THIS CHAPTER COVERS THREE EPS AND THE A/N IS LONG SO I WON'T BE UPSET NOR WILL I KNOW IF YOU SCROLL DOWN TO WHERE THE STORY STARTS. I THINK IT'S THERE SOMEWHERE.
A Misunderstanding-Ladies and gentlemen, it's the Rita Calhoun show! Somebody knows somebody who knows somebody who can tell me how many takes it took to complete the not-all-lawyers-have-to-worry-about-their-next-meal zinger. OMFG. Oh, Rita. And also, Dear Writer Céline Robinson, OUCH…do you feel bad giving a script with a line like that to Delaney Williams? Or is that kind of stuff just collateral damage…oh fuck, I can't type collateral damage without thinking of #Tuckson on Valentine's Day and we're not quite there yet.
Oddly, the only people who didn't annoy me were Calhoun and Buchanan an beeeee-lieve me I have literally screamed "Oh fuck you" at my television multiple times because of something the two of them did or said. However, at the end of the day, I'll #ALWAYS side with OMB and I cannot give Calhoun a pass for defending Rudnick and especially saying something about how he was paying more for a better plea deal ok lemme get back to biz…
The ep wasn't exactly ripped from the headlines but did seem inspired by CA's affirmative consent law or maybe that east coast prep school case (sorry I don't feel like looking it up I've literally watched each of these three eps at least five times and I'm tired, yo!), and, I'm sorry to say, I gotta side with Barba on this one. I didn't think his heart was in it until the trial…and by then MY heart was no longer in it. At the risk of being excoriated in reviews and on social media, IDK what I would've done had I been on the jury.
Guys? Can we not talk about me in front of…me?
Forty-One Witnesses-As IF we needed another reason to love the shit out of Dominick Carisi, Jr., we get one more—he's Staten Island do-the-right-thing look-out-for-one-another LOYAL! That's some old school shit right there. Not once but TWICE he ripped bystanders a new one…not that they cared, of course…but ya gotta appreciate the effort. I may or may not have been doodling "Sonny" with little hearts substituted for the "o" in the margins of my notebook paper for three days after the episode aired.
Anyone else notice OMB generously doling out the compliments? In A Misunderstanding it was with Barba "good cross" then here she's all sweet to Carisi after he gets the café video and helps run down the perps, and then on the way out of court she good jobs Barba again. She even seems a little less hostile to Rollins which is admirable, considering the new mommy's sanctimony is off the freaking charts. Is this her continuing to grow into her leadership role or is she just buzzed up constantly 'cuz I know when I'm hitting the bottle I'm ALL ABOUT the love to the point I'll praise you for breathing.
Oh, that was bad.
Because for real, OMB looks like shit (well, as much as MH can look like shit) in these eps. And if ya didn't believe she was struggling, fast forward to the end of 41 and OH LOOK! Her two loves—Noah and wine. I can relate because I was drinking way more than usual from this point to Assaulting Reality because I was worried about OMB's drinking. Y'all, remind me every once in a while that these are FAKE PEOPLE.
FFS.
Remember #RainCheck? That phone call was a really cruel thing to do after "Tucker…thank you." But it was fun breaking Twitter with ya'll speculating about it. I, for one, knew it was Tucker all along. It was, wasn't it?
Oh, and, Rollins? Shut up.
Nationwide Manhunt- Oh thank God, one last go-round withDallas Roberts and Jefferson Mays because I just can't get enough of those two.
Was anyone else expecting a cameo from Morgan Freeman? Or Tim Robbins?
I hearted this ep and the only thing I don't like about it is that on Hulu, even though the second part was Chicago PD they should be linked together so I don't have to toggle between two shows when I'm re-re-re-re-re-watching to write a fic about them.
Barba, as we now know, had been receiving threats…was that why he was so skittish at the prison? That was a little, uh, OOC and startling….but so was the cost of that Uber ride.
OMB goes from looking like she's about to pass out at the beginning, to almost strangling that whack job Bronwyn (is there a scientific name/medical condition for attraction to serial killers?) to a wise, veteran sage at the end. It was a not-insignificant moment she had in the bar with Detective Lindsay. I stand by this statement with 100% confidence. I didn't realize it then, but OMB discovered something about herself there.
Look at me getting all introspective.
