Brace yourselves. This is not pretty. But you should all know me well enough to know that I eventually fix it.
Part Two
#Tuckson
Olivia Benson took a small sip of the bourbon she ordered, Fin giving her a strange look, as the squad huddled around a small table in the cop-centric dive bar.
It had been an excruciating week, particularly for the Lieutenant, as the Special Victims Unit had been working alongside the FBI to bring down a sex trafficking ring. Long days turned into even longer nights, and Olivia found herself at her wits end missing time with Noah and running on very little sleep.
The case eventually imploded before their very eyes, taking down two FBI agents while the ring leaders escaped. They had managed to bring in some of the lower men on the totem pole, but between the loss of life, losing out on the big-wigs, and the FBI taking the suspects out of their precinct for questioning, the squad was nearing a breaking point.
Fin, finally having enough, stood up and took the reigns.
"Alright, let's go," he said, closing his computer, grabbing his jacket, and gesturing for Rollins and Carisi to do the same.
"Where?" Amanda asked, more than willing to bail on the day and grab a drink.
"O'Malleys," Fin said, checking his phone.
"Want me to grab Lieu?" Carisi asked, scratching his head in concern. Fin declined.
"Nah, I'll wrangle her outta here," he said with a resigned sigh. "You two go grab a table…"
"10-4."
Now, here they were. Each sipping slowly on their beverage of choice, not even attempting to make small talk. Until Carisi tried to break the ice.
"Well this just sucks," he said plainly, causing Amanda to chuckle and Fin to raise an eyebrow. Olivia just knocked back the rest of her drink and signaled the server to bring them another round.
Carisi looked on in concern.
"Ya okay, Liv?" he asked, not wanting to push her in front of everyone, but it was obvious she was teetering on the edge. And if he were honest with himself, she had been for quite a while. Even before this case.
There had been times, over the last year, when he, Rollins, and/or Fin would talk quietly amongst themselves about the way Olivia had changed. The way she talked with victims, interrogated suspects, or threw herself into her work.
Amanda would make a point, as much as she could, to get home for Jesse's bedtime. And at one point, Benson did the same. But it was waning.
"The wheels are comin' off," Fin had grumbled to himself one day, after just making Sergeant, before reluctantly heading into Olivia's office to order her home. She listened, but not happily. Just as she had an hour earlier when he all but drug her out of the one-six and down the block to O'Malleys.
"I'm fine," she said, nodding but not making eye contact.
The other detectives just eyed each other.
"What?" she snapped. "It's been a long week."
The second round came, and everyone nervously sipped except for Olivia, who once again slammed the bourbon back and let out a loud exhale.
"It's okay to be upset about this," Fin said pointedly, to all of them really. "Get angry, mourn, then get back to work on Monday."
Rollins nodded, holding her drink up for a mock cheers, but Carisi's eyes stayed on Benson, who was staring at the table.
"I should get home to Noah," she said suddenly, her voice still distant and her eyes glossy. "First two rounds are on me."
Olivia threw cash onto the table, gathered her stuff, and nodded to the three detectives.
"Lemme know if anything comes in that I need to be aware of," she said to Amanda, who was on duty that weekend. "Otherwise, I'll see you all Monday morning."
She briskly made her exit, the detectives still quiet, before Carisi apparently had enough and went after her.
Olivia made it about half a block before Sonny caught up, and began to walk along side of her, his hands in his pockets.
"Something wrong?" she asked, still looking straight ahead.
"Nah," he shrugged. "Just makin' sure you get home okay."
"I'm a big girl, Carisi," she said, eyeing him with a smirk. "I can take care of myself."
"I know," he said simply, continuing to walk alongside of her as she neared her subway entrance.
"You're really gonna follow me all the way home?" she asked incredulously.
"Yep," he said, taking out his metro card and swiping right behind her. "I'm single and it's Friday night. Got nothin' better to do than follow you around and let you grumble at me."
That actually made Olivia laugh a bit as they took their place on the platform for the uptown one train.
"Well, thanks," she said, a smile on her face, as she eyed Carisi. "I think."
"No problem," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."
Olivia froze, her entire body tensing up as Carisi casually said a sentence she hadn't heard in about a year. He had no way of knowing what his words would do to her, but none the less, it was the last straw.
"Don't say that," she ground out, the sound of the incoming train somewhat muffling her reply. But Carisi still heard her.
He said nothing, allowing her to board the relatively empty car and taking a seat beside her.
"Lieu?" he asked, his eyes scrunched up in concern at the way she had reacted.
