Title: Beauty in the Mundane Moments

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: 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 AU. Olivia Benson navigates the job, parenthood and marriage while trying to find the difficult work-life-family balance that comes with being a cop.

PLEASE NOTE: These chapters are stand-alone SCENES or one-shots. This is not a chronological story and there is no purposeful continuity. It is just a collection of moments. Some will reflect random ideas or potentially fun, humorous, heavy scenes to write with these characters. Others will expand on a scene from an episode (past or present) or recast the way a scene went while imaging it in this AU. Others will take a kernel from an episode and use it as inspiration for how these characters might've interacted with it going forward. Wherever possible, a year, season number or episode name will be provided to give some context of the general timeframe of the scene — to provide some guidance on where the characters are at mentally/emotionally and the ages of the children.

TIMEFRAME: Set in early 2020. It would be set after the chapter UNREAL REALITIES and the chapters may later be reordered to reflect that.

Olivia shifted and moved her hand to stroke at Brian's cheek. She tilted her head so her cheek nudged against his chin of the opposite cheek and whispered gently into his ear, "Do you want to try something else?"

His head sagged a little more at that. His weight shifted do. She felt him sag a bit more onto his elbows and arms. Some more of his body pressing against her and settling her against the mattress. But, though his movements stalled – slowed – they didn't entirely stop. She could feel him still pressing against her – into her. But she also could tell he was no where near where he was trying to reach – not in body. And not in mind. She knew just as much that his head wasn't there. He wasn't in the moment. Or with her. And whatever headspace it was that he was in was going to make it near impossible for him to physical get to where he was trying to reach.

But Brian still tried again. His knees spread wider – and she spread her legs a bit more too – letting him have deeper access, more room to move. He tried to find a rhythm and depth. But it wasn't one of their comfortable, tried-and-true methods. It was just automatic motions. His frustration manifesting itself through a series of fast, unmeasured thrusts. Ones that didn't go too deep. Ones that didn't tease in any way. Ones that did nothing to acknowledge either of their sweet spots or angles. Ones that gave no hint of the skills lover Brian was when he was on his game. The ones that kept their sex life fun – and more incredibly enjoyable than she thought she could ever expect at this point in her life with the baggage and trauma she carried. But the trade-off for that enjoyment factor – was that they both had nights like this. Where none of it worked. And they had to stop and work on that.

So "Let's stop," she said.

And his head sagged again. Just like it always did when she was the one to call it. To put in the request or demand. To let him know she'd had enough. Or simply didn't want to be a participant anymore. But just like always – he did stop.

He moved away from her. But rather than the stance he took some times – flat on his back, staring at the ceiling – he was on his side and gazing at her almost apologetically. So she allowed him a thin smile and rolled up onto her side too to look at him.

Olivia went back to stroking at his cheek. She gave him some time to stop fuming at himself – whether it was frustration or embarrassment.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. Or more offered. Though she knew he'd shake his head slightly just like he did. So she just stroked her thumb across his eyebrow and traced his eye socket all the way down to his cheekbone – rather than the other places she could be brushing the slight ridges of her thumbprint across. But it wasn't often Brian wanted that touch. Or that when he did, he'd second-guess himself and move her hand away. As much as she very much knew – when Brian was in the right headspace and let himself get passed that mental block – she very much knew how to get her husband off. Rather quickly and easily – if he needed that to steady himself. But his call that night was that it would do more to unsteady him than bring him down.

He sighed a little at her and looked even more apologetic. "I can go down on you …"

She stroked around his orbital again and gave him a weak-like smile – that bordered on a frown – for that offer. And she mouthed a 'No' at him.

He exhaled as he continued to gaze at her. "Sometimes I think it was easier when we were just hooking up …," he rasped.

She gave him a small shrug and moved her hand to his bicep. Her thumb instead traced slowly around the lines of that tattoo she had never really grown any sort of affinity for. But that both her children adored and had endless questions about. She was pretty sure that some day when their daughter was some kind of biologist she'd proclaim her interest had all been started by the long-horn skull that her Daddy had up on their wall and forever etched into his arm – even though it was starting to discolor now – fading and green-ish. Not like the fresh ink he had on his forearm. Or the growing collection that Jack kept appearing with.

It wasn't a question if it was easier. It was and it wasn't. There hadn't been the context either of them had now. The relationship wasn't established enough for it to be there. The trust didn't exist in the same way. So when things were off – they were just off. Not like now – where she could read his body language. History and cues and knowledge. Where she was aware he'd actually let her pull his tank off him that night. That she'd wanted to touch and feel his skin that way. Under her hands and pressed against her in their togetherness. And he'd allowed her that. But she was now measuring how much it'd played a role in this now. Aware enough that she kept herself from letting her hand move to trace the lines his surgical scars played across his chest.

"Trade offs," she said.

The trade-offs of having a life partner. A husband. Someone else to parent with. For the kids to have a daddy in their lives. For her to have a friend like Brian – and the kind of connection that allowed them to have. Maybe the sex wasn't easier. But it was more intimate. It was special. That created a different kind of enjoyment – even if it required a different kind of effort too.

