Title: Lockdown
Author: ZombieJazz
Fandom: SVU
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law&Order: Special Victims Unit and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Jack, Benji and Emmy have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.
Summary:
TRIGGER WARNING: THESE O/Ss deal with the COVID-19 PANDEMIC. A series of stand-alone, non-chronological ONE-SHOTS set in Hello Goodbye, Welcome Home, Facing Forward, Best Laid Plans, A Step At A Time, The Night Before, Beauty in the Mundane Moments AU. A law enforcement family with high-risk, vulnerable family members, attempts to weather the COVID-19 Pandemic in Brooklyn, NY.
PLEASE NOTE: THESE SCENES DEAL WITH THE PANDEMIC. This may increasingly prove upsetting for certain readers. Please do not read, if it is. But please also know it is being written as one mechanism of coping (and being shared, as I know some readers use these characters stories as a form of strength, inspiration, distraction and coping through difficult times too). Also know that the author writes from a place of truth and knowledge of the medical system and high-risk/vulnerable populations, front-line workers and familiar concerns at this time. This is not meant to glamorize it or diminish anyone's experience in anyway.
The first few chapters were originally posted in BEAUTY IN THE MUNDANE MOMENTS but are being moved to a separate story file to pull these instances out of the main story of the characters and the original intent of BEAUTY IN THE MUNDANE MOMENTS.
These chapters are stand-alone SCENES or ONE-SHOTS. This is not a chronological story and there is no planned continuity, though there will be strings throughout. It is just a collection of moments. Not all will be heavy or sad. They can't be. Though most will focus on LIV, BRIAN, BENJI and EMMY, there will be references and opportunities to explore the experiences of other people in their lives including JACK/RENEE, MUNCH, JANET, CRAGEN, EILEEN, BARBA, ALEX/LAGDON/LEO, ROLLINS, FIN, CARISI and KAT.
TIMEFRAME: Set in MARCH-JULY 2020
"Babe," Olivia heard faintly but then registered the voice as she felt a hand grip at, and give a small shake of her foot. She jerked a bit at the touch – at being pulled from her thoughts. Or maybe more – being pulled from her numbness.
She rotated her gaze and let her spaced-out vision focus to bring Brian into view – sitting on the opposite end of the couch from her. Social distancing – even in their own home. And who knew for how long?
"You alright?" he asked.
"Yea," she agreed. Though, she didn't exactly agree. She didn't know anyone would right now. But it was an involuntary response. A trained one that was ingrained in us. One that she'd used so many times over the years even when she wasn't alright. And she kept telling herself that those other times had been harder – scarier – than this. But they were – and they weren't. This wasn't comparable.
This wasn't a time she'd had a gun pulled on her or a partner. It wasn't when she'd held a gun on – shot – another living, breathing human being. It wasn't Sealview. Or William Lewis. Or 9/11. Or Brian shot and flat-lining in front of her. It wasn't Benji seizing and his little body attached to invasive machines and testing in a hospital.
It was all that combined. All those emotions and horrors and fears. And morals and values. Trauma. Only now it was on a city-wide … nation wide … world wide scale. And, yet, also in this microseism of her family – the ones there in the house with her and the team … village … of loved and treasured friends and colleagues she'd built up in her life. She had so much to lose. So many ways she – the ones she loved – could be hurt in all this. And it ached and terrified her in a way that all those previous experiences hadn't prepared her for. If anything they only scared her in a different way. The trauma – and anxiety – kept stirring through her in a waves.
She was going to need therapy after all this. Who wouldn't?
She was at the point she knew she needed to get on the phone and to try to schedule some telehealth appointments. Only where in the house she'd find the quiet and privacy to have that kind of appointment – to verbalize and express those emotions and fears – without her children hearing. Or without her children hearing her break down. Getting that time … privacy … wasn't likely to happen.
But just as muttering the weak affirmative 'fine' was an automatic response, so was how she moved to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear – even though her hair was about all she had to hide behind lately. But she realized the move – just as her finger caressed across the skin of her cheek – a little too close to her eye. And she dropped her hand away.
She needed to start wearing her hair back more. To avoid that reaction. That movement and gesture – like so many others she had but hadn't realized until touching your face had become taboo.
Brian liked when she tied her hair back. He liked when her hair was shorter. He liked when she wasn't 'hiding under it'.
He may get what he liked during all this. Maybe more than he liked. If this was going to span months – and the stress and anxiety and grief she was struggling to control kept triggering her – it might only be a matter of time before she took scissors to her hair on her own again. Though, this time she wouldn't have the option of then going to a hairdresser to clean-up the mess she'd made. So she might just keep hacking. Cutting it to a length she hadn't had for years – decade or more. Lengths Brian had only seen in pictures. Though, she didn't think she could pull that look off anymore – even when … if … whenever … the city … her family … was able to emerge from this pandemic.
