Just a couple of things before you read on: this is the chapter I think most of you guys have been waiting for, there's Elliot/Olivia/Lollie together in this one and throughout this story moving forwards, and you're also going to get Lollie's real name. There's a minor reference to Surrender Benson and some discussion of child neglect, it's mild compared to scenes on the show but feel free to DM me if you want more details before you read.

I've had some comments on here and via instagram about needing a beta to check my spelling. Just to clarify- I'm not American, so I don't use American spelling. I'm doing my best to Americanise my vocabulary for this story, but switching my spelling is just going to give me a massive headache. Your feedback means the world to me and I'm totally open to constructive criticism/requests, but please don't send me anonymous hate via my instagram- if I've used language that wouldn't be used in America, you can just tell me and I will change it!

I poured my heart and soul into this chapter and parts of it were quite difficult for me to write, so reviews would be extra appreciated :)

-IseultLaBelle

Chapter 9

25 December, 2023

"That'll be her, Elliot!" Kathy shouts over the shrill chiming of the doorbell. "You want me to get it?"

"No, I'm on it! I'll be right back," he promises the small faces watching him intently over what must be the hundredth round of Hungry Hippos they've had him play now. "Promise."

"But Granddad…"

"Hey, I'm getting you another player!" he protests, clambering to his feet. "A better player. Alright? I'm coming right back."

He wants to be the one to do the handover, if truth be told.

He wants to be the one to do the handover because he's too protective to leave it to anyone else, his wife included.

Hell, he doesn't even trust Olivia to do this handover.

He's apprehensive as he turns the key in the front door- ponders absentmindedly that Kathy was absolutely right when she commented on the way out of midnight mass that he needed to let it all go and stop goddamned worrying about a child who isn't even his.

See, that's what his wife will never understand, Elliot muses, checks the peephole, just in case, before he gets the door open.

What his wife andOlivia will never understand, now he thinks of it.

He worries about Lollie excessively, yes; worries about her more than he's ever worried about one of his own children, but that's not to say he loves her any more than he loves them.

The fact that Lollie isn't his, that he doesn't get a say, is exactly whyhe worries.

"Merry Christmas, Uncle Elliot!" Olivia's daughter struggles in over the threshold, dragging her suitcase through behind her, and Elliot can't help but notice the dark circles under her eyes, un-brushed, greasy hair, even before he reaches out to hug her and the stench hits him.

He hugs her to him tightly despite it all, just relieved to have her back. "Merry Christmas, Lolliebug. You had a good time at… you know?"

"At my dad's?"

"Yep. That."

Lollie shrugs, non-committal, returns his hug. "It was okay."

"Only okay?"

"Uh huh." Small hands twist together around his neck and she clings on like his own kids used to, like his grandkids do now, just as at-ease with him as though she were one of them.

This worries him.

Even if he could somehow manage to put the rest of it aside, the mere fact that she's clinging to him like this straight back from her sperm donor'shouse is enough to unsettle Elliot considerably.

"Alright," he murmurs, lifts her, stands and holds her to his chest as though she's still a baby, too big, limbs dangling awkwardly. "Alright, you're here now, honey."

"When's Mommy coming?"

"In a couple of hours," he tells her. "Or we'll get her on Facetime if she gets held up. That okay?"

"Okay." She nestles her head into the dip of his shoulder the way she would at five years old and reluctantly, Elliot turns to the figure on the doorstep, tells himself the sooner he deals with her chaperone, the sooner he can turn his attention back to her, his priority.

"Cassidy."

"Stabler." Brian Cassidy retorts, and Elliot can't quite read his expression. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Elliot offers him back. "Thanks for bringing Lollie over."

"It's nothing," Cassidy shrugs. "Anything for Liv."

"You pick her up alright? He didn't give you any…" Elliot stops himself just in time- because they shouldn't be having this conversation now, he reminds himself, not in front of Lollie.

'No, all fine," Cassidy assures him. "She was all packed and ready to go when I arrived, she came running out to meet me."