"At least it was more fun …," he said.

"I was having fun, Bri," she said. "It was really nice until I lost you there."

There was another exhale. His eyes drifting from hers. But there was an acknowledgement there.

It had been nice. Fun. It should've been easy. But maybe it'd been too slow. The foreplay had gone on so long the sex had very much been an afterthought. Though, Brian had very much been the one who'd moved them into that realm that particular night. But even then he still hadn't clearly been any kind of hurry. Olivia had settled into letting herself enjoy the sensation of being filled. The presence of him – there, inside her. She'd focused on the ongoing kissing. The feel of his lips and tongue and breath. The touching. The feel of his skin. The difference in angle – when they'd begun in a position not so unlike the side-to-side, face-to-face they'd settled back into now. Maybe they should've just stayed that way. Or maybe they'd stayed that way too long.

She'd known she wasn't going to orgasm. If she did it'd be after Brian that night. Either by his hand or hers. She'd been happy to just enjoy the closeness with him. The pleasure it was providing – even if it was a very slow build. Maybe they might've both gotten there. Eventually. It wasn't unheard of. They'd been there before in their slow, linger sessions where there was no hurry, no rush. No time limit. And it was different. It was this slow wave that lapped up and over her – spreading through her being. It was a release. And, though, it didn't shake her – it still penetrated her to her core in a different way.

Brian was the only man she'd truly had with – ever. Maybe it was the only relationship she'd been mature enough in or present enough or just comfortable enough in to have that. A that had taken her time to realize that it was those times that they were truly making love. That the release and wave she felt through her body in those moments was some sort of ingrained human chemistry that just solidified her attachment to him. That she didn't know if she loved the truly unique feeling of it more or the closeness she felt with Brian in those moments after. The closeness she knew he felt to. He was near ridiculously gentle with her in those moments. The way he touched at her face and looked at her. How he kissed at her and stared at her – that even in her 50s now, like he still saw that 29-year-old little more than a girl still, and like she was still as much physically everything he'd ever wanted or dreamed of, which she knew couldn't be true. But his attraction and love and connection seeped off him in those moments too. Nearly matched in how carefully he'd move against her to take his turn – and how quickly he seemed to be able to get there in those fluid moments where they shared that truly definable session of love-making.

But that night nether of them had gotten anywhere quickly. The slow build had plateau. And Olivia still wasn't sure what was entirely to blame. But she did know she'd detected a point where Brian's head was no longer there in the moment. He'd drifted. He was only going through the motions – and that had been doing nothing for her.

"Where'd you go?" she asked him directly.

He gazed at her with sad eyes again and just gave his head a little shake.

She rubbed her thumb back and forth. "Talk to me, Bri …" she tried. Encouraged? Begged just a little?

He sighed and stared. And she let him. Unmoving – beyond that thumb tracing back-and-forth across his skin.

"I don't know," he sighed out. "I just got lost in my head. The shit going on with Ben and the Taylor kid and the kid's asshat parents not calling us back. Playing avoidance. Dodging us. I'm just … fucking pissed."

"Me too," she acknowledged. But she knew there was more to it than that. There had to be. That, in itself, was unlikely to have gotten them where they were in that moment. If it had been, she doubted they would've gotten very far to begin with.

"I'm basically at the point that I'm ready to go fucking camp-out on their doorstep. You know?"

She allowed him a thin smile. "Let's not take that tactic quite yet."

Brian exhaled again and pressed the heel of his hand so heavily into his temple. "It's just, you know, if these kids are looking at porn, they're likely also making all kinds of noise about jerking off."

"Probably," Olivia acknowledged, reaching and bringing his hand away from its efforts to knock thoughts and memories from his head. She thought she could see where this was going know.

Brain stared at her. "And I feel like I should sit down with him or something. Say something to him. Because I don't want whatever the fuck it is that kid showed him or said to him to be like the introduction and gospel he has going into puberty. I don't want some fucking … I don't fucking know. I don't even know what he saw or what the kid said. But I don't want that to be his fucking guide book. You know?"

"I do," Olivia allowed. "And I think you having a conversation with him sounds like a good idea."

"Yea, but I don't know what the fuck to say to him, babe …"

"What do you think you want to say to him?" Olivia put back to him.

"I don't fucking know," Brian muttered but stared at her with sad eyes. So sad that his hand went back up to try to press his fingers into them – to stop the glass that was starting to sheet them.

Olivia reached again and pulled down his hand. "Stop …" she whispered at him.

He stared at her. The glass glistening there and Brian fighting to keep steady.

"It's just that my intro to porno and like realizing what my dick did is so fucking wrapped up in all my bullshit," he managed to get out.

"I know," Olivia said again and laced her fingers with his – holding his hand – to keep it from trying to hide himself from her.

"So I don't know how to talk to him about any of it," Brian said. "It's just that I know I don't want any of that to look that way for him. Like even remotely close. But every fucking time I try to figure out what to say to this 11-year-old kid about it. I don't fucking know. It feels wrong. Like I shouldn't be the one saying it. Or broaching it."

