A/N: There seems to be some canonical confusion as to the year in which Olivia was born. As far as I know, there've only ever been two references to her birthday: the first was in Season 1, when Munch mentioned that her mother's rape happened in 1968. From this, it somehow became canon that Olivia was born in 1968. However, about two years ago, we learned from Barba that her birthday is in February. If the rape (and thus, conception) happened in 1968, and her birthday was in the month of February, then she could not possibly have been born in 1968. It had to have been 1969. Therefore, for the purposes of this chapter and story, I've made her birthday February, 1969.

Separately: LOTS of liberties taken here. And I don't know anything about police policy and procedure other than what I've seen on the show, so please forgive any errors.

With an hour to kill after having dropped Olivia off at her new therapist's office, (somehow, she snagged a same-day appointment; Elliot wonders if Cragen didn't pull some strings) Elliot heads to the precinct. His pretext: to pick up a bag of her stuff that Brian apparently delivered earlier.

As he steps off the elevator on the fourth floor, the atmosphere is noticeably less tense than it was during his last visit here on Saturday. The place is packed with people, and it's back to business as usual. Sans Olivia.

He walks into the squad room, feeling strangely out of place even though he was just here two days ago. Multiple pairs of eyes affix on him, tracking him as he crosses the room. He barely recognizes any of them, but he has the distinct sense that they know who he is.

Amaro's desk is empty, but he spots Amanda right away. She gets up to greet him, gestures at Olivia's desk, which is packed with gifts, and yet another cake. "More stuff arrived this morning. I've got another batch of cards and letters in my desk. Maybe you want to take some of 'em to her?"

He glances at the desk, his eyes watering. "I will, thank you."

"How's she doing?" Amanda asks, with a sincerity Elliot finds endearing. He can see why she belongs in this unit.

It's a natural question to be asked by her closest colleagues and he should be used to it by now, but for some reason he finds that he's not. He wishes he could tell Amanda the truth; it would feel cleansing, somehow. But it's not his truth to tell, and so he responds with the reliable throwaway. "She's doing okay. She's tough, you know."

"I'm sorry I ever stopped him in Central Park."

"What?"

"Shoot," she says, waving the comment away. "I don't know why I blurted that out."

Elliot frowns. "It's okay."

She takes in a sharp breath, hands him a plastic bag from her desk. "Cassidy was here earlier. Dropped this off."

Elliot takes the bag from her. "Right. That's why I'm here. Thank you." His eyes settle on Cragen's closed door.

Amanda nods, a glint in her eye. "Captain's in his office," she prompts. "Don't think he's that busy either."

Cragen beckons him inside as he completes a phone call. Elliot takes a seat.

"Everything all right? Since breakfast, I mean?"

"I need a gun, Don." He cuts to the chase, staring his old boss down.

Cragen looks startled. "A gun? Why?"

"You know why."

"Look, I know she's hung up on this possibility that he's somehow going to get out, but he's not."

"But if he does – "

"But he's not."

Elliot sighs. "Okay, let's not go in circles. Let's just look at the facts. He's on suicide watch, but you and I both know he's not suicidal."

"It's a defense tactic, not an escape plan."

Elliot puts up a hand. "You're probably right. And if he doesn't get out, terrific. But if he does … Don, I grant you the possibility is remote, but on that off chance that he does, we both know he'll come after her again. And if he does, it's going to be with a gun. It doesn't hurt to be prepared. She can't have a gun right now and – "

" – And you told her you'd get one."

"It's not a completely ridiculous idea. I'm qualified. And she trusts me. You told me yourself that's the most important thing."

"That's not exactly what I said." Cragen sighs. "Okay, look. If he gets out – and I'm barely entertaining the idea – I will absolutely authorize a fully armed protective detail."

"You know she won't go for that. I won't go for that."

"I can't just hand you a gun, Elliot. No matter how much I trust you, or she does."

"Look, Don. I'm going to get one, with or without your help. But to be honest, I'd much rather go through proper channels."

Cragen sees he's going to get nowhere. "All right, let me see what I can do. You were officially cleared of Jenna's shooting, so maybe there's a way I can get you, I don't know, temporarily reinstated."

"That'd be good."

"No promises, Elliot."

"I know."

"Tell her that."

"I will."

Cragen swipes a palm over his face, sits back in his chair. "Is she really that frightened?"

"She is."

Cragen's face falls, as if he's wounded by the notion. "Damn." He shakes his head forcefully. "Damn it."

Elliot frowns. "You seem to be taking this very personally."

"The situation merits it, don't you think?"

"You feel responsible."

"You bet I do," Cragen says fiercely. "This was the single worst crisis to ever hit this unit. We almost lost her, Elliot. Not to a bullet, but to a violent murder. And it happened under my watch."