"Right, okay." The two men exchange a knowing glance; and this has to be the one and only thing they've managed to see eye to eye on in twenty-five years, Elliot ponders grimly.

There's something so horribly, painfully tragic about it taking Olivia being forced to share custody of her daughter with William Lewis for he and Cassidy to find mutual ground.

"You get to do Christmas all over again with Elliot's family this year, don't you, Pia?" Cassidy tries, and Elliot resists the temptation to point out that he's talking to her like she's four, not nine. "That's going to be fun, right?"

"Uh huh."

Clearly, Olivia hasn't told him that Lollie has spent every Christmas with the Stablers' since she was two, and Elliot certainly isn't going to be the one to fill him in.

Silence falls.

"You see Lewis when you got her back?" Elliot presses, glances apprehensively between Lollie, still clinging onto him as though the world depends upon it, and Cassidy, fidgeting on the doorstep. "He say anything when he…"

Cassidy shakes his head. "Just said she'd had a great time."

"That true, Lolliebug?" Elliot presses. "Hey? Christmas over there was okay, was it?"

She nods, non-committal. "We took Daddy's neighbour's dog for a walk on the beach. And we played Minecraft."

"That sounds like fun," he agrees. "Santa pay you a visit?" Kathy joins him at the door now, frowning, and he smiles his apology, eyes plead with her to understand that this has to take priority over Christmas games with their grandchildren, just for the moment.

"Daddy says Santa only delivers to Mommy's apartment."

"Oh, he does, does he?"

"Uh huh. Daddy got me a trampoline, though."

"Wow, that's nice of him. I hope he's put a safety net around it."

"No."

Christ.

"Did you have Christmas dinner at your dad's house, Lollie?" Kathy asks, places one hand gently on Elliot's arm, calming him from the inevitable bout of protective rage brewing.

Lollie shakes her head. "We had leftover Chinese takeout last night."

"You're used to that, then," Cassidy tries to tease her.

"Hmm?"

"That not what your mom feeds you ninety percent of the time?"

"No."

"Ah, well," Cassidy shrugs, awkward, shot down. "Things change, I guess. That was your mom's idea of cooking, when I was with her."

"Why were you and Mommy together when I was a baby?" Lollie asks curiously, frowns, as though it's only just become apparent to her that this particular puzzle piece doesn't quite fit . "And not Mommy and Daddy?"

Screw Cassidy, Elliot curses. Screw Cassidy and his total fucking lack of a filter.

He'll never understand what Olivia ever saw in him- what she still apparently sees, given she trusts him to ferry her daughter to and from Lewis's.

"Because…" Elliot glances at Kathy now, searching for moral support. "Because life's complicated, Lollie," he tells her carefully, on dangerous ground now, making this up as he goes along and god only knows what Olivia's going to make of his desperate attempt to clean up Cassidy's mess- and it is Cassidy's mess; that's exactly what he'll be telling Olivia if she objects to his handling of this particular awkward question from her daughter. "I know… I know lots of people say that babies are born when their mom and dad love each other… but that's not always how it works in real life." He glares at Cassidy furiously. "Your mom loved Brian… then… but… she had you with… you know."

"With your dad," Kathy finishes. "She loved Brian, but she had you with your dad. That make sense?"

"I think so."

"There you go. You're smarter than most of the adults in your life, I think." His wife glares between him and Cassidy and back again, thoroughly unimpressed. "You hungry? Yeah? We're going to sit down and eat in about an hour, honey. Did your dad give you lunch?"

"I had cereal."

"Is that all?"

Lollie nods shiftily.

"Hey, it's okay. Well, your mom's given me a nut roast thing I'm going to put in the oven for you in a bit. But shall we go and see if we can find you something to eat now? That sound good? Come on, then. Put her down, Elliot," she murmurs, gently taking control, stepping in for him while he's too enraged to take the lead himself. "What do you say to Brian, Lollie?"