Olivia squeezed at his hand. "Brian, you are his father. You're the man in his life. You are allowed – you are supposed to – talk to him about how his body works and sex."

"I just still don't know how to fucking talk about any of that stuff," he said. "Not without fucking blushing."

Olivia smiled at him and stroked along his hairline with her free hand. "You do better than you think, Brian."

They stared at each other. "He already knows it feels nice to touch himself, Brian. We both know little boys figure that out very quickly. Think of it as a refresher course."

He exhaled. "It's different," he said. "We haven't framed it all up in the whole masturbation thing. And if this kid is talking about it around like jerking off and jizzing and cum and shit." Brian just shook his head.

Olivia moved her thumb around his forehead. "So we use real words with him. Explain it – again. So he understands what to expect. But, sweetheart, he hasn't even started puberty yet."

He looked at her like he was hurting again. "We don't know what these kids are saying or doing, Liv. They're looking at porn. Who knows what other shit they're trying out. Fucking … circle jerks. Rainbow parties."

She wanted to say Benji was a little young for all that. But sometimes she wondered. Sometimes things – even with middle schoolers – cropped up and smacked her in the face and she was still shocked that kids that young were as involved in any of that when cases and complaints and perps and victims ended up in her squadroom.

But what she said was: "Which is why he hasn't had playdates at their house and we don't do sleepovers."

"Pictures," Brian muttered. "All the fucking phones. Social media. Video. Tik Tok shit. Like at Erin Lindsay's kid brother. That shit is just there forever. You can never get it all down."

"We talk to our kids about that, Brian," she assured. "We'll have conversations about if and when they'll get a phone."

"Does it even fucking matter? Fucking iPods and iPads and tablets and the Playstation and TV. It's all fucking connected to the internet and YouTube and all the fucking apps. Even if they don't fucking have it every other kid around them does. It's just the next little asshat shooting something and then posting it. And then it's fucking out there."

"Where is this coming from, Brian?" she touched at his cheek again, bringing his eyes to hers.

He stared at her. "Thirty years, Liv. Coach Gary held onto that shit for thirty years. Fucking jerk-…."

And he faded out before the 'jerking off' came out. Before either of them again had to acknowledge how many photos of boys they'd found in Dolan's possession. That Brian's had been among them. That Olivia had made the ID of that particular boy long before the ID was officially signed off as as Brian.

But she'd known – even though she kept her mouth shut. Even though it'd shattered her – and scarred her – in its own way. To see this man – her man – as a twiggy, pale little boy stripped down to his underwear. That one pair had clearly been from a Batman Under Roo set – and she'd had another quiet realization of why they were a 'Marvel family'. His DC heroes hadn't been able to save him. Not from the poses. The staged ones and the ones with the back of his Under Roos pulled down. Or the ones she could only guess also belonged to Brian – but were clearly taken by a man who'd pulled open the front of the child's shorts and pointed the camera lens down it – before following up with his hand or mouth.

Pictures of a little boy that she usually say so proudly displayed all the way from his baby photos right up to his Police Academy graduation in his mother's cramped and cluttered apartment. But laid bare in those pictures, she saw again and through different eyes why – how – so often they heard that Benji was the spitting imaging of Brian. The pale skin and the strawberry blonde, sun-kissed hair and the freckles across his cheeks.

It made her ache. It made her ache more as so many of the pictures stuck together as the evidence was being collected and sorted through. Not from age – but from bodily fluids that forensics only came back with later. And Brian's again had not been spared from that. Nor had they ever been able to fully confirm if – or where – Dolan had uploaded any of the photos. There was definite evidence that some had been shared. If Brian's had been among them they hadn't discovered. Maybe they never would. Or maybe some other day – on some other case – something would creep up on them and slap them in the face again. And the reality that many, many more people than just Dolan had been looking at those photos – touching themselves as they did – for years would hit them in the face again.

Brian shook his head a bit and stared off beyond her. "He's likely seen some fucking porn-sized, giant, cut adult man hard-on. He shouldn't have had to see that." His voice cracked a bit. There was the glimpse of that little boy still in Brian in that crack – a glimpse that shimmered across his eyes. A little boy who'd seen his first adult penis in person and in a way no child ever should.

Olivia leaned forward and pressed her lips against his collarbone and then tilted his chin down until his eyes looked at her again. "And now he's going to have his dad assure him that everyone's body is different and he is made and portioned and growing up exactly the way he's supposed to be."

He stared. "I don't want him to end up as fucked up about this shit as me …"

"I know," she mouthed. "He won't be. And, Bri, you aren't as screwed up about any of it as you think. You're very capable."

"There's a rave review," he muttered.

She placed another kiss on his chin. "I like what you offer, Brian. Here. Now. Privately. And as a father."

Brian looked at her again. "What if he remembers shit, Liv? What if something happened that already has him all fucked up about all this shit?"

She sighed out a long exhale. "Then we … deal with it, Brian. We get him help. We talk to him. We support him. Just like we've always done."

But was it enough? Would it ever be enough? Maybe her and Brian both proved it never really was. But it was the best they could manage. They best they could do. And they would.