She can count on one hand the number of decent Christmases she's had. Two of them fell somewhere between the ages of 5 and 9 — she doesn't quite remember — when her mother was in rare sober form and Olivia was still blissfully unaware of the fact that she was Serena's nightmare come to life.

They'd even had a Christmas tree one of those years, a nice full Douglas fir that Serena paid some scrawny young high school boy to drag up their third floor walk-up. At the time, Olivia thought it strange that she didn't ask a man, someone older with a little more meat on his bones.

She didn't dare ask, though. Her mother hated when Olivia questioned any of her decisions, no matter how innocently.

It was years later that Olivia realized it was because Serena hadn't trusted any adult man since before she was raped, and certainly not a strange one who required entrance into her apartment in order to do his job.

The other pleasant Christmas she recalls with her mother was nothing terribly special; she's sure it paled in comparison to the kinds of Christmases that normal, nuclear families had. But that morning, her mother had woken her up with a kind smile on her face — the rare one of hers that crinkled in the corner of Serena's eyes — and whipped up a stack of pancakes that they ate in their pajamas on the couch while they watched the snow fall along to the crackle of Christmas carols on the radio. There were no wrapped presents that year, but there was a gloriously-filled stocking with little trinkets and Olivia's favorite candies.

She still hangs that stocking every year.

The other three were with Elliot; two of which would make her feel a little pathetic if she were ever to mention them to another person, when Elliot was separated from Kathy and they'd both been stuck working the late Christmas Eve shift. It became their brief little Christmas Eve tradition — they ordered Chinese takeout from their favorite place down the street and Elliot stopped being a goddamn miserable bastard for an evening.

No small feat on any day, but particularly when she knew it had to have killed him to be away from his children. But he never let it show.

Not on Christmas.

The following year he stayed home, happily tucked away in Queens with his newly burgeoning family while Olivia sat at home with their Chinese food and a Christmas marathon.

Years before that, she'd actually spent one Christmas with Elliot and his entire family — their first year together on the job before there were any – well, fewer — complications between them and his marriage was solid enough that she didn't feel some type of way about encroaching on their family holiday.

She turned him down at first, of course.

"I don't need your pity Christmas invite, Elliot," she told him, rolling her eyes.

"Olivia, c'mon. It's not pity. Much," he joked, shit-eating grin plastered across his mouth.

"Hey," she replied with an indignant laugh, throwing a donut hole at him. It bounced off his forehead, landing on his desk, and of course the asshole picked it up and shoved it into his mouth.

He shrugged around a grin. "Couldn't let it go to waste."

But he pestered and pestered her all afternoon before she finally gave in. "I'm not getting you a present though," she grumbled.

There was nothing terribly remarkable about that Christmas Eve night. She schlepped to his house in Queens and laughed with his children over a big ham dinner Kathy made before begrudgingly joining them all at Mass.

She wasn't sure the place wouldn't burst into flames when she walked through the door, but she went, sat down in a pew that was packed in like sardines. Sandwiched between Elliot and little Dickie Stabler, who avoided her eyes with a flush to his tiny cheeks every time she caught him staring.

She stayed while he read his children The Night Before Christmas, huddled all together on the couch in their Santa pajamas while she sipped a cup of decaf coffee from their armchair. After he put them to bed and kissed his wife, he followed her out to her car, a small wrapped box in his hand.

Olivia looked down at it and then back up at him, eyebrow raised. "You know I wasn't kidding when I said I wasn't getting you anything."

"Just open it, Benson. Geez." He leaned back against the driver's side door, biting his lip while he watched as she tore the paper off.

Frowning at the plain, nondescript box that gave nothing away, she opened it and pulled out a small "Our First Christmas" ornament that held a photo of the two of them at the precinct.

It was incredibly cheesy.

And it was also kind of incredibly...perfect.

"I don't have a clue what the future looks like, Liv. With our partnership, the job." He shrugged, arms folded over his chest. "You know, I hope to be in it for a long while, but just in case…" he trailed off, a little uncomfortable as he scraped a hand over his mouth. "I just wanted to remind you that you're never alone on Christmas, ya know? I'm always here."

She swallowed hard at his words, blinking back her emotions. "Thank you, Elliot," she scraped out. "That means a lot to me."

