It's late, and they're in the squad room, alone writing up their DD5's. As her pen moves she stares at the piece of paper before her. She can feel his eyes on her, trying to rip down her walls. His glance sears right through her. She takes a deep breath, and her head tilts in her direction. Her eyes move upwards, until they fall on his face. His dark eyes meet hers. He exhales, and takes another leap of faith.
"I want to hear the rest of the story," he insists.
"What story?" She tries to shrug it off.
"What you said in the car, earlier."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I think that you do. If you didn't you wouldn't have said anything."
"I shouldn't have said anything."
"Don't you ever get sick of living a lie?"
She breaks eye contact, "Every single day."
"If you don't want to do this here..."
"We have hours of paperwork left," she points out.
"We should go for coffee, real coffee," he suggests.
"Yeah."
"And doughnuts."
"Fine," she agrees.
She grabs her jacket, and allows him to lead the way to the elevator. They leave the building. Olivia stops upon reaching the sidewalk. She tosses her partner the keys to the car. The walk to the squad car is silent. He puts the key in the ignition, and waits for the silence to end. He pulls away from the curb, and begins to drive, never asking where they're headed.
"Tell me, the truth this time."
"I have a son," she repeats.
"Why doesn't anyone else know?"
"I wanted to protect him."
"From what?"
"Society, mostly."
"Mostly?"
She stares out the windshield, exhaling. With baited breath she answers, "And me too, maybe."
"Why would you need to protect him from you?"
"It's really complicated."
"How complicated?"
"You should pull over," she responds.
He pulls into the first parking space that he can find. He puts the car into park, and kills the engine. He looks over at him. She turns to look at him. Her facial expression tells him that there is no preparing him for what she's about to say.
"Olivia," he says just above a whisper.
"December thirty first two thousand and five."
"The day he was born?"
She shakes her head, "The day that he was conceived."
"That's the beginning of the story?"
"I went out for drinks after work, somehow I had managed to get off at a decent hour."
"You went to a bar?"
"Everyone I had gone with had other plans, so they left after a while."
"But not you," he baits her.
"The biggest mistake of my life."
"You kept drinking?"
"I was having a pity party, about spending another year of my life alone."
"Liv what are you telling me?"
"It was the first time that I met him."
"Met who?"
"Him," she answers.
"I don't understand."
"I had too much to drink, and I wasn't paying enough attention."
"Olivia what are you saying?"
"He must have followed me home," she explains, breaking eye contact.
"He followed you home?"
"I barely noticed him. He tried to buy me a drink at the bar, and I turned him down. I didn't realize who I was dealing with."
"Olivia..."
She cuts him off, "I managed to get into my apartment. As I was chaining the door someone knocked. I looked out the peephole, and saw him standing in my hallway."
"The guy from the bar?"
"Yeah."
"What happened next?"
"I didn't say anything. I pretended like I wasn't home."
"Then what?" He probes.
"He reached for the door handle. I stepped back, and reached for my gun. He pushed the door open part of the way. When he realized it was just the chain he kicked the door. I drew my weapon."
"You shot him?"
"He flew through the door, and I didn't react quickly enough. He knocked me to the ground. I hit my head, and when I came to..." she trails off.
"You can tell me," he reassures her.
"I was handcuffed to the bed with my own handcuffs. My gun was pointed to my head."
"He threatened to kill you?"
"More than once. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, and lit it. He held the gun with one hand, and I tried to get it away from him. I tried to kick it out of his hands. He put it down, just out of my reach, and he burnt me with the cigarette. I told him I had to be at work the next morning, and that someone would come looking for me," she blinks away tears.
"Olivia you can say it."
"I never told anyone," she reminds him.
"So tell me."
"I can't," she shakes her head.
"You want to protect your son?"
"I can't protect him. No one can. Not if he finds out."
Nicks furrows his brow, "I don't understand."
"Every single day I live a lie. I live with this big black cloud looming over my head. I have to go through each day with a secret that I feel certain will eventually devour me alive, or kill me. I don't know how much more I can take."
"Where is your son?" He switches gears.
"Why does it matter?"
"Please."
"Not with me."
"Olivia stop beating around the bush. Just put your cards on the table," he begs.
"December thirty first two thousand and five was the first time I met ..."