeply loved areas of the city. In its prime, Tompkins Square Park, offered a welcomed respite from the noise and heat of city streets, a place to breathe fresh air after long hours spent in factories and tenement kitchens. It was a place to enjoy festivals, to socialize with neighbors, and for children to run and play. Open to all comers, it was a crucial centerpiece of neighborhood life in the East Village, a place of solitude for many.
By the early 1990s it's luster and sense of togetherness had become a memory. Garbage stuck to the dry decaying shrubs that bordered the entrance and next to its defining historical monuments. The sidewalks wore layers of graffiti, and dozens of homeless encamped on the browning grass in tents, and under withering trees. Blanketed by the carpet of night addicts roamed the ten acres of pathways restlessly, searching for their next fix.
In it's closure, riots erupted on the streets. Acting on impulse, protesters spilled onto Avenue A, where they started fires and pelted police cars and officers in riot gear with glass bottles.
They had no warning; no inclination that what was once there would be taken. Neither consulted nor informed, the city swooped in and sectioned off the landscape to the neighborhood. One day it existed, and in the next it was unavailable to those who sought its solitude. The Band Shell, a statement of its former glory, the staple of the park came down in a cloud of dust.
Olivia stares at the families relaxing on the grassy lawns, blankets beneath them. Frisbees dot the sky, children are laughing, playing as their parents look on.
In that moment she is reminded that darkness always precedes light. The past always gives way to the future. Even a piece of land, a neighborhood, can be reborn.
She's more outwardly reflective these days, contemplates the trajectory of her life more often. She thinks about the events and people who have shaped her into the Detective, Sergeant, and woman she is now. She misses Cragen's wisdom and unyielding support. She thinks of Munch, Melina, Casey and Alex often and hopes they have found some type of ease away from the violence. Together they've all looked death in the face and lived to talk about it. They grew together in this unit, and their comradery still sits solid within her. She has a good squad, but she misses them.
She thinks about leaving sometimes, like they all did. She wants more time with her son. But this job is a large part of her, and when the time comes to leave it will be difficult. It's not a decision she's ready to make yet. She still has things she wants to do.
She understands Elliot's ability to walk away from the job more and more now. He had a family to think about, people waiting for him at the end of each day. Though through much of their partnership it never seemed to be enough to keep him from the cases, from her.
It's been five years since they've spoken. Five dark, exhausting years.
There are so many things she's shared with her shrink. But her partnership with him isn't one of them.
She can talk to Lindstrom about Lewis, about the paralyzing fear of almost being raped, of having the barrel of a gun aimed at her forehead, of being scarred by the hot metal of her own house keys. But the pain of losing her partner is still so buried within her that she holds it deep, deep within. It is hidden away from analysis, from the truth, from the monsters in this world, from the light.
Before recently, he had only floated through her mind randomly at times in the days, weeks, and months following her kidnapping and assault. Truthfully, she didn't have the space anymore. Her attack and subsequent recovery had filled her completely. The grief had buried itself into another box, another hole within her soul. It was now just another a layer that covered her heart.
The sun is hiding behind the skyscrapers on the west side of the island when Olivia takes stock around her. The park is still humming with activity. Noah is peacefully gazing at his surroundings, enchanted. She holds him tighter in her arms. Balloon vendors twist colorful tubes of air into giraffes, and turtles. Groups of people form half circles around young break-dancers as they flip, spin, and twist their bodies to the delight of the crowd, and then hustle them for tips.
She can't help but think about him now, about where he is in the world.
Are they on the same island? Are they both outside enjoying the warmth of this unusually mild spring day? Is he happy? Is he a Grandfather? Does he sleep through the night now? Do his eyes still hold the same intensity?
Her phone suddenly pulls her from her thoughts. It's Fin.
We got a problem. Need you at the house.
She closes the message, exhaling loudly to herself in frustration before dialing.
"Hey Lucy, hey. It's Liv –"
::::::::::
There are things about her that are fuzzy to him now. Years and simple moments slip in and out of their chronological timeline and he can't place them.
What was the name of her favorite bodega stand nestled on 8th a few blocks from her apartment?
Her perfume, it had a slight hint of jasmine, and what else? Amber?
When she cut her hair short the second time, how long did it take to grow until it rested at the peak of her shoulders? Nine months? A year?
When was it that he realized the small vertical scar on her neck would always be slightly raised and discolored from her rest of her bronzed skin?
"Dad!" He hears Maureen's voice carry through the backyard over the sizzling grill. The brats are almost done, one more turn and he can settle himself in a lawn chair with a cold beer and relax. The twins are home from college, and today is a celebration. It's been ages since the last time he's been in Queens, even longer since they've had their whole family together. He hears his children's laughter from the opposite side of the patio, and he realizes how much he's missed them. How much he's missed their energy and their optimism for what life holds. Soon it'll be a new chapter for Dickie and Elizabeth, and in turn it's a new chapter for him.