"Thank you for giving me a ride to Uncle Elliot and Auntie Kathy's house," Lollie offers obediently.

"Any time. You want these?" Cassidy offers, holds out the carrier bag draped over his arm. "Your mom said you might want these…"

She rushes back over the threshold in response, digs into the carrier bag, pulls out impeccably wrapped packages that have Olivia and her determination to be perceived as put-together and socially acceptable and everything that she wasn't as a kid written all over them. "Merry Christmas, Uncle Elliot and Auntie Kathy."

"Oh, honey, you didn't have to do that. Thank you. We'll put them under the tree, okay? And then we can open them after dinner. Thanks for bringing her over, Brian." His wife stares pointedly at their unwanted guest still stood on the doorstep, awkward, apparently waiting for god only knows what cue to leave.

"See you soon, then," Cassidy waves uncomfortably; he never was any good with kids, Elliot finds himself recalling. "Have a good time with Elliot, then. Merry Christmas!"

Elliot wonders why the hell the useless prick couldn't be more thorough in picking Lollie up from Lewis.

"Can you go and wash your hands then, honey?" Kathy encourages, pulls the bolt across the door. "Good girl. Take your shoes off, first, please. You not got a coat?"

"No, I have a coat that lives at Mommy's apartment, and coats that live at Daddy's house. Because Mommy got sick of having to buy me a new one every time Daddy didn't give me one to take back home."

"Are you not cold?"

"No."

"Yes, you are, your hands are freezing. Go and put them under the hot tap, then, that'll help. She reeks of cigarette smoke, Elliot," Kathy hisses, waits until the bathroom door is firmly closed. "She absolutely stinks, and I'm not convinced it's just…"

"I know." Elliot grimaces. "I know. Liv said he's done this before. He doesn't even smoke, for god's sake, I think he must do it deliberately so she goes back to Liv and she's a walking trigger…"

"But we've got her today, Elliot," his wife reminds him softly, laces her fingers around his own to stop his fists from clenching. "We've got her today, it's fine. We can deal with it. I'll get her something to eat, you go and run her a bath…"

"We can't run her a bath, that's like telling her she stinks."

"She's a girl, Elliot, she already knows she stinks. Believe me, she'd much rather we did something about it without making a huge fuss. Go and run her a bath. Maureen can help me with dinner, you go and… You okay, honey?" Kathy flips back into mom mode at the sight of Olivia's child hovering in the kitchen doorway. "We're going to be eating in an hour, but you want some applesauce?"

"Yes please. Uncle Elliot?" Lollie watches them curiously, rips the lid off her applesauce like she's not been fed all weekend.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you hate Brian?"

Because he wouldn't let your mom put his name down on your birth certificate.

"I don't hate him, Lollie…" Elliot begins.

"You don't like him, though."

"That's a bit strong. I just… we've never really clicked," Elliot sugar-coats. "That's all. How about I go run you a bath before we eat, hey? And then after that you can go and play with Dylan and…"

"I don't have any clean clothes."

"Sure you do, your mom gave me a bag for you when I saw her at work yesterday. You've got Flora Fox the First here, and everything."

Thank god for Lizzie and her truly heaven-sent ability to harness her social media army and source not one, but two no-longer-available plush animal foxes identical to Flora Fox the original, after Lollie's scumbag of a so-called father figure managed to lose the damned thing on his first ever contact weekend (Flora Fox the First passed off as the original after an adventure in the washing machine and Flora Fox the Second sent off to Lewis's place, because Lollie didn't sleep for a week after it went missing and Olivia was adamant she couldn't go through that level of trauma again).

"Does that mean I'm staying the night?" Lollie follows him up the stairs obediently, and Elliot can't help but notice the thick layer of grime under her fingernails.

"Well, the plan is your mom's going to come and get you later. But you know how it is, it depends if something comes up at work, doesn't it? But we can call her, if that happens. Did you speak to her on the phone earlier?"

"Daddy said she'd be too busy."