On a lighter note, I would like to recommend Carisi and Rollins stop the vending machine convos. They never end well.
…..
Olivia knew she should put Noah in his bed before she fell asleep holding him, but she wasn't quite ready to relinquish the comfort of his warm little body plastered to hers. Before he came into her life, she never bothered thinking too far into the future, assuming things would remain relatively the same, revolving, as they had for almost two decades, around the Special Victims Unit.
Separating her career from motherhood was impossible, especially since cases continually presented ominous warnings of potential challenges she and Noah would have to face as he grew up. Especially daunting was the realization that she could not constantly be by his side, monitoring his decision-making processes and ensuring his safety.
Nos Messis Cerasa? The Cherry Pickers club?
School darkrooms? See what develops?
How could she best prepare Noah to navigate these teenage traps? As the parent of a toddler she worried about falls and burns and his fragile yet improving lungs; worrying about his well-being was often torturous. And he's only two years old. She looked over at her empty wine glass, streaked with remnants of the Chianti she'd finished earlier. If only she could slow time; she dreaded the anxiety of raising a teenager, particularly raising a teenage boy as a single mom.
Slowing time, though, meant slowing the painful process of recovering from her latest trauma. She tried to tell everyone—Lindstrom, Tucker, Barba, herself—that being held captive by Joe Utley in no way compared to what she'd experienced with William Lewis. Utley and his crew were nervous, unsure of themselves, scared, and disorganized. Yes, she'd been terrified, but, even when her hands were tied and Joe held a gun to her head, she still was able to seize a great deal of control from this captor.
Noah stirred, crinkling his nose and smacking his lips like he did when he was an infant searching for his pacifier. Olivia let him resettle into her chest and resumed her snug grasp. She ran her fingers through his hair, his berry scented shampoo wafting into her nostrils, perfectly pleasant, and she wondered if what Dr. Lindstrom had been alluding to was actually the right path.
Maybe she should stop.
Almost two years ago, when she found herself again at the mercy of William Lewis and faced again with possible death, she believed, for a moment, that saving Amelia was her final deed as a police officer. As she and Lewis passed the revolver back and forth, it became apparent that someone was leaving the granary in a body bag, and Benson briefly believed it would be her. Lewis, the narcissistic psychopath would slip away again, terrorize more people, manipulate his way out of the justice system, and Sergeant Olivia Benson's death would be mourned then fade into the distance, another name on the list of officers killed in the line of duty.
But she survived. She conquered Lewis, yet as she stood there, shocked, blood and brain matter splattered all over her body, she felt absolutely hollow. Emotionless. Detached.
Nothing.
Not even a tiny sense of relief. Not for Amelia. Not for herself.
Absolutely nothing.
Conversely, during and after this most recent incident, Noah was all she could think about—he was her life, she lived for him—and she could not forgive herself for entering a situation that could have, for the second time in his life, rendered him motherless. She replayed that morning over and over in her head. As soon as Lisa Crivello answered the door, Benson instinctively knew something was awry. Why not step back? Call for backup? Was she that overconfident?
Or, maybe, she was distracted, blissfully blinded, buoyed by optimism—she could be a good cop and a good mother, that, she had proven.
Enter Tucker. Add him. Factor in that wonderful New Year's Eve. She'd been floating on air, cheerful…almost unrecognizable she was so happy…but was that her?
Was there really room for him in her life? Or was this going to turn into something else she would have to worry about? Handle? Watch as it crumbled into yet another disappointment?
Noah moved again, and Olivia finally took him to his own bed. There, he relaxed, splayed his arms over his head, and, even asleep, almost looked grateful to be in bed where he could fall into a deep slumber.
"Good night, sweet Noah," she whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips and then to the side of his head. She watched him sleep for a few more minutes.
Peaceful.
Content.
The only thing in her life not followed by a gigantic question mark.
….
Benson poured herself a second drink and listened as Barba griped. He'd been pessimistic about the Abby Parker case from the beginning, but after Buchanan and the Roberts family refused to negotiate a deal, the ADA fervently went after Chris only to get a conviction on the misdemeanor. He was pissed. Even though he knew the felony charge was a long shot, Barba entered the murky waters and made, what he thought, was a solid argument for felony attempted rape, and he went all in with the charges. Rafael hated losing, especially when the verdict was the same as what they could have done with a plea deal.
