*
In the crowded squadroom, Olivia can still hear his breathing over the ringing of phones and the chatter of their colleagues; she wonders briefly if pregnancy comes with super-powers like extra-sensitive hearing. Or a heightened sense of smell. Or projectile vomiting.
She has been living her life as a conscientous mother-to-be for two weeks now, and the sensation that someone Upstairs is playing a practical joke overwhelms her at times. Her nights in bed are spent praying to whatever's up there, her hand on her stomach and her eyes on the ceiling. Let this be real, she thinks. Please let this be real.
Sometimes she is thirteen years old again and her mother is on the phone with her friend. Serena had preferred keeping her past and her private life, well, private, but she'd gone through a phase where she'd found it acceptable to have a friend, a fellow faculty member at the school. It was brief, brief like her mother's infatuation with Jane Fonda work-out tapes and her appreciation for Captain and Tennille.
Olivia can still hear her mother's side of those conversations, coming in hushed whispers through the walls in her memory.
"I remember thinking, 'This can't be real. This cannot be happening.' Like a loop, over and over." Pause. Olivia could hear her mother inhale shakily, the kind of breath that routinely accompanied tears. "I didn't know how to raise a child… I still don't know how. Sometimes I still don't know if it's real. And she's just there all the time, looking at me, just watching, waiting for me to do something wrong. Sometimes I just want to scream…"
Not-so-coincidentally, that particular phase of her mother's quickly became a time when Olivia learned to appreciate being alone with loud music in her room.
Ambiguous maternal instincts aside, Serena had done what she could as a mother. Olivia has to believe this, has to believe that her mother was sick and damaged and not just incapable of loving her only child. She has to believe this just like she has to believe that she can do better.
Let this be real, she pleads again silently. Let this be real.
The rest of her time she is firmly entrenched in the present, working with a man who has not managed to look her in the eye once since she broke the big news four days before.
"Olivia?"
Startled, she blinks at him. Obviously her pre-natal super-powers are lacking, because otherwise she would have detected the change in Elliot's breathing as he'd stopped working and began trying to get her attention.
He looks blankly, pointedly at her abdomen. "Everything okay?"
Her eyes follow his gaze to her torso, where her fingers are absently moving in a circular motion. Of course her stomach is flat – nothing to proclaim that, at the moment, she is so much more than just herself. And of couse she looks ridiculous. She clears her throat and fights the heat that washes over her face. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks."
Because the thing of it is, she is elated and terrified to be pregnant, and as incredible as the thought is, the joy she feels is often shoved to the back of her mind by the dark, hulking questions in her mind.
How will she keep her job?
Should Kurt know?
Is she crazy to think she can do this?
Will Elliot ever stop looking like someone tazed him in the nuts?
*
Human Resources takes a sudden interest in every aspect of Olivia's wellbeing; she has filled out approximately two feet of paperwork stating that she won't sue the city for choosing to stay in her position in SVU.
It finally feels real when she does the big reveal to Casey at lunch one day and the response is just what Olivia needs; Novak stares at her with a grin, asks, "Are you shitting me?" and orders Olivia a piece of chocolate mousse pie. "For the mother-to-be," she triumphantly announces to the waitress.
It is a moment of female bonding, compromised only by the fact that Olivia is still wearing her service weapon and Casey is due in court in twenty minutes.
Casey actually hugs her after lunch – hugs her! – like Olivia has announced she is moving to the moon or has been diagnosed with an incurable disease, but it's something. It's more than Elliot is doing, and fuck it all but there is a very quiet space in her life where her big dumb man animal of a partner used to be. Elliot is a shadow now, a guardian angel who monitors her every move. He has yet to engage in a conversation about the fact that she – Olivia Benson – is actually expecting offspring, but he has taken upon himself the sacred duty of making sure she doesn't do anything not mentioned in What to Expect When You're Expecting.
"Seriously?" she asks him the day he grabs a box of files from her. "It's like, five pounds."
"Not supposed to carry things in front of you," he throws over his shoulder.
Well then.
Her co-workers have been surprisingly considerate; she had braced herself for jokes from John about alien babies and conspiracy theories, but so far he has been the consummate gentleman. Even Fin smiles and gives her a quick hug. "Don't overdo it," he cautions.