"Your mom's never too busy to talk to you, Lollie," Elliot tells her firmly. "Okay? I don't ever want you to think that. You can always call your mom when you're at his house, alright? Always. And if she can't answer straight away, I know she'll always call you right back as soon as she can."

"Like when she's at work when I'm not at Daddy's."

"Exactly like that. Tell you what…" With one hand, he tests the bath water temperature, satisfied. "Wait right here."

"Why?"

"You'll see. Don't move." He runs back down the stairs, into the living room, searches under the Christmas tree.

"Is Lollie here, Granddad?"

"She is," he confirms absentmindedly. "She is, you'll see her in a bit, alright? I bet she's really excited to play…" he pauses, takes in the latest board game Maureen's kids have added to the chaos. "Whatever that is, with you guys."

"Can't she come and play now?"

"Really soon," he promises. "Really, really soon, alright? I'll be back with her in a bit."

As he climbs the stairs, gift in hand, he pushes aside the nagging guilt he feels in his heart that he's missing out on too-rare time with his grandchildren to take care of a child who isn't even his.

"There you go," he tells Lollie, re-enters the bathroom, holds out the haphazardly wrapped sphere for her to take. "You can open your presents from me and Auntie Kathy after dinner, alright? But you might like this one now."

"Is it a bath bomb?"

"You're too good at this game, aren't you? It might be. I don't know why I'm giving you this now, I should have waited so it can be your mom's bathroom you turn into a glittery mess."

"Thank you, Uncle Elliot."

She's better trained than his own kids ever were at nine, and he can't help but wonder how the hell Olivia's managed it.

Then again, perhaps he doesknow, Elliot realises grimly.

He hates Serena Benson almost as much as he hates William Lewis.

"Hey, you're welcome. You need help with your hair? I can send Lizzie up…"

"I'm nine." She shoots him her mother's best 'stop fussing' look, but Elliot can't help but notice the sadness in her eyes.

"Hey," he murmurs. "I'm going to try and convince your mom to stick around, when she comes to get you."

"She won't, though."

"I know she won't, I've been inviting her to spend Christmas with me almost every year since 1998, and she's still never said yes. But I'm going to try," Elliot promises. "You in?"

For the first time since Cassidy dropped her off, she smiles. "Okay."

"Great. You get thinking how we might persuade her, then. And you come down and join us whenever you're ready, alright?"

"Uncle Elliot?"

"Hmm?

"Daddy gave me a Christmas present from him to Mommy."

Elliot's blood runs cold. "You know what it is?"

"No. It's wrapped."

"Right… okay. That in your suitcase?"

"Uh huh."

"Alright. Why don't you let me hold onto it for you?" Elliot suggests, improvising, running on adrenaline. "Yeah? I can look after it for you and… give it to Mommy."

"Okay."

"Good girl. Tell you what. Your mom's going to be at least another couple of hours yet. Probably longer. So why don't you let me and Auntie Kathy put your dirty clothes in the laundry? And then that's one less thing for your mom to have to do tonight, isn't it? Yeah?"

"Why do you want to do laundry on Christmas Day?" She stares at him now as though he's insane.

"Because I just love your mom that much," he brushes her question aside. "I'll leave you to it."

"What are you doing?" His wife watches him drag Lollie's suitcase over to the laundry cupboard as though he's lost his mind. "It's Christmas Day, Elliot. And Olivia's more than capable of…"

"I know." Elliot grits his teeth in a bid to contain the fury brewing inside him. "But Lollie says her bastard of a father's given her a Christmas gift for Liv…"

"From her?"