And it didn't matter what Brian liked. Or found attractive. Or what she did either for that matter. Because all that was off the table for the moment too. For how long? She didn't know. Weeks? Months?
Even that distraction … and comfort … and release … it wasn't an option right now.
So she moved her foot away from his grip too. Even though his fingers wrapped there felt warm against her cold skins. Even though maybe – in the past – she wouldn't have minded a foot rub if Brian initiated it. And until a couple weeks ago – she'd gladly borrow Brian's hands or the place on the couch cushion on his thighs to warm up her icy feet while they watched TV in the evening. But day, afternoon, evening, night. It all just seemed to blend together now. And she wasn't exactly sure it was fair to say they'd been watching TV.
But Brian asked anyway, "Did you want to watch another episode?"
She stared at him – coming out of her haze. He looked concerned. But she could tell he didn't know what to say. She didn't either.
"I wasn't really watching," Olivia said instead. Though, she shifted her eyes back to the screen and tried to discern what they were even watching. Even with the play painted across the screen, she still wasn't entirely sure.
But the endless stream of something on the screen had become part of their … day, afternoon, evening, night too. She supposed you could distinguish at least whether it was the kids' waking hours or sleeping hours based on what was up there.
Screen-time rules were out the window. Rules around videogames were becoming laxer. And months of resisting Disney+ and yet another streaming service bill showing up monthly on their credit card had ended on about day three of this. Now wasn't sure how many times they'd cycled through the Marvel movies at that point. Or maybe they were just watching the same through favorites (which they really hadn't needed to buy in to Disney+ for) over and over. Because maybe the kids weren't really watching them at this point either. They were also just staring at them blankly between asking questions that Mom and Dad also didn't have good answers for.
Instead new distractions were found – to avoid tackling those questions. To avoid upping the anxiety in their already anxious children. In their little boy who'd directly asked them: "Am I one of the people who's gonna die?" And Olivia hadn't had the chance to stop the instantaneous tears that had caught her so off-guard – because the question had struck her to the very core. And the only answer she could manage – and hope it was true and that Benji believed her – was: "No, because we aren't going outside. We aren't going anywhere. None of us are." Not for a walk. Not for groceries. Not for work. And not by the prying hands of death that was an even more unseen threat – and reality – than it'd ever really, truly seemed before. Even when she'd – they'd – looked it in the eye in the past.
This was different.
The question had betrayed that even having the news on in the background was too much information for the children. That middle school children in the days and weeks leading up to it had understood enough and chatted enough – shared enough information and misinformation and hearsay and rumors – that her child had some understanding of what was going on. That he'd seen the signs and posters at the hospital and clinic and lab when they'd been in-and-out over and over since January. That he'd seen more hand cleaning stations appear. He'd heard the staff asking more questions about cough and sore throat and breathing and fever and travel. That they'd been handed masks more than once – before there was the shortage because Benji often did have a sore throat and shortness of breath that had nothing to do with COVID but for which they weren't taking risks. Then.
Now.
Now all their appointments were cancelled. Now Benji's immuno-modulator was being hoarded and coming into shortages. That they had to grovel for samples from his rheumatologist because multiple pharmacies had told them they were in shortage – because their so-called president had opened his big ugly mouth and created a frenzy around a 'malaria' medication that was really a life-saving medication for so many people with auto-immune diseases. Now her vulnerable child – was more vulnerable, as they looked at their month supply of the pills and wondered where they'd get the next month's. Or if he'd even be able to continue on the medication – and if he couldn't what that would mean. His immunosuppressant treatments on hold. And as much as that scared Olivia too – the concept of taking her child anywhere near a New York City hospital right now terrified her more. Even the children's hospital.
Benji didn't need to see that. He'd seen too much.
And he knew too much. Because her answer hadn't appeased him. He'd recited back to her that he had bad lungs, that he had an autoimmune disease, that he was on immuno-modulators and immuno-suppressants and that he was high-risk. He understood. More than she wanted him to now – even though they'd spent a year working to get him to understand that before. When the doctors had told them this cold and flu season would be the hardest – his first full season with lupus and a depleted immune system and a body full of medication. That they should expect him to be hospitalized at some point with a flare. But no one had prepared them for dealing with COVID – and all it's unknowns.