"But you must know that it wasn't your fault."

"We can agree to disagree on that. But either way, I won't forgive myself if she doesn't come back."

Elliot scratches his cheek. "But … I mean, forgive me for saying this, she was rescued almost two weeks ago. Maybe you didn't know the full story then, but you knew she'd been assaulted, tortured, threatened with rape. How come you didn't intervene this assertively then?"

Cragen takes a long moment to reply, as if he's debating how much to divulge. "I should have. Looking back, I absolutely should have. You know, the second I walked into that apartment and saw that pan on the stove, I felt absolutely sick. I knew exactly what he was doing to her, and I knew that there was a tiny window to find her before he killed her. But I was full of adrenaline the first few hours, and there were a ton of leads, and so I refused to think the worst. And the way she always manages to pull a rabbit out of a hat, I half expected a call at any moment that she'd escaped, or had been found, or had killed him. But as the hours went on and lead after lead turned up dead ends, it started to sink in that we almost certainly weren't going to find her in time, and that at some point in the next few weeks, we'd be attending a funeral."

Elliot shudders. "That must have been an excruciating feeling."

"You have no idea. When it's one of your people, when you're responsible for them. This job, this profession … you worry all the time that you'll lose people. That you'll have to knock on a spouse's door and deliver the worst possible news. But it's always a bullet. Something impersonal and quick and unplanned. We live with that possibility every day. But losing a person this way? As part of a sexual assault, in an act of torture? The idea not just of how much more suffering there would be, but also that it was preventable, that you were responsible for their walking straight into the trap …"

"Don," Elliot interrupts gently. "Did you fall off the wagon?"

Cragen give a slight nod, acknowledging the validity of the question. "No. But I'll tell you this: it's the closest I've come in thirty years."

"What stopped you?"

"I guess … the possibility – however remote – that she was still alive, that she would come back and find out I'd ruined my sobriety because of her."

"That must've taken a lot of willpower."

"Luckily, I didn't have to exert it for too long, because a few minutes after I almost gave in – I had the bottle in my hand, was just about to pour – the 9-1-1 call came. It was like a miracle."

"Amaro told me that you didn't recognize her voice on the phone. That you thought someone was pranking you."

Cragen grimaces at the memory. "It took me a minute. She sounded confused, disoriented. And sort of … forlorn. Like she'd forgotten why she'd made the call. And her voice was ultra-quiet – kind of like this morning." He pauses. "Now that I've heard Viva's story, it all makes sense. But you know, Elliot, I think I was so relieved she was alive, I didn't think too hard about the details, about the story she told the next day, how little sense it made. I wanted to believe that she was okay. She was acting okay. And she was with Cassidy, so I knew she wasn't alone … but still, it's not an excuse."

"Look, I think we all … underestimated the situation. And if you had tried to push her, she would've rejected it. Believe me, Amaro and I tried."

"And it would be convenient for me to tell myself that. But let's be honest. It was always likely that she would downplay things."

Elliot's convinced there's still something Cragen isn't telling him. "Cap, I gotta say, you seem … how do I put this? Unusually invested in her."

"I'm invested in all my people."

"Sure, but … is there something else I'm not seeing here? I mean, not to compare the two, but I was shot a few times on the job and I don't remember you hovering around, monitoring my recovery. Or Fin's or Munch's."

"Wasn't it you who just finished lecturing me this morning that you can't compare something like a gunshot wound to this?"

"That's fair, but … you seem emotionally invested. Almost as much as … I am."

"Maybe I am."

Elliot frowns. "Because she's a woman?"

Cragen's silent.

"Are you this protective of Amanda? Because I sure don't remember your being like this with Jeffries."

"That's because Monique was the daughter of a firefighter and a nurse, had two older brothers who also joined FDNY and by all accounts came from a loving, stable family."

Elliot had expected Cragen's retort to be in the vein of Olivia's longevity with the unit, or her superiority as a detective, or maybe just that he liked her more, but now Elliot's completely confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Do you know where Monique ended up after SVU?"

"No."

"Brooklyn Homicide, briefly. And then, Quantico. She hunts down cybercriminals for the FBI. She's been there since 2004, and from what I've heard has been wildly successful."

"So?"

"So, I was disappointed to lose Monique. She was a solid detective and I thought she contributed a lot to the unit. But I knew that she could live without being in SVU. It wasn't her life's work. And she hadn't had to overcome any … history to get there."

"I'm still not following, Don. I mean, I know Olivia's history, but lots of cops had shitty childhoods."

"Do you know Olivia's history?"

Suddenly, Elliot's unsure of himself. "I think I do. She's told me things."

"I'm sure she has. But that doesn't mean you know her history."

"Even if I don't know everything, what does her history have to do with it?"