"No, from him. God only knows what else he's given her, I don't want Liv having to go through her bag and find whatever he's planted this time." He rummages as though he's conducting a police search, methodical, adamant his hunch is right. "And I don't want Liv having to deal with Lollie's laundry stinking of tobacco and burnt god only knows what, either, that son-of-a-bitch knows exactly what he's doing…"

'Elliot…"

"It's probably all dryer-safe, right?" he questions, embarrassingly out of his depth with anything in the household chores department. "I don't think Liv sends her over to Lewis's with anything she cares about, I reckon it should all be okay in the dryer. So we can stick it on a short cycle and have everything packed and ready to go by the time she gets here to take Lollie home, Liv doesn't have to deal with the triggers and Lollie thinks I just went through her things to get her laundry out. It's perfect."

"Is this it?" Maureen picks up the wrapped package temporarily cast aside on the floor beside the washing machine.

"Aren't you meant to be taking care of dinner?"

"I'm a pro at multitasking." His eldest daughter shakes the package suspiciously, runs her fingers around the edges. "I think it's vodka," she announces apologetically, just as his fingers catch against something hard, hollowed out, tangled up within the pyjamas he bought Lollie from Target when he was conned into driving her to Buffalo last summer in the name of dancing around in a leotard in front of strange men he's not convinced have been background checked to the minimum standards he deems acceptable and planting the seeds of a goddamned eating disorder in the process.

"Duct tape," Elliot snarls, throws the offending item down on the kitchen floor, trembles with rage. "The bastard has sent her home with duct tape. Again."

He watches her over Christmas dinner, sat at the table in between Lizzie and Maureen's little girl.

He watches as she blends in seamlessly with his family despite being the only one with a protein-deficient nut roast in the place of everyone else's turkey because Olivia is still indulging her vegan phase, the trauma of whatever the hell happened at her sperm donor's house this weekend mercifully washed away with the stench of tobacco and the grease in her hair.

So at ease is she with the Stablers, so utterly used to being left in their company, mixing in, that if she weren't the dark, olive-skinned odd-one-out amongst a sea of fair-eyed blondes, Elliot ponders, she could quite easily pass as one of them.

She's Olivia's double.

She's every inch a smaller version of Olivia, Olivia whom he thought he knew so completely, so intimately, even, and yet somehow, there's so much of her appearance, its wider significance, that he never fully took in before she had Lollie.

His partner's hair was a dark glossy brown, when they first met, a dark brown he'd always assumed was her natural colour over the years as she'd dyed it, highlighted it, varying shades of chestnut to chocolate brown. But then she had Lollie, and all of a sudden, he looked at her roots, compared with Lollie's hair, the colour of espressos and the fancy dark chocolate truffles he'd bought Kathy that last Valentines' Day, and out of nowhere, it was so remarkably clear that her natural colour was even darker, dark as the deep brown depths of her irises.

Perhaps that's why it's easier to see it, looking at Lollie- Olivia's miniature minus the highlights that muddy the waters.

They have the same dark hair, dark eyes, deep bronzed skin Elliot hadn't quite appreciated until he took Eli, Maureen's kids and Lollie to Bronx Zoo one summer, and the girl at the ticket office commented that she didn't need to ask which one was adopted.

But it's more than that.

They have the same high cheekbones, same eye shape, same jawline- and they're beautiful, yet striking, somehow, decisively un-American but it's difficult to place them any more specifically beyond that assertion; Mediterranean colouring but for all of Olivia's Italian and Spanish proficiency, that doesn't quite seem to fit.

Elliot looks at Lollie, hyper-aware of the fact that she's Olivia's clone, looks at the framed photo of Serena Benson in Olivia's office and there's a heavy aching in his heart he just can't shake.

It doesn't matter that Olivia and Lollie don't particularly resemble Joseph Hollister, either.

They don't look like Serena.

They couldn't look less like her if they tried; Serena with her pale skin, green eyes, waif-like frame in the photo in Olivia's office Elliot can't be sure is down to genetics her daughter and granddaughter skipped or years surviving on vodka with a scattering of wine and G and Ts.

When he looks at Lollie, all of a sudden, his partner makes so much more sense.

Maybe that goes some way towards explaining why he's so fiercely protective of her.

He was always going to be protective of her simply because she's Olivia's, but there's so much more to it than that.

