Title: Therapy
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 Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.
Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.
Author's Notes: 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. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.
Olivia watched Will for a moment. Or at least the back of his head. He was sitting on the couch with his back to her and feet on their coffee table. Laptop on his lap and the television on though running at near muted levels. She could just barely hear the mumblings of the sportscasters from where she stood.
He'd come home late again. She'd heard him come in. The door's alarm chiming as he did. But she was working at getting through listening to Noah read her a chapter of his book and getting him tucked in for the night. She hadn't gone to see him and he hadn't come down to kiss his son goodnight either. Noah, though, he must've heard the door too, also didn't ask for his daddy even as she pulled the door shut to just a crack and switched out the light expect for the nightlight glow. It was telling. So telling where they all were at, she thought.
Will had been making a habit of getting up and leaving before her or Noah woke. He often didn't get home until after dinner – avoiding having to sit with them at the table and to talk about their days and to pretend to be normal. Some nights he got home even later. That week he'd definitely been doing his best to avoid her. Or at least avoid talking to her. She'd hardly seen him and when they had seen each other there really hadn't been much talking.
He'd been using the start of the winter term as an excuse. A justification to be on campus and in his office all hours. It'd left her to take on the bulk of the childrearing duties. Getting Noah up and fed and to school. Meeting him at his after-school program and getting him home and making dinner and helping with homework. Most nights it had been her who'd been encouraging him through their bedtime routine too. It had meant she'd been working banker's hours a lot – to the point that Nick had actually commented on it. Part of her didn't mind that. She didn't want to spend all hours at work. Not anymore. Part of her didn't even mind having to take on the majority of the parenting duties of her son. She liked spending time with him. He brought a stability and meaning to her life and she knew she did the same for him. Noah just clung to her now more than even before when it had just been the trauma of cancer he'd had to deal with. It was just that it was so different from their usual routine. Their usual division of parenting duties. Will usually wanted time with his son and Noah usually wanted time with his daddy. But apparently not right now.
She made herself move towards the couch. It was hard. She still wasn't entirely sure what to say to him or how she wanted to say it – even though Lindstrom had tried to help her frame her thoughts and to organize words to approach it in a way that wouldn't be confrontational. But she wasn't sure now was the right time. Or a good time. But she also wasn't sure there'd ever be a right time or a good time. She could put it off forever.
"Hi," she said quietly as she reached the couch and gave his shoulder a small squeeze as she circled around it. He didn't even glance at her or respond. He just kept staring at this screening and trailing his finger along the trackpad.
"What you working on?" she forced herself to ask despite his initial lack of response, and she forced herself to sit on the couch cushion next to him and look over at the screen, rather than taking the seat that she really wanted on the opposite end.
Will did give her a glance at that. She wasn't sure if it was because she was slightly invading his space or if it was out of surprise that she hadn't commented on the time he'd gotten home. She usually did. Though, she tried not to rag on him about it. She just wanted him to know she'd been noticing and that he was missed. She knew there was some truth to his statements that he was busy with the start of the new term. But that usually only last a couple weeks, not the whole month of January. And, even then, he usually made Herculean efforts to still ensure he spent time with his family. But not right now.
"Just trying to come up with an idea for this week's extra credit question for my datamining class," he mumbled. "Then I'm writing my Calculus I quiz," he added almost defensively and like he was including it as warning that he didn't have time and wasn't interested in talking.
She just nodded and looked at the screen. He had some spreadsheet opened up. It looked like he was on some sort of UNICEF subsite about humanitarian aid in the Middle East.
"Any luck coming up with something?" she asked after a silence hung between them.
He shrugged. "Not really."
It was another response that was so unlike Will. He usually loved when she gave him that chance to talk about work. He loved when she took an interest in it. She'd worked hard over the years to ensure she had enough of a basic grasp of his research and the courses he taught so she could participate in the conversations and not just sit there and listen. But she would listen too – when he got going about something she didn't understand. That he could get so passionate about. Will didn't seem to get passionate about much of anything anymore. Though, she could understand. She didn't feel passion in the same way anymore and when something spurred her on, it came from a different place. Still, it pained her to know that Will didn't want to talk and share. Especially when she could see him looking around a site so clearly about current world issues that were newsworthy. Talking about global issues and current events – sharing the news and their perspectives on it – had been something that had brought them together in the early days of their relationship. Now apparently it was just something to look at for work and not anything he was interesting in discussing. The silence hung between them again.