After being away for years the relaxed atmosphere feels foreign to him, almost unsettling. Nobody is upset, nobody is yelling, there is no resentment, or accusations. For once there is peace, understanding. Its going to take some getting use to. He hates to think his absence has allowed this to transpire, but here they are. His family is happy. Hell, they are celebrating. That's enough to justify his decisions, his leaving.
What a difference a few years can make. The dust has settled.
He can feel Maureen behind him, the tips of her toes are touching the heels of his sneakers as she peers over his shoulder.
He's relaxed in his t-shirt and blue jeans, the kevlar vest and military uniform he'd dawned daily while on assignment in the Middle East are pushed to the back of his closet in Brooklyn where he now resides full-time. He's been back in the states for 3 weeks and he's almost acclimated to his new sleep schedule, to the sounds of the city streets. It's a weird feeling to not always feel on edge, to be able to trust his surroundings. He had been a Marine once, but he had never worked a stint as long as this. Images of sand and cargo vehicles still flash under his eyelids each night as he prepares for sleep. It's going to take time to readjust, but for the first time on a long time he doesn't feel suffocated by the thought. He's got time.
"How they looking?" Maureen asks curiously and hungry.
"Bout' done." He responds. "Grab that tray for me will you baby?" He pushes the spatula into a random link to test if it's cooked all the way through. Juice oozes from the opening at the top, but it no longer feels rubbery. Satisfied that he won't poison their guests he turns to her, and catches her smiling.
"What?"
"Nothing." Her smile widens. "It's just really good to have you here Dad. We've missed you."
She hands him a cold beer, and begins to remove the meat from the grill. He steps to the side watching her. Her hair is shorter than when he left, she's grown out her bangs, and it all fits perfectly into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her face is more defined, her soft features have disappeared over the last few years, and she has more laugh lines around her mouth.
She is a woman now, and he missed it.
"Now it's my turn to say, what?" She's smiling again. "Is there something on my face? Mustard? Potato salad?"
She turns her attention from the grill to him.
"You look so much like your mother."
She smiles widely.
"And you." She quickly replies. "It's the eyes. Mom says I have the Stabler glare down pat."
He laughs then before moving to her side to place the remaining brats into the tray she holds firm in her fingers.
"Logan!" she calls out over her shoulder.
The little boy runs over and clutches her legs just below the knees.
"Grandpa, needs help carrying things to the picnic table. Can you carry the Ketchup?"
The boy's face lights up as his focus zeros on Elliot.
"PA!"
Elliot hands him the plastic bottle, his face matching the little boy's enthusiasm.
"Race you!" the boy yelps. Before Elliot has a chance to register the challenge Logan is sprinting towards the tables. For the first time in far too long Elliot laughs. He dimples easily reaching all the way to his eyes.
::::::::::
"Here."
It's close to 10 when the bustle of the backyard is finally silent. He's sitting on the steps of his family's patio looking at the fence that separates their life from their neighbors.
The landscaping needs some work, he thinks as he silently compares the yard parallel to them.
He takes the beer Kathy is offering, and sets down the lukewarm bottle he's been nursing for the last hour.
"Thanks."
She settles in next to him, an old gray NYPD sweatshirt covers the top of her yellow sundress. He recognizes it; he used to wear it, a lifetime ago. It's been an unseasonably warm day, but with the sun down his t-shirt feels inadequate. The beer helps.
"How you holding up?" Her question is genuine, and he can spot the effects the glasses of wine she's ingested tonight on her features. There's an ease to her that is unfamiliar. He likes it.
He inhales deeply next to her, thoughtfully thinking before speaking.
"I'm ok. Still adjusting, but ok." For once what he is telling her is the truth. He can't remember the last time he's done that.
She nods.
"Have you heard anything from The Bureau?"
He shakes his head.
"I've put in my time there, not needed anymore."
She nods slightly, agreeing before she takes a long sip from her wine glass. Her lips are slightly stained, and he likes that this isn't her first, or second glass. He likes that she's indulged tonight. She deserves to let go.
"You did a good thing, Elliot. Nobody faults you for that." She pauses. "Nobody here faults you for that."
"Kath..."
"No." she says shaking her head.
"At the time I hated you for leaving, I'm going to be honest with you about that."
"I know."
He takes a swig of his beer sensing she has more to say.
"You've missed a lot."
It's an obvious statement that hits him square in the chest. He can do nothing but agree.
"I know."
"But you're here now. And despite how we got here things are good. Things are really good."
He knows she's right.