He's ultra-protective of Lollie because he sees how much validation and self-worth she gives her mother, how much there being someone in this world who looks like her, shares her past, her DNA, her tragedy, her start in life, and yet still she perceives as beautiful and pure and innocent and worthy of love has changed how she regards herself, lessened the scars of forty-six years seeing herself through Serena Benson's eyes.

That's why this is all so goddamned hard.

His phone vibrates loudly against the dining room cabinet halfway through dessert, and the way his goddaughter's eyes light up, the way she stares him down pleadingly as she recognises the ringtone he has saved for her mom, causes Elliot to worry that perhaps she's not as over three days in Lewis's so-called 'care' as he thought.

"You want to take it, Lolliebug?" He holds out the phone across the table.

"Please?"

"Course you can. You can go and sit in the living room, if you want," he offers. "Yeah? While you talk to Mommy?"

"Go on," Kathy tells her gently. "I'll guard your dessert for you, alright? Tell your mom merry Christmas from us."

"Is she alright?" Eli asks, glances between his parents once Lollie is safely out of earshot.

"She's…" Elliot falters, at a total loss as to how to explain.

"We don't know," Kathy steps in for him truthfully. "We don't know. Can you guys do us a favour?" she asks, glances between her youngest son and her grandchildren. "Can you make sure she feels included? Just… I don't know. Look after her."

It's just over an hour later when the doorbell rings again.

"You ready, Lollie?" Elliot shouts over his shoulder as he makes his way to the front door. "You ready to convince your mom she needs to stay?"

Something slams loudly into the kitchen side of the hallway wall, incomprehensible shouting.

"Good luck getting any sense out of her," Maureen rolls her eyes. "The kids are playing some game to see who can go the furthest on Eli's skateboard, or something, she'll be no use. Not unless she decides she's having so much fun she refuses to leave, anyway."

"Yeah, somehow, I don't think that's going to cut it," Elliot sighs. "Remember when she used to hide with your lot so she and Liv couldn't go home? And that never worked. She's going to have to try harder than this. Hey, Liv," he greets her, pulling the door open. "Merry Christmas…"

"No, it's not," his partner complains, eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. "I was at Mercy taking statements all night and spent more time in an interview room than out of one today, it absolutely isn't."

"That bad?" He beckons her in one-handed, takes her in; hair sliding out of a once-neat ponytail, scarf pulled tightly around her, cheeks pink from the cold, child's black puffer coat draped over her arm. "It's Christmas Day…"

"Christmas Eve party rapist," Olivia informs him darkly. "Down at the Hilton. Five different women, five different descriptions, it's been a nightmare."

"You been handling that by yourself?"

"The rookies homicide loaned us have been helping out…"

"And you didn't think to call me in?"

"Because it's Christmas Day, El. I'd already dumped my daughter on Kathy, I couldn't call you in…"

"Cragen would have. You want a glass of wine? Maureen!" he shouts. "Maureen, can you go get Liv…"

Olivia cuts him off. "We'll get out of your way, El. But thank you…"

"No, you don't. You can't leave, we've saved you Christmas dinner…"

She shakes her head. "That's kind, but it's okay. I know Eli, he'll be famished again round about now. Thanks for having Pia, but we'll leave you to your family…"

"You know you aren't intruding, right?" he tries to tell her, but there's a flash of pain and sadness in her eyes.

"It's fine, El. Honestly. It's fine."

He blames her mother.

She doesn't know how to do Christmas.

Elliot's almost certain that's the reason she seems to think it's better to take the Christmas Day shift every year so no one else has to, to ask him if he minds having Lollie for her so he can spend the day with his kids.

It's all because she went to the Serena Benson school of Christmas, knock-yourself-out-on-overpriced-vodka-and-sleep-your-way-through-the-rest.