So veer away from those difficult questions – hours where her and Brian should've been 'working from home' (whatever that meant right now) – were spent finding new ways of diverting their children. To take a break from the screens that just let you get lost in your thoughts too much – the art and science supplies that cluttered their home got pulled out. Brian had often moaned about them having more of the educational toys and crafts than a home-schooling family or daycare. But if the value of the purchases hadn't been entirely seen or appreciated before – it was paying divide-ends now.
Puzzles and Lego and boardgames. Books they hadn't gotten to yet. Recipes and forgotten supplies from their pantry cupboard. Every scrape of paper being cut and glued and crafted into something. Drawing upon drawing from Benji that were increasingly dark. And Emmy's little scientific mind still posing questions too big for her age and pondering experiments or research studies or ways to help and find a cure and protect their family.
But that almost just scared Olivia more.
"What are you thinking about?" Brian asked. Because he was trying. To give her an outlet. To provide comfort. But that was hard right now.
"Honestly," Olivia muttered, moving again to rest her elbow against the armrest and her hand against cheek in some kind of support to keep her head up in all of this. It needed all the support it could get – but that was not the way to do it. So she again dropped her hand and instead picked at the worn and starting to ball fabric of the couch that had survived seven years of children – but she was sure she'd want to be burning it by the end of all this. "I'm just trying my best not to think."
"I hear you …," Brian muttered.
She allowed him a little smile. He returned it. Weakly.
Olivia picked at the little ball of wear-and-tear fuzz on the armrest. "I was thinking a little about the potential outcomes of all this for Jack by the time this is all over," Olivia allowed.
Brian gave her a look. "Expecting him and Renee will split by the end of this?"
She shrugged. "Or we'll be grandparents by 2021 …"
He stared at her for a long beat as the sunk in. The reality. The possibility. "That's not really social distancing right now," he finally said.
"I know …" Olivia allowed.
Brian stared at her some more. "Well … they'll be using protection. Birth control. They're adults."
"Hopefully," she said.
Brian nodded. Half-ways. But then stared at her again. "They know they're recommending couples not be sharing beds right now, if they can? That kissing, touching of the face – not a great idea?"
Olivia sighed and shrugged. "I hope so. But … they're engaged with the news, Bri. But they're also removed from … what's happening here. It might not seem as … real. They're still … young."
Brian shook his head a bit. "If he didn't get what was going on, he wouldn't be calling, FaceTiming with us – the kids – every day. Multiple times a day."
She exhaled. "It's still different when you aren't living in it. Seeing it outside your door."
Brian made a sound and looked lost for a moment.
"I'm glad they're up there," Olivia muttered. "Glad for the timing of it. Glad that they're letting him stay up there. That Renee's office is letting her work remotely. But … I'm worried about him worrying about us. How he dwells. Stews."
Brian nodded slowly but looked back at her again. "Maybe it will be the tipping point in getting him to really grow-up. Figure out what kind of man he wants to be."
"Maybe," Olivia allowed.
"Renee's good at supporting him and helping him navigate shit," Brian offered. "If being in that close proximity to him for so long doesn't send her running during all this."
Olivia allowed him a small smile at that and shrugged. Brian was right, though. Renee tolerated Jack pretty well. And seemed to get him – and appreciate him. She only hoped it wasn't just Renee doing all the heavy-lifting in the relationship. And that there actually was a relationship left after all this. The two of them hadn't been living together for long to now be stuck up in social isolation in Poughkeepsie. A mixed blessing. She also just had to hope they were being smart and safe about all of this – even if the situation up there didn't seem quite as stark and direr quite yet.
"Maybe they'll decide they really like Poughkeepsie," Brian said. "Feel like they've got some roots there. Stay?"
Olivia made a sound. "He was still floating if he should come back to the city," she said.
"He's just antsy because of Em's birthday," Brian said. "That's not necessarily a bad thing. At least he's feeling some guilt at this point about missing that kind of stuff of the kids'. That's growth."
Olivia shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think so. I think it's more panic and anxiety about the separation and him doing his worst-case scenario thing."
"What'd you tell him?" Brian asked.
She looked at him. "That he doesn't want to be living in a 300-square foot studio in China Town right now. And then he floated staying here."
Brian stared at her. "He doesn't get it," he said.
Olivia exhaled. "He does and he doesn't, Bri."
"You tell him 'fuck, no'?"
She nodded. "Not with Benji," she gestured up the stairs. "And not with John and your Mom," she gestured at the floor. "He can't be here. Not at this point."