"At least Rita Calhoun got to camp out on the right side of the law for what? A week?" He sneered. "So that's what? Twice in the last few years?" Barba turned away from Benson and stared out into the downtown skyline, regretting the vague reference to Olivia's post-Lewis legal conundrum.
The Lieutenant ignored his blunder. "Just to be clear, we're not friends," she said brusquely. For Benson, Rita so ardently defending the clearly guilty Rudnick was an unforgiveable offense which cast a long, dark shadow over her more noble endeavors. Once Rita found out she and Tucker were now involved, Benson couldn't imagine Calhoun as anything other than, at best, a professional acquaintance.
….
"I'm fine, Rollins. Thank you for asking. Don't…" Olivia waved her pen around, trying to steady her voice. If people would stop asking and just let me work, I would be even better. "Don't worry about me. We are all very much looking forward to seeing you tomorrow."
Lieutenant Benson ended the call and stared absent-mindedly at the desk full of paperwork. One PP had been kind enough to give her an extension on her end-of-year statistics report, but as the altered deadline neared, a mountain of new files piled on top of the old ones. Lucy planned to stay late on Wednesdays, and this was supposed to be another long night for Benson; however, concentration and focus eluded her, the numbers and words blurred on the DD5s, and a dull ache gnawed at the inside of her forehead. Other than the night officers on duty, Benson was alone in the precinct. She was very serious about looking forward to Rollins' return. With a full squad, including the continually-improving Sergeant Dodds, Benson could better delegate SVU duties.
Knowing any further attempts at working would turn out fruitless, Olivia sent a text to Tucker and departed. Lucy wouldn't expect her for at least another couple hours and she figured seeing Ed would be a welcome diversion from the hollow victory of the squad's most recent case and the nagging administrative responsibilities that would be waiting for her tomorrow morning. Besides, she owed Ed some alone time. During her mandatory time off, they'd spent most evenings together, but she soon jumped right back in to cop mode. Between SVU and Noah, Olivia managed to wear herself out enough that she was finally able to sleep for a few consecutive hours at night. When pushing herself to the point of total exhaustion failed, she preferred to be alone. Sure, she could have asked Ed to come over and he surely would have, but, in her gloomy, reclusive state, she'd be terrible company and that wasn't fair to him.
Lately, it was as if a black cloud of uncertainty hung over her at all times—a walk to the market may or may not include a vision of Lewis or Utley, a normal night of dinner, playtime, and bed time stories with her son could culminate in the most horrific, terrifying nightmare, and smile-inducing thoughts of Ed Tucker always fizzled into scathing analyses of the glaring, inherent defects of their relationship. She was too busy. There would be too many conflicts of interest. What was he going to do? Be Noah's father? After he'd already raised his kids? Right. He'd retire in a few years and retirement meant vacations in tropical locales without the inconvenience of chasing after a small child.
But she liked him. She wondered what he was doing when he wasn't around. She cared about him. He obviously cared about her; Olivia even sensed he more than just cared about her. No longer did she critically look backwards at their past; Ed Tucker was a good man, complicated, yes, but a good man who had learned some important lessons in the past few years. They'd successfully moved on from the old hostilities, but it was their collective rearranging of the future that unsettled her.
He made her happy.
But he couldn't make her unbroken.
She had to battle this latest round of demons on her own. The struggle was hers. He couldn't understand it; therefore, it was unnecessary for him to be bothered with it.
….
Ed concealed his concern and hugged her before she stepped into his apartment. She'd pulled her hair back into a clip and most of her makeup had fallen victim to the long day. Dark circles pooled under her eyes, contrasting dramatically with the relative pallor of the rest of her face. Instead of relaxing, her body stiffened in his embrace. He held her back at arm's length, brow furrowed, and asked, "Everything ok?"
She brushed back imaginary strands of hair and fluttered her eyelids. "Everything's fine. A lot going on and I'm beat. And I'd love a drink."
"Sure."
Ed prepared two bourbons and Olivia removed her coat and shoes and collapsed onto the couch in a huff. She gratefully accepted the glass and gulped nearly half of it on the first drink.
"Musta been a rough one," Ed remarked with a smirk, "What—"
"Can we not talk about it?"
"Sure."