"It has everything to do with it. She's one of the best detectives I've ever seen, and by far the best SVU detective the NYPD has ever had, maybe the best in the country. She connects with victims – adults and children – like no one else can. That alone is reason enough to fight to make sure she comes back. But factoring in what she overcame to get here? Not just NYPD, but this particular unit? The only one that she could possibly be happy in? You bet it's personal to make sure she comes back."

Elliot is stunned. He's never heard Cragen talk like this. But still, something about Cragen's words is bothering him. That Olivia was conceived in rape and raised by a drunk is old news, and this fact is already baked in to what makes her such an outstanding detective. There's something else; Elliot is sure.

Just then, he receives a text from Olivia.

Barba wants to talk testimony prep. He's picking me up therapist's office. So you're off babysitting duty for another few hours. Xoxoxo, Liv.

Elliot grins stupidly at the screen, picturing the playful sarcasm behind the xoxoxo. She knows how to get to him. "Speak of the devil. Looks like I've got a bit more time."

Cragen nods at the door. "Grab a cup of coffee?"

The dining area of the deli next door to the precinct is nearly empty as the last of its lunch crowd dissipates. Elliot and Cragen have the pick of their tables.

Elliot grasps his plain black coffee without taking a sip; he bought it just for the sake of buying something. Since his retirement, he's slept much better, and finds he doesn't need the caffeine. "Don, this morning at breakfast you made a comment, that Olivia's mother neglected her. How do you know that?"

"Olivia's never hidden the fact that her mother was an alcoholic and an all-round shitty parent."

"Yes, but you said neglected. Were you referring to something specific, or just using the term loosely to mean … shitty parent?"

Cragen sighs, as if resigned to telling Elliot the truth. "No. Olivia was neglected, in the most literal and legal sense of the word."

"If that's true, then how is it she was never put in foster care?"

"Who says she wasn't?"

Elliot blinks. "Olivia does."

Cragen thinks. "I guess that's technically true."

"You're saying she was removed from the home?"

"Repeatedly."

Elliot stares. "Are you sure? I mean, I know she's pretty private about these things, but she's never once even alluded to having lived with anyone but her mother."

Cragen's silent.

"Don?"

"That's because she was too young to remember." His voice is gravelly.

Elliot squeezes the styrofoam cup in his hand. A drop of tepid coffee spills onto the linoleum table. "So you're saying she doesn't even know?"

"Unless her mother told her, which I doubt."

Elliot's incredulous. "But she's combed through her mother's file a million times. How could she not have come across something like this?"

"She's gone through the rape case a million times. And besides, my guess is that little, if any, of it was documented. Far as I know, she was never officially placed in the foster system."

"Then how do you know about it?"

Cragen is quiet.

Elliot is stunned. "Don?"

"It's not really any of your business."

"That's true," Elliot admits.

"'Course, it was never my business, either," Cragen muses.

"But you know something." Elliot frowns. "All these years, you've … known something about her past, and you've kept it from her?"

"Because it would've hurt her."

He clenches his jaw, keeping his temper in check. "I can't believe this."

Cragen sits back in his chair, looking uncharacteristically defensive. "These things aren't black and white, Elliot. And it wasn't my place to tell her."

Elliot waits expectantly. "Well? Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to play twenty questions?"

"You think it's right to talk about your partner behind her back?"

"If I think you're keeping a secret that she has a right to know? Yes. I do."

"I don't dispute that she has the right to know. But that doesn't mean she's better off knowing it."

Elliot sits back, chastened by the argument. He shakes his head. "This isn't right. You're her boss, Don. And if I'm reading between the lines correctly here, you seem to have had some ... personal connection to her mother."

Cragen makes a face, waves his hand. "Don't be ridiculous. It's nothing like that."

Elliot eyes him with suspicion. "No?"

"No." He sighs, seemingly resigned. "All right. I guess under the circumstances it can't hurt to tell you. You can decide for yourself what to tell her."

"Go on," he prods, intrigued.

Cragen clears his throat. "Middle of October, 1970, Rabbi Jacob Stern at the Beth Tikvah Synagogue on 126th and Riverside came in at six in the morning on a Saturday to prepare for services. As he opened the back door to take the garbage out, he was shocked to discover a toddler in the alleyway next to the building. The baby was completely naked and holding her own diaper in her hand, which she'd probably torn off herself. It was forty degrees outside."

Elliot's eyes widen. "That was Olivia?"

Cragen nods. "The rabbi took her inside and cleaned her up and fed her and called the local precinct."

Elliot does some quick math. "She would've been, what, about twenty months old?"

"Something like that."

"What condition was she in?"