"I don't even know why I'm even doing it this semester," he finally muttered. "They're lazy asses. None of them have even submitted an answer yet."
She just watched him. Even though it was a muttering his anger was palpable. She didn't think it was anything worth being that upset about.
"Are you putting the correct answers into a raffle again this term?" she asked.
He glanced at her but his eyes were near set in a glare. "Extra credit should be enough," he said with a clear edge to his voice.
She shrugged. "Maybe the potential of winning a prize at the end of the term adds something a little more fun," she suggested.
But his glare stayed stuck on her and she made herself look away and watched the television for several moments.
"What you watching?" she finally asked.
And, she didn't even get a glance. "The Rangers," he said with a clear annoyance by her question. That the answer should've been obvious to her since she was looking at the TV. She ignored it – or she made herself ignore it.
"Who are they playing?" Olivia asked.
He made a sound at that that further depicted his annoyance and gestured at the screen. "St. Louis," he said harshly. It was another obvious answer that should've been clear to her just by looking. And it was. But she just wanted so badly for him to talk to her.
She just nodded and kept her eyes on the screen. She watched again for several minutes and she eventually felt that his eyes had moved away from his computer screen and he was watching too. He made a small sound of distaste as a goal was missed, even though it looked like a pretty spectacular save to her. But by the wrong team.
"We should go to a game," she said after a while. "Do they have a block of faculty tickets this season?"
He gave her a small glance. "I didn't think we'd want to go," he said flatly.
Olivia shrugged. "Sure. Why not? The Rangers games are usually fun. They're doing better in the standings than the Knicks this year, if we had to pick a sport or team to go see."
"Because there'd be crowds and loud, drunk men and the stench of beer," Will stated with a clear matter-of-factness.
Olivia let out a small sight at that. It was true. But she also thought some of that could be worked around based on when they went and who they were playing and where their seats were. And she'd been working a lot on how to control her reactions in some of those situations. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life hiding in their apartment and never doing any of the things their family enjoyed. Lewis kept winning if that's how they let themselves live.
"Well, I'm sure there must be a weeknight where they're playing a shitty team that no one wants to see where there'd be smaller crowds," she suggested. "Aren't there crowd projections and ticket sale figures and stats from previous year's games? Why not have your datamining class figure out what night of the week and team would be the best for us to go to?"
He snorted at that.
"What?" she said. "Not a good idea for an extra credit question?"
He allowed her a small smile. It was the first one he'd given her in at least a week. She returned it. It felt nice. She'd been missing it.
"It's not bad," he allowed.
She nodded and looked back to the television. "See, I'm good for something," she said quietly. It was supposed to be a joke. But at the same time it wasn't. He'd been making her feel like she wasn't good for much of anything in their relationship or marriage lately. It was hard feeling like she wasn't just so far removed from her husband – but from her best friend.
She could feel him looking at her at the comment, like he'd actually allowed himself to pick up on the hurt in her voice. But he made no comment and eventually his eyes drifted back to the TV too. She let them both sit and watch it for a while but she knew that she couldn't just let the conversation – as much as it was one – stop there.
As a commercial break came up and Will pulled his eyes away from the one screen and to the one in his lap instead, she moved her eyes back to him. She watched him again for a moment. He was going to the NHL's site and pulling up some sports statistics pages. It looked like he might actually be taking her suggestion seriously. But she didn't want to let him get too far into it and that much more distracted and removed from her.
"Will," she said almost timidly, "I wanted to talk to you about this week."
He looked up at her and gave her a look that seemed genuinely blank, like he really didn't have the faintest clue what she might be talking about. What she could possibly want to talk about. She gazed at him for a moment trying to measure if it was just a front. But she made herself not ready into it. She made herself be straight-forward and upfront with him.
"The pregnancy test," she filled in for him.
"Oh," he said and looked back to his laptop. "Well, there's not much to talk about. The test was negative."
She sighed and looked down at the small space between them. It was literally just inches but it might as well have been miles. She felt so far removed from him.
"I feel there's a lot to talk about, Will," she pressed, "and I'd really like to have a serious … a real … discussion about it."
He let out a near groan and rolled his head on the backrest cushion and gazed at the ceiling. "I am not going to have a 'let's have a baby' talk right now," he said with near anger in his voice. "This is a ridiculous time to be having a baby. And, if you missed your period … or you're late … or whatever … you should be going to your doctor and talking about menopause, not coming to me with 'let's try to get pregnant'."