"You sure?" he presses. "Because we've got plenty of food. You know the kids love seeing you, Lizzie's been…"

He's interrupted by excited laughter from the kitchen, and then his youngest son's new skateboard flies out into the hallway, Lollie and his grandson clinging onto each other until the skateboard slams into the dining room door with a thud, throwing them to the floor.

"Penelope!" Olivia snaps, slips straight into cop mode. "Behave!"

Lollie turns red, scrambles to her feet hastily, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Sorry."

"To be fair, Liv," says Lizzie, glaring at her younger brother, niece and nephews cowering in the doorway. "That totally wasn't her fault. She was coerced, blame Eli and…"

"I don't care. If you break anything, Uncle Elliot and Auntie Kathy won't let you come again," Olivia warns. "Is that what you want?"

Lollie blinks guiltily. "No."

"Then you know better than that, don't you? You don't treat other people's houses like…"

"She's fine, Liv," Elliot tells her gently. "She's fine. She's the best behaved one out of the lot of them whether they're all high on sugar or not, she can totally come again."

"Yeah, well. You're a soft touch. It's nice to know she missed me," Olivia comments, rolls her eyes as Lollie races back into the kitchen with Eli and Elliot's grandchildren.

"If it's any consolation…"

"Oh god." She closes her eyes now, grimaces. "Go on. How bad was it?"

He sighs. "Well, she says it was fine this weekend…"

"That's what she said to me, too."

"No, that figures. She seemed pretty adamant about it. But she was seriously clingy when Cassidy brought her back and she looked like she hadn't washed or eaten since she got there, she devoured two applesauce and her bodyweight in chips after he dropped her off, and she still ate all her dinner. And she stank of cigarette smoke. Oh, and you don't want to know how many inappropriate TikToks I've deleted off her account."

Olivia pinches the bridge of her nose, breathes, slowly, controlled, and it looks to Elliot suspiciously like the techniques he knows she was taught in therapy. "She as okay now as she looks?"

"Well, she came out the bath a different kid. I don't understand what he does over there, her hair looked like it hadn't been washed for weeks…"

"Yeah, well." Olivia shrugs. "I don't think we can blame that one entirely on him, as much as I hate to give him the benefit of the doubt. Puberty's a bitch. I sent her over with decent shampoo but if he's still got a thing about her wasting his hot water, then…"

"She's nine." Elliot stares her down as though she's gone insane.

"Exactly. What kind of father denies his nine-year-old a hot shower…"

"Not that part, the puberty part. She's still in elementary school, she's a baby…"

"She's ten in a few weeks, El. And she's not one of your perfect petite blonde daughters." There's just the slightest trace of bitterness in his partner's voice now. "She's probably got her mother's crappy early puberty genes…"

"There's nothing wrong with your genes."

"You didn't see me at eleven. If she's taken after me, god only help her…"

"Stop it. I bet you were just as cute as she is now."

Olivia pulls a face. "Anyway. Did she say anything about the smoking, or the…"

"Kathy managed to get a little out of her about his idea of nutrition. Leftover Chinese takeout last night and cereal for lunch today, apparently. I didn't push it, though," Elliot confesses. "I thought it might be better to let her enjoy Christmas and then…"

"No, I'm glad you didn't push it with her," Olivia agrees. "He's done that deliberately…"

"Done what?"

"He…" Olivia closes her eyes, sways momentarily. "When he had me. Day three, I think. I was high, I was… I don't know. I told him my mother used to leave me with a pint of milk and a box of Quaker Life when she'd go on one of her benders…"

"What the actual…" Elliot shudders, runs his hands over his head.

There's nothing to say.

"You need to get back onto Langan" he tells her, once he's regained the ability to speak. "It's not just… you know. That. Everything she's brought back stank of cigarette smoke, it wasn't just the clothes she had on. We've run it all through the wash for her…"

"You didn't have to do that, El, it's Christmas Day…"

"Not a problem. He's stuck a roll of duct tape in her bag again," he confesses apologetically. "And he's sent her back with a Christmas gift for you that looks like it's probably vodka…"

She's silent for several moments, presses her fingers to her temple.