"Well, she hadn't been bathed in days, was very hungry, had cuts on her feet and signs of frostbite on her toes and fingers, but the doctor at the hospital couldn't confirm direct abuse. There were a couple suspicious bruises, but it was just as likely she'd hurt herself wandering the street. There'd been an early overnight frost, the sidewalks were icy, and she could easily have slipped and fallen. All of this was conjecture, of course, because no one knew how long she'd been left alone, and how much of that time was spent outdoors."

"Jesus."

Cragen nods. "Luckily after they warmed her up and fed her, she seemed to perk right up, and since she was otherwise in good health, they released her the same day back into police custody. Apparently, too, the doctor was struck by her advanced vocabulary and the fact that she was putting sentences together at such a young age."

In spite of himself, Elliot chuckles. "Sounds about right."

Cragen tilts his head. "It does. On the other hand, it probably also biased the doctor in favor of dismissing her bruises as incidental."

Elliot frowns. "That's true."

Cragen continues. "Meanwhile, detectives at the two-six were stumped. No baby fitting the description had been reported missing and nobody in Rabbi Stern's congregation had ever seen her or knew anyone who had a little girl that age."

"But how far could a twenty-month toddler get? Especially naked?"

"Exactly right. They figured she must have come from somewhere in the surrounding blocks, but canvassing turned up nothing, and it wasn't like today, with cameras on every block. Meantime, that Saturday happened to be a Jewish festival and the synagogue was packed with young families with lots of kids, a room full of donated clothes and toys, and a playroom for the kids during services, and so Rabbi Stern offered to watch her for the day. By evening time, no one had turned up to claim her, and so the family volunteered to take her home with them."

"Child Services didn't step in?"

"They hadn't been notified. The rabbi had been with the congregation for fifteen years and he also had a relationship with the precinct because he'd helped out on some burglaries in the area, and so they knew him and trusted him. He also had five kids at home and a wife who was overjoyed to have a baby in the house. Decision was made to keep it off the books."

"So where was her mother?"

Cragen nods. "About noon the next day a woman was admitted to Mount Sinai with severe alcohol poisoning."

"The next day? Sunday? She'd been drinking for two nights straight?"

"Unclear. Best they could tell, she'd spent the Friday night at a Columbia student bar, then had passed out on a friend's couch. The friend left for the day assuming she'd be gone by the time she returned, only to come home and find her bottle of vodka opened on the table and her friend again passed out on the couch. That was when she became concerned and called an ambulance."

"But didn't the friend ask her who was watching Olivia during this time? Didn't anyone at the hospital ask her?"

"That's the thing. No one seemed to know she even had a baby."

"How's that possible?"

"Well, by the time Olivia was born, her mother was in her final semester of her PhD. There were no classes by that point; she mostly spent her time reading and working on her dissertation. She lived off campus, and obviously never invited anyone over."

"Still, you'd think someone would've known. Especially while she was pregnant."

Cragen shrugs. "You'd think. That bit remains a mystery."

"So how did the detectives finally put it together that this unconscious woman at the hospital was this baby's mother?"

"They didn't. When Serena was released, one of her academic advisors picked her up and helped her home. She was evidently shocked to find the apartment in a state of disarray. The front door was unlocked, there was shattered glass on the floor, a bunch of dirty baby bottles on the counter, and a pile of dirty diapers in an overflowing garbage can in the kitchen. There was a crib at the far end of the living room and baby clothes in a pile all over the floor, but no baby. When she questioned her, Serena was vague; she tried to tell her the baby was with a relative, but the advisor thought the whole thing was suspicious and called the police."

"And that's when they figured it out."

"Right."

"How far away was the apartment from the synagogue?"

"Fourteen blocks."

"Fourteen blocks?" Elliot is astounded. "She walked that far … at night, in the cold, with no clothes … she crossed streets … by herself?"

Cragen nods. "The detectives were stunned."

"So why was Olivia returned to her mother then?"

"Oh, she wasn't. She wasn't even two years old and she'd been left in an unsecure apartment by herself for at least two days. No way was she going back to her mother."

"So where did she go?"

"Well, Child Services – then known as Bureau of Child Welfare – was up to its ears in other cases, and there was sort of a cold war going on between them and the Department, and the detectives had taken a personal interest in the case and didn't want to see her disappear into the bureaucracy." Cragen pauses, chuckles. "It was a precinct full of testosterone-fueled jackasses, but even they couldn't resist the novelty of having this cute little girl running around the squad room. Meantime, the rabbi's wife, Esther, kept checking in, asking about her, and volunteering to take her overnight until things were settled with Serena. It was a win-win all around."

"How long was Olivia with the Stern family for?"

"The first time? A few weeks. Serena swore she'd paid a babysitter who'd left early and that the drunkenness was a one-time thing because she'd been celebrating defending her dissertation. The university also put pressure on the precinct for the case to be dropped, because it was a bit of an embarrassment for their star student to lose custody of her baby literally the day after awarding her their highest degree."