She wasn't sure that she could even imagine having two more adult bodies in the house if Jack and Renee had decided to come home before the quarantine. She'd lived in apartments her whole life. She'd raised two children – with an adult-sized child home more weekends and school holidays – in a cramped two-bedroom space for four years. But now she couldn't imagine being stuck in that size of space for the weeks and months ahead with two school-aged children. But hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers were in that exact situation. If not multi-generations of their family stuck in a space that small.
Right now she was having moments where her 1,050-sq ft of space wasn't feeling like enough. But at least there were multiple rooms they could retreat to separately. They could get some space between them. And, yet, the kids were keeping close. Their kids were struggling to understand why they shouldn't be hugging or snuggling quite yet. Why they couldn't crawl into Mommy and Daddy's bed when they weren't sleeping through the night. Why Emmy couldn't get into Benji's bed at night either. And why Gramma and Unkie Munchie were there – but weren't allowed to play with them.
Benji just kept saying it was his fault. It didn't matter how many times Olivia and Brian took on the blame. That they had to get past the two week point that her and Brian had been away from work. Two weeks without any of them showing any signs or symptoms. And then maybe they could hug and comfort their children – even if they had to practice social distancing still for the rest of the day. Even in Gramma and Unkie Munchie still had to keep a safe distance – but could at least be in the same room. And not yet getting into whether or not that clock would have to reset if one of them did have to go out for groceries (that seemed to be getting increasingly harder to find stock to be delivered) or to search for medication for Benji or they did have to go to a hospital or clinic.
But they'd deal with that when they got to it. Right now they were living in their bubble. Trying to protect a sick little boy, a cancer patient and two seniors over 70 (or almost in Brian's mom's case) under their roof.
"You need me to talk to him?" Brian asked. "Be the asshole?"
She shook her head. "He dropped it. Again. For now," she sighed. "Maybe some of it is Emmy's birthday. Like you said."
He gave a little nod. "Yea …" But he didn't sound as confident in that as he did before.
She gave him a weak smile. "It will be good. A good distraction for the day," Olivia tried. "After this week. Today."
"Yea …," he allowed.
They'd both struggled that week. Hearing about what was happening in their city. At their hospitals. Among their community's poorest and most vulnerable already. The number of calls coming into Emergency Services. More than 9/11 – in a single day. The number of NYPD and FDNY members becoming infected and being send home to quarantine and isolate for weeks. Doctors and nurses and EMTs becoming sick.
And as much as you knew – KNEW – you needed to be home, to work from home you felt like you were failing your city. That you were letting so many people down. Your team. Setting a bad example. And this fundamental part of your being wanted to be running into that burning building – doing your job – like everyone else. Like you should be.
But instead you were dealing with phone calls and paperwork and email behind a firewall. At home. Issuing commands and trying to supervise. And worrying about what your team was going through. Worrying about what they were taking home to their families or what health predicament they might find themselves in.
Fin – and his age and underlying conditions that she only knew about because of having access to his jacket. A son and grandson – that he wouldn't be seeing anytime soon either likely.
Amanda and her two little girls and her nephew. Her sister in a jail – without the resources for if … when … this virus got into the correctional system population. A nanny in and out of her home – moving between living situations that Amanda didn't have control over and exposures and lack of self-isolating to continue to take care of Amanda's kids – multiple hours a day, because daycares were now closed. And wherever and however her and Al were at – knowing that the father of one of your daughters was on the front-lines and the doctor to cardiology patients likely on the high-risk list, many of which may become names of the deceased.
Kat who said little about her life. But Olivia was sure had roommates. And a sister and middle-aged parents and maybe even living grandparents. And even though the young detective would likely feed a line about this being nothing compared to the war her relatives had lived through – she doubted that that would be much consolation when she had grown-up in a community that was going to be deeply effected by this pandemic. The poorest. The most crowded living conditions. Immigrants and refugees and low-income housing.
Carisi and him likely trying to manage his whole family – and Amanda's. Back and forth between dropping off supplies and checking in. Trucking between multiple boroughs. Trying to ensure his Boomer parents out on Staten Island understood what this all meant – and the need to self-isolate. His sisters and nieces. And still trying to do his job – more likely in office than remotely.
She worried less about Alex and Trevor and Leo. They'd left the city. Fled to Connecticut, which didn't seem so far away but was at least a world away from here for the time being. She wondered what kind of heroics Barba was up to. And even though he talked a good game she knew he was worrying about where Mattieu had ended up and how he would fair. And it made her wonder what Raphel – his life – would look like at the end of this too.
She sought the reassurances from Don that she wasn't doing some great disservice to the city and the NYPD and her career by working from home. As long as 1PP would let her. Or the FMLA – or furlough – she'd have her arm twisted into taking if a protest did come down. Because she couldn't leave Benji scared and alone without his mother. She'd lived through the aftermath of their mother being taken away from them before. It was a scar from Lewis that her children would carry as such as she did.