"Or anything that has to do with the NYPD?"
"Gladly."
Tucker ignored the alarm bells blaring in his head as Olivia practically dove on top of him. There was, he assumed, great distance between not talking about NYPD and sex, especially the aggressive sex she seemed to be initiating. After the near-tragedy they'd recently weathered together, it became apparent that it would take a while to get back to where they'd been on New Year's Day. Now Olivia was simultaneously tugging at his shirt and his belt while keeping her lips pressed firmly to his. Tucker's reaction, other than the inevitable physiological one, was somewhere between being worried and being deliciously turned on.
He managed to coax her to the bedroom yet Olivia insisted on maintaining physical contact, so, on their way, they collided with walls and tables, jostling a framed nineteenth-century depiction of Times Square and nearly knocking over a lamp.
Ed pushed it back into its standing position.
Time was of the essence. They didn't have long.
Both Ed and Olivia operated with a sense of urgency, frantically flinging clothes into corners, biting, sucking, moving way faster than the first time, and hungrily pursuing one another.
The deeper he went, the further away she drifted, but he still felt immensely important, integral, he didn't know exactly why or how, but every move Olivia made indicated he was somehow essential and necessary and needed.
And then it was over.
Side by side they came to rest on their backs, panting, dizzy, almost disoriented with dreamy looks on their faces. They both snuck glances at one another at the same time and laughed at their failed attempt at covertness after which Tucker lifted her into his arms.
"I missed you," he said into her hair.
"It's been crazy," she replied, almost slurring.
Crazy.
Even while holding a naked Olivia Benson in his arms, Tucker could not ignore the problem. He wanted to be in her life. All of it. But she either didn't realize that or didn't want it. He understood, after the townhouse, she needed time, space…she needed to heal, but in his mind he was going to be there for her and, in the process, it would bring them closer together. She would see yet another side of him, but, apparently, she either didn't want that part of Ed Tucker or, more probable, didn't know it existed. But he wasn't going there tonight. For the remaining hour or so they had together, he'd just hold her.
…..
Olivia frantically tossed things around her bedroom and then repeated the same movements in the living room.
Where was the fucking shield?
The sun had just risen. SVU had been summoned to Libby Parker's residence, Lucy was on her way over, and Olivia had no credentials.
Except for the Sergeant's badge she was supposed to turn in but never actually got around to delivering to One PP.
That would have to do for now.
On the way to the scene she grabbed her phone to text Tucker but noticed a message from him already there.
You left your shield here, Lieutenant. I'll bring it by later.
Somewhere in her haste to get her clothes off and then back on again, the badge had been propelled into obscurity in Tucker's very tidy apartment.
On my way to a scene now. With Sgt badge.
Want me to meet you there?
That might make things worse.
Tucker frowned. Worse? He didn't respond because he didn't like what he'd just read. Worse indicated something was already bad. They'd had some really amazing sex. Other than her having to go home afterwards and him sensing not all was completely well with her, it had been perfect. So, it actually wasn't perfect. But it still wasn't bad.
Worse?
What the hell was she talking about?
He hoped whatever case she'd been called to handle would at least free her for lunch. This he had to clarify.
Worse?
Wasn't it a little bit funny that, in the throes of passion, her badge had slid out of sight only to be found by him five minutes ago as he put things in order before he left for the day?
Tucker called her.
"Hey."
"Hey," she replied, blankly, "I'm kinda—"
"I know you're in the middle of somethin' but lemme know when you get a break and I'll meet you. No one'll know."
Olivia's tension dissipated a bit. "Thanks." She told him where they were. "Or I can come get it. I'll let you know once I know what we're dealing with."
"Maybe lunch?"
"Maybe."
Tucker heard a screech and then what must have been the car door opening. "I really have to go," she said breathlessly, "I'm late as it is."
Her tone bothered him. "Talk to you later," he snapped, a little hurt.
She said something, it could've been "ok" or it could've been "bye." Whatever it was, Tucker took it personally.
…...
Olivia reunited with her Lieutenant's shield later that morning; she didn't have time for lunch or even a coffee, so Tucker met her on the street in front of IAB and handed over the badge. Olivia affixed it to her belt, taking longer than a seasoned cop would normally take. "Dinner later?" Tucker studied her and tried to make eye contact but she seemed to be purposely avoiding it.