"You said the first time. There was a second time?"

Cragen nods. "Unfortunately, yes. About two months later, the same thing happened. This time, somebody at the bar recognized Serena and asked her point blank who was watching her daughter. She was too drunk to answer cogently and this person immediately called the police. Sure enough, they found Olivia alone in the apartment, sitting in the middle of the floor, busy at work ripping to shreds about two weeks' worth of The New York Times."

Elliot can't help but chuckle. "She would've been almost two by then?"

"Just about. There was an overturned plate of cold spaghetti and meat sauce on the floor that she'd obviously been eating, because there was tomato sauce all over her face and in her hair, and her diaper hadn't been changed in hours. The apartment wasn't at all childproofed – there were a hundred ways she could've hurt herself being left alone like that. Not to mention, there was an open bottle of vodka right there on the kitchen counter, which she easily could have climbed onto, and probably did."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. Serena was questioned, and again tried to make up some story about an irresponsible babysitter, but what struck everyone involved was her affect. One of the officers who escorted her home thought she seemed disappointed that Olivia was still there. Apparently she ran up to her mother and tried to hug her but Serena brushed her off. The officer was shocked."

Elliot shakes his head.

Cragen continues. "Needless to say, Olivia was again removed from the home. But again the university stepped in, asked the precinct to keep it off the books. Serena was somewhat of an academic star – she'd been a post-doc for less than two months and was already being published in prestigious literary journals."

"Did she go back with the rabbi?"

Cragen nods. "For about three months. By that point, the family had grown attached to her. The older daughter doted on her, and the younger kids loved having this baby around to play with. It was probably the most attention Olivia had ever received."

"So what happened? How did Serena regain custody?"

"Well, she agreed to join AA and to take a parenting class. This time, she seemed to express genuine remorse and promised to change. A few faculty members vouched for her, and … that was that. Olivia was returned."

"Did it happen again?" Elliot asks with dread.

Cragen nods morosely. "About four months later. This time, a neighbor called, because the smoke detector had been set off. Olivia was found alone in the apartment completely hysterical because of the alarm. She'd managed to climb up onto the stove and turn it on, and then overturn the kettle, which she spilled all over herself."

Elliot's eyes widen. "Was she hurt?"

"She had first-degree burns across her legs and thighs from the scalding water, and second-degree burns on one hand, probably from touching the element. She also had a fractured wrist and was walking with a limp. She was well over two by then and had enough vocabulary to communicate that she'd fallen off the counter trying to reach the shelf with the cookies. Doctor at the hospital estimated that she hadn't been fed in at least a day and a half. This time the precinct felt it had no choice but to call in Child Services."

"And?"

"And, she was again removed, placed with the Stern family. After about a month, the family hired a lawyer to file for permanent custody."

"They really wanted her."

Cragen nods wistfully. "They adored her. They were sort of the exact opposite of everything Olivia had ever known."

"So why weren't they able to keep her?"

"Well, it was a long shot legally, as they had no biological ties to her. Still, they were able to keep her for ten months, and had just won a motion to begin the adoption process, when Serena's father intervened and filed for custody."

Elliot's eyes widen. "Wait – there was a father? Olivia had a grandfather?"

"She sure did. He was widowed; Serena's mother had died many years before, but he was still alive."

"Where was he all this time?"

"Well, seemed he'd been estranged from his daughter for whatever reason, and didn't even know he had a grandchild. He'd been a particle physicist at NYU, but right before Serena entered grad school, he was poached by MIT."

"I see," Elliot says. "So he was living in Boston when the rape happened, when Olivia was born. That must be why Olivia thinks she had no family on her mother's side either."

"Probably. At some point, though, he must've gotten wind of what was going on – who knows, maybe some acquaintance at Columbia told him – and he immediately came to New York and filed for custody. The Sterns were devastated."

"So Olivia knew her grandfather?"

"Briefly, yes. But she probably doesn't remember him. She would've been a little over three when she was sent to live with him. But she was only with him for two months when he was stabbed to death during a mugging leaving his lab in Cambridge."

Elliot shudders. "That's terrible."

"It was. Luckily, Olivia was in daycare at the time."

"What kind of guy was he?"

Cragen shrugs. "This, I don't know. By all accounts, though, he probably would've provided her a loving and stable home. But remember, he was a widow and a man and also pushing sixty, and there was a strong bias by the courts in favor of an alternative arrangement. Anyways, those two months with her father seemed to give Serena newfound energy to fight to get Olivia back. She'd been attending AA meetings faithfully, she was on tenure track, and she seemed genuinely reformed. The courts were always going to favor the mother in these things, and since there was no other living relative, Olivia was returned to New York and into her mother's custody."