"I do have regrets…." He doesn't finish his admission. He doesn't need to.
Now it's her turn to agree. "I know."
A few moments of comfortable silence settles between them.
"I missed Logan being born. I missed them growing into adults, I missed… " He takes another swig before facing her. "I missed so much." It's a statement not a question. He knows what he had given up in order to right his life.
"You were savings lives."
He scoffs.
"Don't dismiss what you were doing Elliot. Doing that is a disservice to you and us."
She softens before she continues.
"It was hard, but eventually we understood. I don't want to lie and say it was easy, because it was not. There were times when I didn't know how any of us were going to come out without bitterness towards you and the job. But it happened. It happened. And now…"
He's staring at her waiting as she takes another sip of her wine.
"What?"
"Now we are just happy that you are alive, and that you are here." She looks at him purposefully. "That you will be a part of the rest of it."
He drops his head. He'd been selfish when he took the job with the Feds. His need to escape New York, SVU, his family, Olivia, all had consequences he didn't register at first. All he knew at the time was that he had to be different, be someone different. Someone he could look at in the mirror and not see the victims he couldn't save lying at his feet.
They haunted him even in his retirement from the squad.
"I don't deserve your understanding Kathy."
"You deserve to be happy."
He opens his mouth to refute, but there isn't use. Instead he drops his head lower.
She is a far better person than he is.
The faces of victims that use to permeate his subconscious are fuzzy now. The weight of them is lighter, they are fuzzy like his memories of Olivia. They are still tangible, but he can't place them.
He inhales sharply at the thought of her face. That imagine will never be anything but clear to him.
"Have you reached out to the unit?"
She's skirting around the real question and he respects her for beating around the bush, for not pushing it. Maybe she senses he's jut not ready to open old wounds.
"No."
She takes another sip of her wine, tipping it towards her mouth emptying it contents before standing.
"Don't take another five years, Elliot." She looks down on him pointedly. He doesn't look at her; he stares blankly ahead into the open yard.
"Don't leave them guessing any longer than you have. If I know anything for certain…" she takes a shaky breath. "I know it isn't fair to leave those who care about you in the dark. Reach out to them. They deserve to know you are ok, and that you are back."
She pauses looking towards the clear moon. Tonight there isn't a cloud in the New York Sky.
"She deserves to know you are ok."
He nods, accepting this truth. He owes Olivia an explanation. He owes her that and so much more.
"I will, " he promises.
He thinks about her often. He thought about her when he was on the other side of the world covered in particles of coarse golden sand. She's never left him. Her voice, the features of her face, her eyes; they swim in his veins.
Even now he's thinking of her while he's sipping a beer on the porch of his family's home, a few miles from her apartment. He briefly wonders if she is still at the same place.
Maybe he should call her.
"I'm going to call it a night. Don't stay out here all night, Elliot." Kathy plainly states before turning slowly.
He nods, acknowledging her.
"I mean it."
He chuckles at her slightly, before reaching over and grabbing another beer from the cooler.
He hears the patio door slide shut behind him and he takes a deep solid breath.
Maybe he should call her.
He instantly scoffs at the idea. What would he even say?
"Um hey, Liv, it's me, your old partner. Yeah well I know I haven't returned your calls for the last 5 years, but ya know, how are ya? Free for coffee at that place we used to like?"
He flicks the bottle cap into a nearby trashcan from where he sits, and lifts the mouth of the bottle to his lips. The cool liquid feels good against the scratchiness in his throat. The liquid pools in his stomach.
He knows he is far from being the perfect man. He's made enough mistakes to last a lifetime. He failed as a husband, son, a father. He's in a better place personally about those regrets now, but his failures to her and to their partnership still cause an unbelievable ache in his chest.
He knows how he got here, he just doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't know how to fill the void. It would be a fool's errand to seek her out now. It's been too long. Still the pit in his stomach relents.
He tips his chin towards the carpet of night that's settling over his family's house.
The moon shines brightly in its fullness, overshadowing the dim lights from street lamps above.
He settles his gaze on it, admiring it's marked façade even from this great distance.
It's beautiful, he thinks. Even in it's imperfections, it shines. It shines brightly. It gives light to the all the dark the city can't reach. It's a beacon.
He wonders what she is doing at this moment.
Is she leaning over her desk, where she used to sit across from him, working begrudgingly on overdue paperwork? Is her partner with her, making sure her coffee cup stays hot and filled? Is she smiling? Is she relaxing with a glass of wine on her couch pretending to watch TV with someone that brings her balance and happiness? Is she staring at the same moon? Is she laughing at its marred beauty?
Does she realize that in all the years he's been away that it is still the moon that reminds him of her?
::::::::::
tbc.