Olivia kept her eyes on him though she felt them stinging with tears. The way he was talking to her lately just made her feel like he hated her. Like he couldn't stand to be near here. Like he wasn't interested in even trying to make things work.
"I'm your wife, Will," she finally managed to compose herself enough to get out. "Please don't talk to me like that."
The statement seemed to draw silence from him but he gazed at her. There was a glimmer of surprise in his eyes like he was trying to process her statement and trying to process his and trying to recognize what he'd said wrong. It was like it just wasn't clicking. Not right away.
Olivia let out a shaky breath and reached up and swiped at her eyes trying to divert the tears that she could feel just sitting behind the lens and in the corners.
"How you've been treating me this week has been really hurtful," she managed to get out but even she could hear the tremble in her voice. "Today … on the phone … it really hurt."
Will's eyes seemed to often a bit but he made no move to comfort her and that used to always be his first step. He'd reach for her. That night the distant between them – so small but so large – remained the same.
"It's not a good time to be having a baby, Olivia," he said softly.
She felt the tension in her chest almost reach a choking point. A sob that wanted to come out but she wasn't going to let it. She allowed a little nod.
"I know," she said quietly. "But how you reacted to it made me feel very alone." She got that blank look again. "You seem almost angry with me," she provided, "and you've been … very distant this week. I feel like you've been avoiding me."
He sighed and looked down. His feet coming off the table so he could start that uncomfortable bounce he did with his knee.
"I'm not angry," he finally said. "I just … I don't know how you wanted me to interact with that." He looked at her. There was hurt and upset in his voice. "What would've we done if you were pregnant?"
"We would've figured it out," she offered.
He sighed and his head fell back onto the support cushion again and he gazed at the ceiling. "I don't want to have to figure things like that out," he muttered. "We have too many other things to figure out."
He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest with his knee still shaking. Olivia sat forward a bit and lifted the computer off his lap and put it on the coffee table before he sent it tumbling. He allowed her a small glance at the courtesy.
"I still don't even …" he muttered and shook he head harder. "We shouldn't have even have thought that could be a possibility. When's the last time we had sex? And even when we do … it's not … sex."
Olivia sighed and looked down and rubbed at her eyebrow. It felt like it was just another itineration of 'is it mine', 'it can't be mine', 'did you do this on purpose', 'you're trying to trap me'. But she was trying to hear Lindstrom and not read too much into any of Will's comments. And, for what she did read into them, she was trying not to dwell on the worst possible context, meaning or outcome. She was trying not to let herself catastrophize. She was too good at it anymore.
"It would've been before the trial," she allowed.
She forced herself not to say more yet about that comment. About how much she missed his touch. About how much strength and comfort she got from just being held by him. About how she really wanted to continue to work at re-establishing their sexual relationship. About how much she missed him and their intimacy – no matter how mundane and routine it tended to be. How badly she wanted it back but how scary the process was for her and about how much it hurt her that rather than advancing in trying to return to some sort of normalcy, he'd been retreating from it … and from her.
She let out another slow breath and looked back at him. He was still looking at the ceiling and his knee was bouncing like mad. He hated when they had these kinds of talks. She didn't like having them either. But she hated feeling like she was putting him through such stress and anxiety by talking – to visibly see him shaking like that with his nervous and restless energy and discomfort. But he'd been making her feel uncomfortable for weeks, she reminded herself.
"I feel like you've really be distancing yourself from me since the trial, sweetheart," she tried and she again felt her voice catch a bit and took a beat before pressing forward. "It makes me feel like … you heard something there that you … didn't like …. Are struggling with."
He snorted and rolled his head so he was at least looking at her. But she could see the anger really glinting in his eyes now.
"I heard lots of things I didn't like at the fucking trial," he said. "It was a farce." He sat up straighter and his arms crossed over himself even tighter and it became clear he was trying to protect himself. She wasn't sure if it was from her or from the memory. "The way they let him," he spat, "cross-examine us."
"They had to," she said quietly. "It was his right."
"I don't fucking care," Will spat even harder and his eyes glinted at her more and his one hand came away from himself and pointed at her with just rage. "I hate the way he painted you. He painted me. He painted our relationship. Our whole fucking family. Noah. We were put on display for public humiliation. And then Barba can't even get him on all the fucking charges. The whole thing was fucking ridiculous."