"If the grandfather hadn't been killed, Olivia might've grown up in Boston," Elliot muses.

"Quite possibly."

Elliot shakes his head. "I mean, I know Serena was raped, I know there were reasons for the drinking, but it's unconscionable to me that she was able to regain custody."

Cragen nods. "She was on track to be one of the youngest female faculty members with tenure at this venerable Ivy League institution, and remember, it was the seventies, crime was starting to spike, and the judge let his bias get the better of him. No one wanted to believe this educated, accomplished woman would harm her child on purpose. And the fact that Olivia happened to be exceptionally advanced for her age didn't exactly support the thesis that Serena had been neglecting her."

"She wasn't the idea people had of a bad mother."

"Exactly."

"Why did Serena want her back so badly? It sounds like she hated being a parent."

Cragen shrugs. "Only Serena can answer that. I guess the maternal bond was still there. And from what I've gathered from Olivia, things ran hot and cold with her mother. She may very well have been a loving, attentive parent when she was sober."

"Maybe," Elliot says, doubtfully. "Don, you still haven't told me how you know about all this. I didn't think you were ever in the two-six."

"I wasn't. In fact, I was still in the Academy when all this was happening. But my uncle was the Lieutenant there, and he used to let me shadow him and hang out on my off-days. What better way to learn the job, right?"

Elliot blinks. "Are you telling me that you knew Olivia as a baby?"

"I wouldn't say knew, but yes, I did see her in the precinct a few times. She was very sweet. And extremely affectionate."

Elliot swipes a hand through his hair. "I can't believe it."

Cragen puts up a hand. "Before you draw too many conclusions, no, that's not why I hired her. That part's a complete coincidence. I didn't even realize it was the same person until after I interviewed her and she told me about her mother. And no, I never held her, or played with her, or anything like that. I was a 23-year-old asshole with no interest in kids, just like most of the other guys in that precinct."

Elliot sits back in his chair, processing the information. "And you really never told Olivia any of this? Don't you think you owe it to her?"

Cragen nods regretfully. "I've thought about it many times, believe me. I almost told her, about fifteen years ago. But it seemed at the time that she was on good terms with her mother, and I didn't see the point in ruining that. And then her mother died, and I don't know, I guess I didn't want to upset her."

"Her mother's been dead for fourteen years, Don."

Cragen nods guiltily. "I know. There've been a few other times over the years, like when she went ahead and tracked down the little dipshit."

Elliot raises an eyebrow. "The dipshit?"

"Simon." Cragen practically spits the name.

Elliot smirks. "Not a fan?"

Cragen frowns. "No. Did she tell you? He popped back up about two years ago, again tried to manipulate her into helping him, which she did, even though the moron kept going out of his way to sabotage himself. I thought about telling her then. That family isn't just genes, you know?"

"Yeah."

"But I didn't. Guess I thought better to let sleeping dogs lie."

"What ever happened to the Stern family, if you know?"

"Well, after Serena's father's death, they petitioned to have Olivia returned to them, but the court sided with Serena on the basis that she'd maintained her sobriety. They continued to fight for custody for about a year, until it became clear they were never going to win. At some point in the mid-seventies, the rabbi got a job at a congregation in Westchester County and the family relocated."

Elliot takes a second to digest everything he's just heard. "Was Olivia ever removed again?"

"Not to my knowledge. Not that that means Serena suddenly turned into a model parent."

Elliot shakes his head. "Olivia told me that throughout her childhood the police were called to her place constantly."

A shadow passes over Cragen's face. "I believe it. After her father's death, Serena inherited a bit of money and was able to move to a nicer place, about fifteen blocks south."

"Different precinct," Elliot guesses.

Cragen forms a pistol with his fingers. "Bingo."

"They didn't know the history."

"Right … but it should have been pretty obvious that this kid was getting the shit beaten out of her on a pretty regular basis."

Elliot's taken aback. "Olivia told me it didn't happen that frequently."

"Yeah, well, that's not the impression I had."

"Was that your beat?" Elliot asks, still reeling from Cragen's direct knowledge.

"Off and on. But I remembered the case, realized it was the same family, so I followed it."

"But again, Cap, how could she have been left in that home?"

"Well for one thing, it seems Serena started doing more of her drinking at home, rather than at bars."

"So?"

"So, it's straightforward to remove a toddler who's been left at home all alone. That's clear-cut neglect. But confirming that an older child's been beaten, when the mother's standing right there acting innocent, and the kid isn't saying a word? Much harder."

"Still. I know the times were different, but I've got to think that if the cops were doing their jobs, they could've figured it out."

"I do have one theory."

"Which is?"

Cragen leans in. "Promise not to ever breathe a word of this to Olivia."

"Okay."

Cragen clasps his hands together on the table. "Serena had a way of talking her way out of things. Especially with male cops, which was pretty much all of them. And she was extremely attractive."