That was when he noticed a lone tear escape. She wiped it quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed, but he had.
"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep, Carisi."
Hours later, after laying with Noah for a bit and holding him close, Olivia found herself on the couch. The living room was dim, the television was off, and the bottle of bourbon she had stashed was now open on the coffee table.
I'm not going anywhere.
Carisi tried to stay, and really Olivia couldn't blame him. Once he said those words, her entire demeanor had shifted, and she could tell he was worried.
"I can just crash on the couch," he offered, trying so hard to break through her thick shell. But it didn't work.
"I'm fine, Carisi," she said, patting his arm and walking him to the door. "I just need a weekend to decompress, and I'll be back to normal."
"Liv…"
"Carisi, I said I'm fine," she responded, her tone more firm and he received the message.
"Call me," he said. "Anytime."
Olivia nodded as she had shut and locked the door behind him, allowing her head to fall back against the door.
I'm not going anywhere.
"Dammit," she whispered, downing her second glass, fourth overall, and shaking her head, desperate to stop the memories. But it was futile. The reality of her failed relationship with Ed Tucker crashed into her like a freight train and she was powerless to stop it, so she poured another bourbon and went along for the ride.
There's nothing but honor in being a survivor.
She cringed. Had she really said that? Granted, Olivia had been trying desperately to get inside the head of this servicewoman, but she wasn't proud of the moves she made to get there. The lines she fed her, the way her tone took on a harsh inflection. It was not okay.
Of course there's more than honor in being a survivor. She knew that first hand, and she could only hope that her words, her demeanor, hadn't served to minimize what that young lady had gone through. That it wouldn't impact her road to recovery, as she felt all of the emotions survivors would feel.
"I can't believe I said that," she mumbled to herself, taking another burning sip of the amber liquid as she beat herself up.
Sure, eventually many survivors come out on the other end of the long tunnel of healing, and feel a sense of honor. But even then, the idea that it is the only emotion - and that all survivors must get to that point - is a pretty damaging line of thought.
And Olivia knew better. She always had. But at the end of the day, she had come home, second guessing herself the entire time. Obsessing over just how off-center she was, how out of the ordinary her words were. And yet, instead of having someone to call like she desperately needed, her apartment was dark, Noah was asleep, and once Lucy left, she was alone.
I'm not going anywhere.
"Alone," she whispered, her fifth or maybe even sixth glass resting on her thigh as Olivia let her head fall back and hit the back of the couch. She looked up at the ceiling, the room spinning a bit, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
But she was lost.
Did you turn into your father?
Lindstrom's session that day was brutal, but also a bit odd. It was almost as if her therapist was driving the point home, knowing that she already knew deep down her genes were just fine.
It was an age-old question, though, in her line of work. A question that would likely come up again and again: are some people just born bad?
The reality was no one really knew for sure, but Olivia personally proved that you are not your genes. That your genetic makeup did not predestine you to commit crimes. And once again, instead of using her head and her heart and all the knowledge she had attained in her 18+ years of working with SVU, she went off the rails and regressed back to a time when she still questioned whether she was genetically violent.
Only this time, she almost took Noah down that road as well.
I'm always gonna love you, no matter what.
Of course she was always going to love him. That boy could do anything, and she would still give everything she had to make sure he was safe and loved and happy. But his genetic makeup was no more or less damning than her own, and for that, she needed to be in his corner. She needed to continue to fight and prove that genes do not matter.
She thought back to when she cracked his door and made her way into her bedroom, shedding clothes and turning on the shower. How as soon as the hot water hit her body, she dissolved into sobs. Confused, scared, and lonely.
"Get it together, Olivia," she had told herself as she scrubbed away the horrific week. "For Noah."
Thirty minutes later, she toweled off, threw on a night shirt, and crawled into an empty and cold bed.
I'm not going anywhere.
"Ed," she mumbled in real time, the alcohol really taking it's toll on her. The room was unsteady, her eyelids were drooping, and she had since dropped the tumbler next to her once she emptied it.
"I am not my father," she repeated to herself, coming out of her memory and shaking her head, though quickly regretting it. "Jesus, Olivia, what are you doing?"
She placed the tumbler back on the coffee table, tightly turned the lid back on the bourbon, and gingerly stood up to lock it away in her cabinet. Stumbling into the kitchen, she placed the bottle on the counter and took some deep breaths before the final blow to her psyche came crashing down onto her.
"Oh god," she said, her eyes closed as the tears finally began to pour down her face. "I'm my mother."
Olivia allowed herself a few more tears, before finally locking the bourbon back in its cabinet and reaching for her phone which was charging on the counter.