"Noah was congested this morning when I left. I better not. I'm actually running some meds to Lucy now before I head back. I don't want this to get worse."
"Yeah," Tucker murmured, "His lungs."
"He's been better lately, but this cold..."
"It's bad for him."
Olivia finally met his gaze. "Yeah, it is," she replied.
Talking about Noah, even an under-the-weather Noah softened the edginess in her features and in her tone. Tucker wanted to say so many things to her, but he held back, knowing now was definitely not the time for an impromptu heart-to-heart.
"Well, good luck…with whatever's goin' on."
His forlorn countenance briefly cut through Olivia's thick skin. "It's, uh, not looking good. But they never do. Thanks, uh, want this?" She held out the gold Sergeant's shield.
Tucker raised his eyebrows, "You want me to return it?"
Olivia grimaced, annoyed with herself, "Oh, yeah, never mind. Um." She peered at his hand clutching her elbow.
"So call." He urged, unable to hide a shiver. He hadn't bothered to put on his coat. In a second, and after forcing a smile, she was behind the wheel of the sedan heading uptown to deliver cold medicine to her son.
…
Two days later, on a bleak Saturday afternoon, Benson and her detectives tracked down Ronnie and Juan in Brooklyn. The two suspects led them on a foot chase, but the younger, more agile young men sprinted themselves into a trap. Carisi, already annoyed with the pervasive apathy among potential witnesses, sarcastically taunted the crowd as they led the boys away in handcuffs. Later, he sheepishly entered Benson's office and apologized.
"Lieutenant," he said, his head hanging down, "I'm sorry for…earlier…that outburst was uncalled for. I'm just so frustrated…nobody wanting to help or be involved? That's not the way I was raised. That's not the way the world should be."
The idealism widened the soft spot Olivia had developed for her young detective. Lately he'd been coming into his own, he was more confident and decisive, and his instincts were spot on. He managed to procure the video from the coffee shop and basically ran point on the Brooklyn bust. He was doing a great job and Benson told him so.
"I get it, Carisi. And I wasn't gonna say anything, but since you're in here…"
Carisi smiled like a kid who knew his punisher's reprimand was neither sincere nor genuine. "It won't happen again." He assured her.
"Ok. We have to maintain professionalism. Be sure not to make NYPD look bad in the media." Olivia half-winked from behind her glasses; she hated the political part of the job.
Carisi nodded and got back to business. "Right, Lieutenant. We hear back from TARU about that second cell phone yet?"
"Not yet. Dodds is on it. You can go home for the night, Carisi, you've been on this case nonstop."
"I'll stay," Carisi insisted, "See it through til the end."
"Ok," Olivia replied, admiring his dedication. "Don't be afraid to take a break, though."
"Ten-four Lieu."
Carisi spun on his heel and bounded out, leaving Olivia dumbfounded.
Lieu?
…
You don't get to make those mistakes anymore.
Rollins' words echoed in Olivia's head as she made her way home from the courthouse. Amanda's sanctimony irritated her at first—she'd been a mother for two months and now she was passing judgement on others? However, the detective was not without demons of her own and maybe she'd simply been parroting advice she'd been giving herself since having Jesse. Surely, Amanda felt the stress of being a new single mother; Olivia could obviously relate. Stress exposed weakness, and she hoped Rollins' time in Gamblers Anonymous diverted her to a healthier path and hoped she was not tempted to fall into destructive yet familiar habits as she juggled her new responsibilities.
Benson ducked into her neighborhood market and emerged with a bottle of wine. Distracted while pulling on her gloves and tucking her wallet back into her purse, she bumped into a patron as he entered.
"S'cuse me," the man muttered without paying her any more attention.
Outside, Olivia leaned back against the stone façade and breathed deeply. The two seconds of contact so unsettled her that she needed a quick reset before continuing down the busy street. Pedestrians blurred together in a grayish early-evening mass. She readied herself to see his face, that's what usually happened—the smug, sneering William Lewis would appear slowly, as if on a computer screen, his features forming pixel by pixel, slowly taunting her.
Tonight, though, he didn't show up.
Olivia unclenched her fists, took another breath, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and blended in with the sparse but steady Tuesday night crowd before turning onto her street.