"Are you saying she'd flirt?"

Cragen considers the question. "There was an element of that. But mainly she'd play the helpless, overwhelmed single-mom card."

"She kind of was, though, right?"

"She was … but it was still an act. She'd convince the officers that whoever'd called them had overreacted, that she was fine, that she was just having a bad day. She'd mastered the art of appearing sober. And Olivia never dared contradict her."

"Of course she didn't," Elliot snaps. "Because she was a child."

Cragen splays his hands, nods regretfully. "The system – all of us – failed her."

Elliot raises an eyebrow. "Us?"

Cragen is silent.

"You answered a call there," Elliot finishes, astonished.

Cragen takes a sip of his coffee, carefully puts down the cup on the table before answering.

"From '73 to '75 my beat was Amsterdam to West End, from ninety-sixth to a hundred and tenth. But once in a while, I'd be assigned an extended route, because we were short staffed, there were too many calls and the more experienced guys would be rerouted more north." Cragen pauses. "Anyways, one night I answered a call alone at that house. The upstairs neighbor had called in a seeming domestic dispute, but when I got there, I just found Serena, drunk off her ass, breaking things."

"Breaking things?"

"Taking different objects – dishes, lamps, ashtrays, bottles – and smashing them on the floor."

"Where was Olivia?"

Cragen nods. "I found her in her bedroom, inside the closet, terrified."

Elliot's eyes widen. "How old was she?"

"She was five. In fact, it was her birthday."

He has to actively remind himself that this was forty years ago; the end of this story has already been written: somehow, his partner emerged from her childhood a successful, well-functioning adult. "Why was she in there?" Elliot asks. "Was she hiding or had her mother put her in there?"

"She wouldn't tell me. But she did say her mother was having a bad day."

Elliot snorts. "A bad day?"

Cragen nods. "That's how she put it. I told her she could come out of the closet, but she refused. She said, and I'll never forget this, 'My mommy says I'm not supposed to be in the world.'"

"Jesus Christ," Elliot mutters. "She had no idea what that even meant."

Cragen shakes his head sadly. "None."

"Did you? I mean, did you – or anyone you worked with – make any connection to the rape? Serena had reported it, right?"

"She had, yes. But she never confided that Olivia was a product of it, and let's face it, none of us was looking at her birthday and doing the math against the date of the rape and connecting those dots. We were generally there to settle Serena down, then move on with our night."

"Different times."

"Not really," Cragen says reflectively. "Isn't that why we have an SVU in the first place? Because no other squad would connect those dots?"

"That's true … And nine times out of ten, when we've had a case like that, it's Olivia who does the … dot-connecting." Elliot scratches his head.

"Exactly."

"So did you convince her to come out of the closet?"

"Yeah. It took a bit of coaxing; I wasn't at all good with kids, didn't know how to talk to them, but I told her she had to."

"Was she hurt?"

Cragen hesitates. "She … had some bruises, yes."

"Did you confront Serena about them?"

Cragen's silent.

"You didn't?"

Cragen takes a long breath. "I should have." He pauses. "It's – " Cragen stops midsentence, closes his mouth.

"Don? What were you going to say?" He can't help the anger that seeps into his voice.

"It's the single biggest regret I have in my career. Besides my drinking."

Seeing the way his former Captain's face crumples at the memory, Elliot softens. "You were still basically a rookie. I remember sometimes feeling intimidated by citizens who tried to make me believe it was my judgment that was off."

"It wasn't that." Cragen takes a long breath. "I'd been drinking too."

All at once, Elliot understands. "And Serena detected it."

Cragen nods. "She looked me straight in the eye and said, 'takes one to know one.' I got out of there as fast as I could."

Elliot absorbs the information, takes a long moment to reply. "I'm sure Olivia has no memory that it was you."

Cragen shakes his head. "I'm sure she doesn't. But that's … really not the point."

"It was forty years ago."

"Yeah, but certain things stay with you …" He trails off. "You know what I keep thinking about that night?"

"What?"

"That Olivia was five. Same age as Luisa Núñez."

"So?"

"Elliot, Olivia volunteered to be raped by a guy who'd just spent four days torturing and terrorizing her, just to spare that little girl. And I was cowed by a drunk woman half my size into abandoning her at the exact same age."

"You were young, Don. You made a mistake." He smiles weakly. "And I think we can agree Olivia turned out okay."

Cragen shakes his head. "It's a wonder that she did." He looks up. "Do you want to know what happened about an hour after I left that night?"

"What?" Elliot asks, dreading the answer.

"Serena broke a bottle over Olivia's head."

Elliot gasps. "What?"