"Okay," she says at last. "Okay. That'll be going straight into the evidence file, then. I just…" Olivia sighs heavily, can't meet his eyes, now. "I don't want her to have my childhood," she admits quietly. "I don't want her to be that kid, you know? I don't want her being the one who none of the other parents want around their own kids because she smells like a rooftop at closing time on a Saturday night, I don't want people looking at her and thinking she looks like the only proper meal she gets is from the school cafeteria and her parents haven't taught her a thing about personal hygiene. Neglect can scar just as deeply as abuse…" She shakes herself, almost as though she's trying to snap herself out of it all. "It doesn't matter. I'm projecting, as long as she seems okay. She's clearly more at ease here than she is over there…"

"She's alright. Lollie! Lollie, you going to come see your mom properly?" Elliot calls. "Before you give her an attachment complex!"

Olivia pouts at him, unimpressed, though she softens a little when her daughter runs out of the kitchen toward her, throws herself into her open arms. "Hey, sweet girl. I missed you."

"I missed you, too." Lollie wraps her arms around her mother's waist, clings on tight.

They stay there like that for several moments, hold onto each other, simply take each other in as though it's been months, not days.

"You okay?" Olivia whispers.

"Yeah," Lollie whispers back. "Are you okay?"

"Course I am. You had a good time at Uncle Elliot's?"

"Uh huh. I won Cards Against Humanity."

"Kids Against Maturity," Elliot clarifies hastily. "Family friendly edition."

"That sounds… interesting. You look exhausted, Penelope," Olivia fusses, runs her fingers through Lollie's hair. "What time did you go to bed last night?"

"I don't know."

"That'll be late, then. Did your dad not tell you Santa won't come if you're awake?"

"Santa only delivers to your place, apparently." Elliot raises his eyebrows.

"Has Santa been? Mommy?"

"I don't know, it's been so bad at work I didn't make it home last night. We can go and see now, though, can't we? You ready to go?"

"Five more minutes?" Lollie pleads.

"We need to get out of Uncle Elliot and his family's way, honey, okay? It's Christmas Day, Christmas is about family," Olivia tells her, before Elliot can object. "We need to let them have some family time. You got everything?"

She nods. "Lizzie helped me pack."

"Is that bag for you?" Elliot, she mouths, shoots him her best you-didn't-have-to face. "That's really kind of Uncle Elliot and Auntie Kathy, I hope you told them thank you…"

"She did. It's nothing, honestly. Who'd have thought a bunch of out-of-print books would make you so happy, hey?"

"Oh, I get it," Olivia catches on. "Dear Americas?"

"They were Kathleen's," Lollie explains shyly.

"That's an extra special gift, then, isn't it? You going to go and thank Auntie Kathy for having you before we leave? Good girl, come straight back for me. Are you sure, El?" she worries. "If they were Kathleen's…"

"Positive. There's no point them sitting in a box upstairs if she's going to appreciate them, is there? And I happen to know she's read all the in-print ones about a hundred times."

There's laughter from the living room now, laughter that sounds suspiciously like Lollie and all of his grandchildren combined.

"Penelope!" Olivia shouts. "Penelope, what did I just tell you to do?"

Lollie wanders back over guiltily.

"You said goodbye to everyone? Come on, then. Or I'm never going to get you out the door, am I?" Olivia sighs. "You going to put your coat on for me?"

"Why can't I have brothers and sisters, like Eli and Lizzie and Dylan and…"

"Do you want a list?" Olivia offers. "Because I could totally give you one. Shoes on, honey. What do you say to Uncle Elliot?"

"Thank you for having me, Uncle Elliot."

"No problem. You look after your mom for me, okay?"

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Night, El."

"Night. Text me when you're home safe!" Elliot shouts, watches as they disappear down the front steps, his goddaughter's hand held tightly in her mother's, glued to her side, classic tell-tale sign of having just endured a weekend with Lewis.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.