Noah's minor congestion thankfully stayed minor, and he went to bed without fussing or clinging to her neck as he usually did when he wasn't feeling well. Still in her work clothes, Olivia uncorked the wine and drank the first glass while straightening the kitchen. The mundane task seemed to conjure thoughts of Tucker. After her first refill, she called him.
As he often did, he picked up and began speaking as if they were already in the middle of a conversation. "Go ok today?" He asked
"Yep, guilty verdicts for everyone."
Tucker liked hearing her more upbeat. "Noah feeling better?"
"He's good. He's sleeping like a baby."
"And you?"
"Me? I'm fine." Olivia took a drink.
"The commissioner checked in—"
"I took the mandatory time off and, yes, I'm seeing my shrink."
"I could come over," Tucker suggested.
"Well, that does sound like more fun," Olivia replied. "Rain check?"
"Soon?"
"Ok."
"Soon. I miss you, Lieutenant."
"Ok. Me too."
"Night, Olivia."
"Bye."
….
"Sorry I'm late," Olivia said breathlessly, taking the last remaining free spot at the bar. Tucker had been saving it for her. Uneasy at his silence, she apologized again. "Sorry. Chicago's in town. Yates. Again. I'm starting to think he'll never go away."
She'd already been drinking, most likely with the Windy City visitors, but he didn't care. "Leather again," he remarked approvingly, gently rubbing the sleeve of her blazer between his thumb and forefinger.
Olivia appreciated the change of subject. While Tucker toyed with her jacket, Yates and Rudnick currently occupied cells twenty feet away from one another in Green Haven's honor block. Benson had finally warmed up to the fact that Rollins knew Yates better than anyone, but making deals with sociopathic serial killers would always induce qualms.
"Yes," she replied, "Leather again. And," she copied his movements on his sleeve, "A dark suit again."
A more prominent red flooded his already flushed cheeks. Sassy Benson was back. She recognized she'd embarrassed him and scooted the stool closer so their legs were touching and, without any extra effort, they sat shoulder to shoulder—a barroom cuddle-slash-apology.
"I can't be out too late," she said, "We have to go up to Green Haven tomorrow."
"Why's that?"
Olivia reminded herself yet again that Tucker didn't have an all-access pass to all things SVU. "He claims he has information on more girls, more…remains we've found. Rollins and Carisi took a pass at him today, but from now on he's gonna have to talk to me. Rollins—she gets him, but he gets to her…too close to her."
"Like, gets in her head?"
"I think so. It gets to the point when you know a perp so well like that…it's almost a codependency. It doesn't necessarily compromise the case, but I don't want it to complicate Rollins."
"Yeah," Tucker mused, "Same thing with HNT." He froze. Hostage negotiation. Less than a month ago she was a hostage; except for the immediate aftermath, they'd been avoiding the topic.
"Same thing how?"
Knots formed in Tucker's stomach, "Haveta make a connection to get everyone outta there," He expelled the words in rapid-fire fashion, wanting to quickly change the subject.
Olivia didn't let him. She squeezed his arm, "From what I've seen, you're good at it."
He shrugged off the compliment, "That was different."
"How so?"
"You were in there."
Olivia sat back, stunned. Were his eyes watering? "It was helpful, for you, for anyone, to have another cop inside." Her comment was more suggestion than observation.
He shook his head, partially disagreeing. Sure, they both deserved credit, well, she deserved most of it, for the mostly-peaceful resolution. "I meant," he replied shakily. How should he put this? "You. As in Olivia, not Lieutenant Benson."
It was as close to a declaration of love he'd dared to express, and Olivia immediately regretted her recent aloofness, except, of course, for the tryst in his apartment which was more about her needing to leave reality for a while than an expression of mutual affection.
She finished her drink in one gulp and dug in her purse for her wallet. Placing a few bills on the bar, she nudged his glass. "Drink up," she challenged, cocking an eyebrow, "Let's get out of here."
…
By the time they apprehended Bronwyn Freed-Wilkins, Yates and Rudnick had been on the loose for almost twenty-four hours and Benson had been awake for longer than that. She was beyond exhausted, and in addition to being furious that Yates had, yet again, manipulated everyone and usurped control of the situation, she had to hold flashes of Lewis at bay which proved nearly impossible.