Cragen nods. "Luckily she had enough sense to take Olivia to the hospital. It took forty stitches to sew up the gash in her scalp. A piece of glass almost took out her eye, and another nearly nicked an artery in her neck. Oh, and Olivia had to be admitted overnight, because she wouldn't stop vomiting."

"Why was she vomiting? Did she have a concussion?"

Cragen laughs sardonically. "You wanna know why? Because it turns out, she also had alcohol poisoning."

"Alcohol poisoning?" Elliot asks, horrified. "Her mother had forced her to drink?"

Cragen shrugs. "Who the hell knows."

"Didn't the ER staff alert the police? Surely they weren't stupid enough to think this was an accident. Especially since Olivia had been there before."

"Serena was sure to take her to a different hospital. But yes, they did call the police, and to answer your question, yes, they were stupid enough to believe Serena's story that it was an accident."

Suddenly, it all clicks. "That's why you're so determined to help her now," Elliot says. "Because you feel like you let her down all those years ago."

Cragen takes a long moment to reply. "Maybe I do."

"And that's why your guilt only kicked in now, as opposed to two weeks ago. Because you saw what Olivia did for Luisa Núñez."

Cragen leans in. "Elliot, do you know how many times I've been recognized for bravery in my career, because I risked a bullet to save a guy? I got my first two promotions that way. But the thing is, I'm not afraid of a bullet. If I were, I wouldn't have gone into this line of work in the first place. A cop being afraid of a bullet is like a firefighter being afraid of a fire."

"Don, I understand why you feel the way you do, but I think you're being a bit hard on yourself. If you had the same case today, you absolutely would've intervened and helped her."

"Sure. Because today I wouldn't be afraid of a drunk woman reporting me to my boss."

"You were at the beginning of your career. You had a lot to lose."

"But that's exactly the point. It's easy to do the right thing when it doesn't cost you anything. It's easy to show courage when you're not really afraid. Olivia isn't afraid of a bullet any more than you or I am. But being raped? That was literally her worst fear. She was terrified of what Lewis was going to do to her. More than the burns, the torture, she knew that this would scar her permanently, and that she'd be dealing with it for the rest of her life. But she didn't even hesitate when he made her choose between herself and Luisa Núñez."

"I think she would argue that it wasn't really a choice at all. What kind of person lets a five-year-old get raped?"

"I'm sure she would argue that. Because in her mind her own terror means nothing compared to Luisa Núñez'. But another cop might've stalled for time, seen if Lewis was serious about attacking the little girl, maybe hoped to somehow incapacitate him before he had a chance to do real damage. But Olivia knew that that was just a copout, because it posed way too big a risk to the kid, especially when there was a risk-free option available to her: to sacrifice herself. It's not just that she made the choice, Elliot. It's that she didn't even hesitate."

He's not sure what to say to this. "I've tried to tell her how … brave she was. But she can't reconcile that with how afraid she is of him right now."

Cragen sits back in his chair, looking crestfallen. He takes a breath. "Look. I'll try to get you a gun. After all this, she deserves to feel safe."

Elliot lets all of this sink in, wondering how he'd feel in Cragen's shoes. He's made so many mistakes in his career he shudders to think of them. He's missed clues, accused innocent people, allowed his temper to get the better of him. But all of his screwups have been the product of some combination of too much passion and honest errors in judgment. Never has he screwed up because of an addiction, or out of cowardice. "Do you think Serena would've had an alcohol problem if not for the rape?"

Cragen considers the question. "It's hard to say. I didn't know her at all. I doubt she would've been a teetotaler though."

"Something I've always wondered about. Olivia seems to believe that all of her mother's problems stemmed from that one incident."

"We'll never know for sure," Cragen concedes. "But things are usually more complex than that. And she should never have been a parent."

"Yeah." Elliot is pensive, overwhelmed by the avalanche of revelations. "Did you - "

Cragen puts up a hand. "Hold that thought. Before I forget." He reaches into his blazer pocket, extracts a mini-manila envelope. He hands it to Elliot. "Please give this to her. Received it back just before you arrived."

Elliot unseals the envelope and out pops Olivia's gold Fearlessness pendant. "Why do you have this?"

"It was in an evidence locker till now. Guess you didn't hear that part. We found it in the trunk of the car he'd put her in on the way to the Mayers' house. She almost certainly left it there on purpose as a clue."

He cups the familiar gold piece in his hand, turns it over twice. He'd seen her wear it religiously for years, and he wonders now how he managed to miss its absence on her chest. He places it deep inside his wallet. "Thank you. I'm sure she'll be happy to have it back."

"Yeah ..." Cragen shifts awkwardly. "What were you going to ask me?"

"Did you ever see Serena or Olivia again?"

"No." Cragen pauses. "Not until the day she walked into the precinct for an interview and I realized who she was. I couldn't believe she'd survived her childhood."