And talking to Don on the phone just didn't seem enough right now. Even though he stressed that he and Eileen were fine – and safe – out on her son's farm. They were keeping busy and getting lots of fresh air. And – they weren't in the city and they weren't in Florida and she had to just try to be thankful for that.
Even though she wished she could utilize some more of Eileen's kindergarten teacher expertise to try to … get her kids a little more on track with their at-home learning and online lessons. But so far – a lot of that was falling to the wayside too. What they'd looked at in the first days was becoming a distant memory and trying to get any of them to focus just didn't seem like a place worth investing energy right now. But Olivia feared how they'd pay for that. Especially Benji and his learning challenges. That it might be another blow they'd never quite recover from. But she was just going to have to hope that parents all across the city were going to be in the exact same situation for whenever things returned to 'normal'.
Whatever that meant now. Even less than before.
"It's supposed to be shitty weather tomorrow," Brian muttered.
She allowed him a small frown. He'd spent so much time crafting Emmy a sluice box so the kids could go through the mining grit he'd gotten for her party. Too much now. Enough for at least five kids – if not more. But maybe that'd just mean it would take her kids days and hours to shift through it.
She couldn't be more thankful for putting up the fuss about needing a garden lot if they were going to move to Brooklyn. Those 17x17 square feet was an oasis of sanity. Though whenever their neighbor over the next high brick wall started hacking she still herded Benji and Emmy inside. She wasn't taking any risks. And she feared too for her neighbors how they'd come out of all this too.
"It's not supposed to rain the whole day," she said. "We'll still be able to start on looking for her gems."
Brian only shrugged.
Olivia rubbed her eyebrow. And huffed annoyed at herself as she did – again dropping her hand. "We've got those couple dig kits we can do inside if it is raining," she said. Though that would be a mess too. But she could figure out a way to contain it. Tupper wear or baking sheets. And happy faces trying to disguise what else was going through their parents' heads.
"I don't know she's going get why Mom and John aren't participating," Brian mumbled.
"She will," Olivia said. "They can be on the porch while they play. If the weather hold out. Watch her open a couple presents. We can take them a piece of cake down."
"You mean ice cream bar and bowl of Lucky Charms," Brian said flatly.
Olivia allowed and smile and shrugged. "I'm hoping she'll let me do a cake or cupcakes tomorrow for the rest of us."
"COVID's brought out the Betty Crocker in you …"
"Mmm …," Olivia allowed. "It's definitely trying to repeal any benefits we saw from the lupus diet. That's for sure."
It earned a small smile from him too. But he gazed at her.
"Thanks for letting my Ma stay with us."
She allowed him a sad smile and reached to put her hand on his knee. "She's family, Bri. She's done a lot for us. She still is. I'm glad that John has company – safely."
"Yea … let's just not dwell on where that might lead," Brian said.
But Olivia just shook her head a little. "We all deserve some company – comfort and love – during … whatever this is for any of us … wherever it leads."
And just where that was going to be – and what that was going to look like – it wasn't remotely clear yet. And trying to predict the outcome was almost more terrifying than the reality before them.
So a day – an episode – at a time.
So: "Let's watch another," she said and gestured absently at the TV. Again staring. Watching and not watching. And trying to focus and not focus on anything at all.
AUTHOR NOTE:
If people do happen to have moments, experiences or thoughts they'd like to share or see explored, let me know. DM is likely best, but if you want to share with the wider community, leave a review/comment.
This story will be updated as I am able and as it seems like an appropriate outlet. I do have other IRL projects on the go.
BEAUTY IN THE MUNDANE MOMENTS with previously mentioned chapter ideas will continue to be updated, as I have the time, ability and interest in writing there too.
Please stay smart and safe out there. WHEN/IF you don't absolutely have to be out there — STAY THE F HOME.
And as a final note, it was suggested I consider moving to AO3 for posting FF. I got an invite. I'm looking into it.
Oh — and, yes, I saw the news about the Stabler comeback/spin-off. And, yes, I may play with that. I'd been contemplating playing with him in terms of a Brian/Stabler interaction and fallout/reaction in terms of Liv. But had then sort of moved toward plugging Tucker into that story arc idea instead. May shift back.
And on the very off-chance some of my CPD readers have been following these stories — I have been considering doing a crossover scene with Voight as per his family life in my CPD AU. And, I am currently using rewatching some CPD as part of distraction procedure and it has me vaguely contemplating revisiting my CPD stories too.