Another sociopathic serial killer had escaped custody taking with him the eccentric, slightly-less-deranged-but-still-volatile Doctor Rudnick, cell mate of Jose Silva. The Jose Silva who was one of the first people they'd interviewed when Lewis initially fell off the radar after being released on his own recognizance on the lewdness charge.
Bronwyn Freed, wayward patron saint of serial killers was, for the second time, the accomplice. Not only that, Barba intentionally shielded Benson from the news that he was unable to make the charges against Bronwyn stick, and she'd emerged unscathed with no criminal record.
Benson seethed as Bronwyn defended her actions and refused to back down, even when Barba said, "Liv, we got this."
"No." She fumed, "I'm not gonna coddle her. You helped two serial killers escape from prison. Whatever they do to ANYONE while they're out is on you."
Incredulously, Benson paced as Bronwyn argued that Rudnick had dealt with his dark side.
"He chopped a woman into little pieces!" Benson felt herself losing control, all restraint draining from her body, her muscles tensed, and her jaw tightened; if she and Bronwyn had been in that room alone, there's no telling what would have happened.
"That's not the man I know."
"Oh my God."
In over two decades of police work, a veteran officer like Olivia Benson had seen it all; but this level of delusion was one of the most severe and most disturbing she'd ever witnessed. In front of her was a woman who had indirectly caused imaginable suffering for innumerable people, including Olivia herself, and, like Lewis, like the most pesky, invasive species in existence, she just kept coming back.
It would have been so easy to shoot her right there in the interrogation room. Rid the world of this awful person. Benson would've been doing everyone a favor; locking up Bronwyn was a temporary fix. Something…more permanent…needed to be done.
But she wasn't alone with Bronwyn. The cooler heads of Rollins and Barba prevailed and Olivia deferred to them, suddenly not trusting herself to set aside her inner turmoil and conduct an objective interrogation.
After Rudnick spilled the escape plan to Carisi, border patrol and AFT took over; obviating any further involvement from the SVU detectives. Benson ordered Dodds and Detective Lindsay back, and she, Rollins, Carisi, and Barba headed back to the city. Benson flipped the keys to Rollins, hoping she didn't mind driving.
"I'm good, Lieutenant," she said.
They hadn't been in the car for twenty minutes before Benson got the call.
"Damnit," she muttered. "Turn around, Rollins."
Alarmed, Rollins slammed on the brakes in the middle of the two-lane highway. "What is it?"
"Dodds took a bullet. Non-fatal, but we need to get to the hospital."
Benson stared contemplatively into the night as Rollins retraced their route back to Caroga Lake Hospital.
Was this ever going to end?
….
Benson Sunday afternoon at home with Noah and attempted to catch a few hours' sleep while he napped. She was in almost constant contact with Voight, and once it was clear Yates had struck again in Chicago, she and Fin quickly made plans to fly out early Tuesday morning to assist in apprehending him.
She had Tucker on speaker as she packed a carryon bag.
"This is his last stand," Olivia said, "A night, maybe two, tops. He wants to be caught."
"How's Dodds?"
"He'll be fine," Olivia said, "Got hit in the shoulder." She found some sweats and shoved them in the bag alongside a change of work clothes. She debated whether or not to bring a more casual outfit before deciding against it. Tucker was silent for so long she almost forgot he was on the phone.
"Still there?" She asked.
"Yeah, hey, what…who…stays with Noah when you have to go at the last minute like this?"
"That depends, but Lucy is coming in the morning. He'll go to day care and she'll pick him up. Her mom will watch him while she's at her night class. Tuesday's not her usual day to work evenings."
Tucker cleared his throat. "Want me to stay with him? At least while she's in class?"
Olivia froze and tried to control her facial expression as if he could see her. Lucy would probably appreciate not having to cart Noah all over the city. She trusted Tucker. Little by little he chipped away at the walls she'd constructed around her life with her son, and Noah had easily warmed up to him. It was just a few hours. Olivia had to give a quick answer, but it didn't stop her from obsessing about what this meant for their relationship.
"Are you sure?" She asked doubtfully, trying to give him a way out of what could have been a spontaneous, regrettable offer on his part.
"Yeah." Tucker would have offered to keep him for the entire night, but he wisely decided it would be a bit too generous.
"I'll let Lucy know."
…..