His knee had been bouncing harder and harder while he pushed that anger out of him. It reached that point that was his words fell silent and and his eyes set straight ahead that Olivia let her hand come out, like she had so many times before, and put it on his knee, putting pressure and holding it there until the nervous movements slowed and stopped.
"Are you done?" she asked quietly and he just let out a noise that still sounded slightly disgusted. She sighed. "The system doesn't always work, Will …"
"Well, I fucking know that," he spat again.
"At least he went away on the assault and kidnapping charges," she said.
"Yeah, but apparently there was no attempted murder or rape," Will muttered. "Somehow I missed that when my face was being kicked in or anytime I see …" he just gestured down his chest to where her scar was from when Lewis had trailed his knife down her sternum. It likely wouldn't have killed her. But he'd done enough to her – including shoving a gun down her throat - she was surprised she was alive too some days. Some days it was hard to be alive too.
"I wasn't raped," she provided, almost in defense. She knew he knew and she hated that she had to remind him. It made her feel like he didn't believe her. Despite all the evidence. Despite the rape kit.
"Right," Will muttered. "He just 'sexually played' with you," he said and did the air quotes this is hands before wrapping his arms back around himself. "And that doesn't count, right …?"
Olivia sighed and looked down at the couch cushions again. "He didn't rape me," she said again.
Will looked at her. "But he touched you. I know he touched you. I can see it all over your body. You hardly let me touch you. He fucking touched you."
"You are having trouble letting me touch you too," she said quietly, though she couldn't bring herself to look at him.
"Yeah, but we both knew why. I got to hear his version of events played out in a fucking courtroom full of people. Him making you say … such … bullshit."
She felt the tears stinging again and let out a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. His knee was bouncing again.
"Tell the fucking jury to be sorry. And the judge who let that shit go on. And Barba. And the whole fucking NYPD while you're at it. They can … they should … all be fucking sorry."
She let out another staggered breath and forced herself to look up at him. She forced herself to try to keep the tears in.
"I know that … right now … after the trial … and with all this … you're having trouble being around me. And, I really do understand, Will. So I just want you to know … it's OK if you … need out of here … or out of this. I don't blame you," she said. But the tears started running down her face and she reached up and wiped at them. It didn't help. More kept on coming.
"What?" Will stuttered out at her.
He was finally actually looking at her and he looked stunned. Really stunned – not that questionable blank look from before. The confusion and outright terror that was painting across his face was almost sending her in a panic too and she felt her chest starting to tighten and almost shake with the sobs she didn't want to impair her ability to speak.
"I don't want you to feel trapped," she did sob though. "I just … I know this is a mess. I'm a mess. We're a mess. These past eight months have been hell, Will. But this past month with … without you … it's unbearable. But I can't keep living like this. With you here but not here. I don't think you want to be here. And I don't blame you. I love you. But I don't know what to do anymore. And I can't keep … doing … this. So … don't feel like you have to stay … for me … . Because I'll be fine, Will. It's OK."
Will gapped at her and started shaking his head madly. "That's not OK," he protested and his head kept shaking until his own tears started rolling down his cheek. "No. That's not OK," he stuttered again.
And, finally he reached and pulled her to him. Those inches closed and for the first time in weeks she felt her husband's arms go around her and found her head finding his shoulder and the crook of his neck. She was shaking with her cries but he was shaking so badly too she was having trouble distinguishing where each of their sobs began and ended.
"I'm not leaving," he sobbed. "I'm not. I haven't even thought of that. Please don't be thinking like that."
"Will …" she sobbed into his shoulder. "You already feel gone. You … won't talk to me. You won't touch me. You hardly look at me. I … feel … like … you hate me. You can't stand me. … Or to be around me."
He held her tighter. His grip almost became crushing and his damp cheek fell against the hair on the top of her head. He rubbed his there and she could feel him shaking more. His breath quivering through her hair and his teeth chattering as he tried to find some sort of composure – unsuccessfully.
"It's not that," he finally managed to push out in staggered breaths. "It's not any of that. I'm just … I feel … so … fucked up right now … and I just don't … know how to deal with it. Or what to do. I just … I don't know what's happening. I'm sorry. But I'm not leaving, Liv. I love you. I'm not going anywhere."