It was the first and last time she was ever extended an invitation to his home for the holidays.

When she digs out her pathetic box of Christmas decorations this year, she almost throws his asinine ornament in the trash.

More than six months without a goddamn word from him and it still feels like yesterday when she found out he put his papers in and wasn't ever coming back.

She carries pieces of him with her still, his mini-badge on her gun and his medallion around her neck. But lately, it's felt more like a noose, tightening and tightening around her throat with each day that passes without him sitting at his desk across from her, pecking at his keyboard like a chicken in hopes of irritating her enough that she'll offer to type up his reports for him.

Which apparently she did more often than she realized because her paperwork has been surprisingly light these last six months.

She doesn't throw it out, but she does shove the entire box back into the closet. More than half of her best Christmas memories are with him and she truly doesn't give a rat's ass about celebrating this year. She already tried to take the Christmas Eve shift this year so she could throw herself into a case instead of throwing herself onto her couch for a night of drinking and sulking.

But it was Munch and Fin's turn this year and she wasn't about to tell them she wanted to work. She's sure they already know — she's not fooling anyone — but asking them for it is another animal entirely.

Her dignity doesn't keep her warm at night, but it's about all she has left these days.

Whatever. Even if she wanted to decorate, she can't seem to find a spare minute. Even tonight, it's a week before Christmas and the department is holding a holiday party. She'd planned to skip it and do...literally anything else with her night off but Cragen pulled her into his office this afternoon and informed her that it was mandatory after the brass had gotten wind of how much she'd been brooding lately.

She was getting a reputation for being "difficult to work with," her Captain had said. But she was practically cordial with Amaro now and was all but ignoring Rollins — an improvement — so she's really not sure what the fuck they're expecting out of her.

"Two hours, Liv," Cragen ordered. "Paste on a smile and kiss some ass before they come in here and make all our lives miserable."

So she'll go. She'll "paste on a smile and kiss some ass" all while imbibing copious amounts of wine and harmlessly flirting with her close friend/long ago one-night stand who will also be in attendance: ADA Alex Cabot.

She's certainly had worse evenings.

Tonight, she slips into a red satin dress that's been buried in the back of her closet for ages, applies a touch of smoothing serum to her long hair, and smudges on a coat of red lipstick before she's out the door and hailing a cab.

"I thought this was an open bar," Liv complains with a frown, digging through her purse for her wallet.

Alex chuckles. "First round's on me."

Liv sighs, closing her eyes. "Thanks."

The bartender slides over a glass of cabernet sauvignon and Olivia thanks him before she takes a long sip, relishing the way it coats her throat, warming her insides.

"I'm surprised Langan isn't here with you tonight," Olivia observes as she leads them over to a table close by, not far from Munch and Fin. With a polite smile, she nods at Cragen and the Chief of D's, deep in conversation in a corner across the room.

Hopefully not about her.

Let the ass-kissing begin.

"He was pulled in as second-chair at the last minute, so he's staying up late tonight to familiarize himself with the case."

"Things are going well between you two?" Liv asks, craning her neck to see if they've set the food out yet. She's absolutely starving.

"Yeah, they're great," Alex replies, smiling. "I really like him." The two had re-ignited their once casual romance and had begun exclusively dating a few short months ago.

"That's great." And she means that, sincerely. Years ago, there'd been nothing more between her and Alex than a physical attraction that they acted on once. They weren't right for each other and they both prefer men — for whatever goddamn reason — so Olivia truly just wants her friend to be happy.

"Yeah." Alex cocks her head, sympathy laced in her gaze.

"Hmm." Olivia shakes her head, swallowing her sip of wine. "Don't look at me with those sympathetic eyes, Alex. You know I hate that."

"You really haven't heard from him?"

"He sent me this, did I tell you that?" Olivia pulls at the chain of his medallion, which has slipped between her cleavage. "And a note. Semper Fi," she mocks with a hollow laugh. "Do you know what that means? I had to look it up."

"No."

"Always faithful." She huffs out a breath, takes another sip of wine. "What the hell kind of bullshit is that anyway? It certainly can't have anything to do with me."

Then, a slightly amused voice to their left: "Ya sure about that?"

Son of a bitch.

More to come! Love to hear from you.

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