Fin dropped Olivia off at the 21st District. Their work in Chicago finished but it being too late to catch a flight back home, he and Olivia had reserved hotel rooms for the night.
"Want me to wait for you?" Fin asked.
"No, go ahead, it's been a long day. I'll have Voight give me a lift or take a cab."
"Sure?"
"Fin," she shot him a look that said stop worrying about me, "I'll be fine."
"Text me when you get in."
"Okay."
She made her way up to the Intelligence Unit just as the televised press conference was wrapping up. Voight was obviously happy to see her, yet the mood among the officers and the room's general ambiance reeked of melancholy. Yates' death was bittersweet.
"I, we, appreciate you comin' over here," Voight said, "You didn't haveta do that."
"We had to see it through to the end," Olivia said, "Our case, too."
"You know, what Erin went through, that can…that can screw a person up for a while."
Olivia paused, swallowed, acknowledging his unspoken point. "For what it's worth, she's got me to walk her through it."
"I wish you were here more often," Voight replied, "You'd be good for her."
Olivia didn't have time to process or deflect the underlying meaning hidden in I wish you were here more often. Erin emerged and made a few stops in the precinct before pulling her coat on to leave. Olivia suggested the two of them grab a drink, and the young detective eagerly accepted.
Erin's first question was one Olivia had asked herself many times.
Is it wrong that I'm kind of relieved that I'm the one who killed him?
Olivia responded with the practical answer.
No. Of course not.
But she knew what Erin was thinking. What does it say about a person who is actually relieved they've killed someone else? Even if that someone else deserved to die? Was the very act of pulling the trigger the ultimate victory for Yates? Or, in Olivia's case, for Lewis?
That's what you're up against, Erin.
Detective Lindsay's youth could work in her favor. With time and therapy and more experience, recovery was possible, yet Erin's independence and steely inner strength reminded Olivia of herself. Twenty years ago, Detective Olivia Benson would have balked at any form of external assistance not required by the NYPD. But resisting professional help would inevitably invite a devastating collapse. Olivia hoped Erin would, at least, call her for support instead of opting to go it alone.
My phone is always on.
Olivia still soldiered on through her own recovery, weathering setbacks, and forging ahead, trying to repurpose her terror as fuel to continue the good fight—for women and children, victims and their families…those whose voices, for whatever reason, had been silenced.
I'm still doing it.
Even so, Olivia had found Noah, literally and figuratively, and motherhood brought a permanent bright spot in what was often a very dark existence. She found comfort in the reliability of knowing, when she went home, she would find her son, oozing with the innocence of childhood, of hope, and of unconditional love.
She hoped Erin would lean on the people closest to her as she embarked on her own journey to peace and healing…so that she could live the life she'd planned…or maybe even discover one so good she'd never even thought it was possible.
Like the life Olivia had been living.
They toasted themselves.
Erin dawdled, not quite ready to leave.
The SVU Lieutenant tried not to be too abrupt in her departure.
Back at the hotel, Olivia changed clothes and sunk into the plush mattress. Remembering her promise to Fin, she checked in with him and confirmed tomorrow's flight time. Everything in place, she could devote all her attention to the call.
"Morning," Ed joked in a heavy, hoarse voice. He'd obviously been sleeping.
"Sorry," Olivia said.
"No problem. I'm surprised you didn't call earlier but I figured, after I saw the news, you were busy."
"I…um…it's good to hear your voice."
Hundreds of miles separated them. They'd shared a bed. He'd wiped her tears. She'd entrusted him with information she hadn't revealed to anyone else. But, hearing her utter those words—it's good to hear your voice—Tucker had never felt closer to Lieutenant Olivia Benson.
He replied with raw honesty. "It's good to hear you say that."
Olivia grinned bashfully. "I'm on the first flight out in the morning."
"Sounds good."
"Ed?"
"Yeah?"
"I wish you were here."
She heard his crisp sheets rustle as he moved. "Me too," he replied softly, "But I'll stay on the phone as long as you want."
Olivia buried herself more deeply into the pillows and covers.
"Tell me what you and Noah did tonight."
Tucker rehashed the few hours they spent together. Olivia felt her eyes getting heavier and heavier; though fatigued, she felt the elation of a breakthrough.
She was going to sleep tonight.
…..
And now on to Collateral Damages and Star-Struck Victims….
#Tuckson