She had three messages.
Lucy: I'm home, Olivia. Have a good weekend!
Carisi: Call me in the morning so I know you're okay, I'll bring coffee by around ten.
But it was the next message that made her entire body clench.
Ed: I miss you.
The tears were unstoppable as she clutched her phone to her chest. Unable to formulate a response, she just let his message go and stumbled back into her bedroom. She left the door open a crack so she could hear Noah, splashed water on her face before downing a few Advil and crawling into bed.
She turned over, facing the side of the bed that Ed used to occupy and gingerly traced her fingers over the cool pillow.
I'm not going anywhere.
The buzzer rang through the Benson apartment the next morning, but Noah didn't flinch from his perch on the couch watching cartoons. He was dipping his waffles in a bowl of syrup and shoving them into his mouth, causing Olivia to just smile at him from where she sat in her chair sipping a glass of water.
But she was still fuzzy from the night before. Her hair was a mess, makeup was still smeared on her face, and her head was throbbing.
"Dirty face, Mommy," Noah had said when he crawled into bed with her that morning.
"Mommy forgot to wash her makeup off, Noah," she had responded, and the little boy giggled before snuggling in for a bit.
Noah apparently no longer cared that her face was dirty, since he had his coveted weekend supply of Aunt Jemima's syrup. And Olivia had forgotten, again, to wash it off.
But the buzzer caused her head to vibrate in pain.
"Who dat?" Noah asked, wide eyed.
"Just Uncle Sonny," she said softly, just then remembering he said he was stopping by.
Trudging to the door, she opened it up and immediately reddened as Sonny's face took in her appearance.
"Liv?" he asked, concerned, as he made his way inside with a coffee tray and a bag.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Long night. Coffee?"
"Figured you could use it."
"You're a lifesaver, Carisi," she said, taking the steaming cardboard cup and closing her eyes as the first taste hit her throat. "Thank god."
"Olivia," Sonny began, hesitating a bit before going all in. "You look like shit."
She just laughed a bit.
"I feel like shit," she allowed.
They stood awkwardly for a bit, both sipping on their coffees, before Olivia's eyes closed again.
"I guess I let myself wallow too much last night," she said softly. "And, well, I don't really have anyone to stop me when I'm home…"
Carisi didn't say anything at first, trying to get over the shock that the Lieutenant was actually talking to him a bit. But when she didn't say anything else, he felt he needed to say something. Only the words that came out weren't quite what he had in mind.
"Heard from Tucker recently?"
Olivia's head fell as she bit her lip and shook her head a bit, causing Carisi to immediately regret his words.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "It's none of my business."
But she held her hand up, signaling for him to stop talking, before she looked up at him with red, watery eyes.
"He texted last night," she allowed, her voice deep and raspy, full of emotion. "I was too drunk to respond."
Her words were harsh in the air, and Carisi held his breath. This was not the Olivia Benson he knew. But she was responding to him, albeit minimally, so he pushed a bit further and prayed it didn't backfire.
"Ya know," he said slowly. "I'm not busy today. How about I hang out with Noah for a bit. You can get cleaned up, go for a walk, whatever you want."
"I'm fine," she said once more, but it wasn't quite as firm as she wished.
"You're not," he responded. "Let me help you."
Ed Tucker scrolled through his phone as the elevator climbed up to his floor.
In a last ditch effort to make some sense of his memories, and his night, he had texted Olivia. Opening himself up to her. Letting her know that he missed her, even if it didn't lead to anything.
But she hadn't responded.
His entire drive back to Manhattan was spent cursing himself for actually sending the drunk text. But his words to her echoed throughout his mind, and he loathed himself for the lie he told her.
I'm not going anywhere.
He squared up, almost ready to punch the wall of the elevator, but he thought better of it. Standing up straighter, shaking the tension out of his shoulders, he let out a sigh.
"Get it together, Ed," he growled out as the car beeped and the doors opened. Maybe a shower and some good sleep in his own bed would help.
He rounded the corner, pulling his keys out of his pocket, before he stopped dead in his tracks. Slumped against the door of his apartment was a red-eyed, puffy faced, mop of brunette hair. Traces of mascara still colored her otherwise pale cheeks, but as blue eyes locked onto brown, Ed swore there had never been a more beautiful sight.
"Olivia…"
Okay, so mayyyyybe this will be a three-parter. You tell me. But it's not my fault that _ick and Co fucked my show up so badly that it can't be fixed in a simple one-shot, is it?
I love y'all and I love reviews - you know what to do.