From his position behind her, always hovering behind her, she can feel Elliot's quiet assent. It has taken one broken condom to turn her colleagues into three sloppy guard dogs.
*
"You know where you're transferring to yet?" Elliot asks her on a muggy New York sidewalk. A hot dog vendor has the nerve to peddle his wares within two miles of her and her stomach is turning; Elliot's question is the best thing to get her mind off of the smell.
"Um," she swallows. "I've already talked to HR. I'm staying."
They are at a crosswalk, and he stares at her. "Okay. But I meant after."
After…?
He sees the blank look on her face. "After… the birth. After the baby's born, where you'll work. Do you know yet?"
She nods slowly, because she's so, so sure at this point that one of them is missing something obvious. "Yes," she affirms. "After. I'll be at SVU. Cragen said you'll probably have to have a tempor—"
"You're staying?"
"—ary partner. Yes, I'm staying."
He doesn't say anything, but his eyes stay narrowed for approximately three days and she's sure this won't be the last she hears of it.
*
Chase Witten is an eighteen year old kid with severe acne, a history of manifesting the sociopathic triad, and the unfortunate distinction of being spotted by a witness at the crime scene. He also bears the distinction, Olivia thinks later, of making the shit hit the fan.
Chase is halfway down the steps in front of his high school entrance and decides to run when he sees Olivia and Munch approaching. All of suddent it's a chase and her doctor said she could run, she's always been a runner, so she pursues him, pushing her anxieties into the back of her head. Munch is behind her on the radio, a little too far behind for her liking, and she files this away in the back of her mind to tease him with later; the old man gets outrun by the pregnant woman in heels.
Chase is fast, but she's no slouch, and she's quickly gaining on him when she hears Fin yelling something she can't understand just as he and Elliot come crashing out of the school building through a side exit. She keeps her eye on Chase, pumping her legs faster and relishing the adrenaline. I am woman, she thinks. Roar.
"Olivia!" She recognizes Elliot's voice, but he's not giving her any information that makes her need to stop and she continues to run.
There are footsteps on the pavement to the rear and left of her, and then Elliot almost collides with her as their paths overlap and he outpaces her. He's fast, and she's ribbed him before about being outrun by her and she's pretty sure she could take him on a good day but… now he is running like a fucking sled-dog, several steps in front of her and gaining on Chase. She continues to push, wanting to get this one, hoping for Chase to slow down so she can have a better chance at him.
But it is too late, Elliot has decided to be Superman and has tackled the high school senior, who is writhing on the ground underneath a former Marine who doesn't take kindly to being forced into a footchase. She gets to them a second later as her partner cuffs Chase, and she reaches for their suspect's other arm to lead him to the car.
"The fuck did you come from?" she pants after he mirandizes the kid.
He ignores her as he puts Chase in the car; she gets most of her breath back as he slams the door before turning to face her. He looks Very Angry. "If you pull a stunt like that again," he says angrily, "I'll go to Cragen myself and have you put on desk duty."
She blinks. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he snaps. "The last thing I need is you getting hurt trying to apprehend a suspect."
New York is humid, and they are both sweating with the exertion of their run. The words fly out his mouth and linger in the summer air; Olivia absorbs the impact of them and she can feel the edges of her vision go red. She will not take this from him. She will kick his ass up and down this parking lot. She will—
Munch assesses the situation and calls to Elliot for the keys to their car. He and Fin apparently just want to get the hell out of Dodge.
"The last thing you need?" she asks incredulously. "Can you please explain to me—"
"Elliot!" Munch calls.
"I got it," Elliot calls back, before stalking to the driver's side of the squad car and pealing away with Fin.
Munch looks at her like he doesn't know what to say. She doesn't blame him.
*
Their meeting with Cragen is Not Going Well.
"Why is this even a discussion?" Elliot snarls at her, and she doesn't flinch because this is who Elliot has been for the past week. Apparently Olivia's decision not to transfer to Maintenance Staff is ruining his life.
He is standing beside her in physical terms only, his hands are on his hips and his elbow is jutting into her personal space; her peripheral vision detects that his fingers are flexing and unflexing and she thinks he might leave bruises on himself.
Cragen looks more and more tired with each private meeting they have had over the past several years, but this one takes the cake. She cannot imagine the state of his blood pressure. "Elliot," he says after a moment. "Olivia is aware that she is entitled to a transfer, if that's what she wants. Other than that, she's due for maternity and extended leave. If she's comfortable, she can continue in her position here as long as—"
"A pregnant sex crimes detective," her partner interrupts. His tone is splattering Rage all over the office walls. "She'll be more vulnerable in a fight, in a chase—hell, do I really need to remind everyone that the leading cause of death in pregnant women is homi—"
This is ridiculous and that is enough, and she says so. "Stop it, Elliot," she interrupts sharply.
Cragen continues, nonplussed. "As long as she is physically able to keep up her job performance, Olivia is within her rights to remain here until her maternity leave, whenever that may be." Cragen's eyes look old and pissy. "You of all people should appreciate the flexibility this unit has demonstrated concerning time off for family."
This hits close to home; everyone knows that Elliot's attendance record after Eli's birth was spotty, at best. "Bullshit," he bites out. "This isn't about family, it's about safety. It's about doing our jobs. Do you really think a serial rapist is going to be intimidated by a badge being flashed by a pregnant woman? Not to mention what could happen if—"
"I'm right here," she snaps. "If you have a problem you had damn well better address it to me. I'm not one of your fucking kids."
He turns, then, and she wishes he hadn't. He is well and truly pissed, and she would love to know what started it but at this point, she's pissed too and his reasons have ceased to matter. "I have a problem with you compromising your safety and the safety of your colleagues, going off half-assed—"
"Oh, give me a break!"
"—In some half-baked quest to prove you can have it all!"
They are practically toe-to-toe now, and she wonders somewhere in the back of her head if this is what Cragen does now, if he enjoys spending his days just waiting around for them to slug it out. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she demands. "You think I can't do my job just because I'm pregnant?"
She is sounding like a bad Lifetime movie, and their volume is increasing.
"You running off half-cocked after a murder suspect—"
"Oh, fuck you," she growls. "If you're going to question my judgment—"
"—pulling that Wonder Woman shit when you're—in your—"
"My what?" she snarls.
"That is enough," Cragen says firmly. Their boss hasn't flinched once. "Unless there are any performance-related problems you haven't told me about," he says evenly, looking at Elliot. "This meeting is over. Detective Benson will remain in this unit until either she sees fit to step back or I determine that she is unable to meet the standards of performance I expect from all of you."
She doesn't need to look at her partner to know that his jaw is clenched to a degree that is unhealthy for his molars. "Captain," she starts, but Elliot snaps out of it before she can finish and is heading for the door.
"Work this out," Cragen calls after him.
Slam.
He says nothing for a moment, and she refuses to let her recent moodiness get the best of her. The last thing she needs now is to start tearing up at Elliot being an asshole, especially given the recent frequency of the occurrence.
"What I just said, goes," Cragen states quietly. "You're welcome to stay, as long as that's in your best interest. That being said, I will not tolerate you endangering yourself just to keep up with your colleagues."
She nods, and there is an angry lump in her throat. Keep up with her colleagues, indeed. Has he seen Munch run? She could be carrying triplets and still outpace him. "Yes, sir," she manages.
"And you will begin to scale back in the next few months," he continues. "That's not me as your boss, it's me as your friend. So don't slap me with a discrimination suit just because I'm trying to look out for you."
Olivia smiles wanly. "Thank you."
He nods curtly. "That's all."
Elliot is not at his desk when she comes out of Cragen's office; she begins working on paperwork and doesn't even look up when he comes back from wherever he was twenty minutes later. There is still something frightening rolling off of him in waves, and she wishes he would take a class at the Learning Annex on How to Chill the Fuck Out.
It is several minutes before she ventures a look at him. He is staring, glaring at his computer screen and his face is a study in suppressed rage, all furrows and crags and shadows where his brows draw together over his eyes. She hasn't heard him hit a key for awhile, and his eyes aren't moving. He's just sitting there.
She clears her throat, loudly. Nothing.
"You speaking to me?" she asks after a moment.
His silence is the only answer she receives; she wallows in déjà vu and the rest of the afternoon cannot go fast enough.
*