thank you for the reviews !
I mentioned this in my last update but not until I was able to go back and change it. So, if you weren't aware, this story is set somewhere around season 10, post inconceivable.
I also want to add, the first few chapters are shorter, but they will get longer as they go!
disclaimer: do we even have to do disclaimers anymore? anyway, you know the deal, just borrowing these babies off of the dick wolf's shelf.
Chapter Two - Cragen
Her fist rose and fell several times as she tried to work up the courage to knock. She had barely remembered the address, double-checking it twice in her phone contacts to make sure.
Even in the darkness of the evening, she had found her way eventually.
The doorman had been kind enough to let her in, assuming it was probably because she looked like hell. Maybe he could tell she was coming to deliver bad news and didn't want to add even more of a hard time. Or, maybe he just didn't care. It was New York after all. Not everyone had the skill of reading faces such as she did; nor did they have the capacity to care.
How many times would she have to knock on someone's door? Ruin someone's day? Pick up the phone and having to end the call after gutting one of her friends with bad news? The longer she thought about it, the longer the list grew. Better yet, when would the news finally sink into her own mind? She hadn't mastered the art of distraction, though she was fairly good at it. Still, she could only drink so many cups of coffee and clean out her inbox before there would be no distraction left and she'd need to face reality.
Finally, her fist made contact with the wood of the front door, alerting with the softest knock. She waited a few moments, balancing her weight from one foot to the other in anticipation. She chewed at her thumbnail, listening to the sound of footsteps growing closer.
"Olivia?" Captain Cragen asked as he swung the door open. She wasn't usually a sight he would see standing at his doorstep, but she was always welcomed. He must've quickly been able to read her expression because his shoulders softened and he kept himself from asking her what was wrong. "Would you like to come in?" he asked cautiously.
Surprising herself, she nodded. She had sworn it would be a quick drop by, no exchange of formalities. She had sworn a lot of things, she should've known by now that the universe always had a different plan... even if it was something as small as walking into someone's apartment. There was a reason why she had planned otherwise. It wasn't her intention to explain every rigid detail of why she was showing up to his home. She came to ask a question; a favor... that was it.
He stepped aside, allowing her to walk down the narrow hallway with her head hung low. "I'm sorry I didn't call ahead of time," she mumbled monotonously, sitting down across from him as he led her to the couch.
"Don't worry about it. Can I get you something? Would you like something to drink?" by the skittishness of his mannerisms, she could tell he wasn't used to company. That was okay, neither was she.
"Uh... no, no thank you," she replied, seating herself on the edge of the sofa with her body held tightly together. She didn't want to take up space; not when she already felt like a burden.
She stared down at the upholstery of the couch. It was a faded and outdated floral pattern, yet somehow it meshed nicely with the build of the place. It felt like a home; a safe haven of warmth that suited better than the folded up cot in his office.
"What can I help you with?" he asked once he settled. His voice, sometimes rough and angry, seemed to comfort her instead. He had always been reliable, somewhat of a father figure that she never had the blessing of having. He didn't accost her, he didn't demean her or belittle her. She had always been grateful for that; for how he handled his command with respect for his squad.
His question was a hidden search for any way to ease her obvious pain.
She licked her lips before she spoke, her eyes falling to the floor. She couldn't face him dead on, that would be too hard. "I was wondering how many vacation days I have?" she started to ask, making sure her voice wasn't going to give out on her as she spoke. 'Vacation days' made it seem so beautiful. Like she was jetting off to Rio for a few days to sip piña coladas on the beach.
Far from it though.
"Who are you and what have you done with Olivia?" he chuckled dryly, managing to pull a small smile from her as she brushed her hair out of her face. His laugh quickly dropped to resemble something more solemn and empathetic. "Time to take a break?"
She nodded carefully. "You know I don't like asking for time off... I just, I need it right now. Just a few days." she was pleading with him before he even had time to say no; not that he was going to deny her. He could see on her face as clear as day that something was struggling within her. Hell, he'd always been the one pushing her for time off, she couldn't see him denying her of it now that she needed it.
"Liv," he inhaled, settling further into the seat across from her. "You have exactly 42 vacation days saved up. Not that you'll need them, you can take as long as you need. We all need a break sometimes."
"Thank you," she muttered.
She briefly wondered if he would dare to ask. Would he pry? He never did before. He was like her in many ways. He was able to look at someone and know when they were ready to crack. Call it the job. It was a skill they all needed in order to get their work done. The only problem was that none of them ever knew how to shut it off. Every strategy they'd ever learned, every skill they honed, they took it home. Always. Elliot had always tried not to, but that failed right alongside his marriage. Munch was three divorces deep. Fin barely spoke to his son. Then, there was Olivia — who had nobody to take the job home to.
The room filled with an awkward silence as neither of them knew what to say next. As she rose to her feet, she pressed her palms to the tops of her legs to support herself. "You can ask me, y'know. I'll answer honestly." she said, finally bringing her sights to meet the old soul within his dark brown eyes.
He hesitated at first, she expected that. She knew his mannerisms by now. He knew his boundaries but he also knew just how close he was to overstepping them. "Are you okay?" he asked. He knew it was a stupid question. Another formality. She was breaking and he knew it, he expected it. There was a hollowness in her eyes that he had become familiar with over the years of being neck-deep in tragedy.
He stayed seated while she hovered over him. It was a power move she recognized, but a power move for her benefit. He was allowing her to feel a moment of control by being at a lower height than her. Maybe he suspected that was all she wanted; some goddamn control. So, he gave it to her in a small dose. Maybe it would've made her feel better if she didn't know why he was doing it. He pitied her.
"No," she answered simply, shaking her head with pursed lips. "No, I'm not."
He wouldn't be the last to ask. He was merely a small splash of a much greater wave that was cresting above her. Something in his gaze told her that it was becoming increasingly harder for him to look at her. Could he see the cracks? Could see the way she was breaking? Was it visible that she hadn't eaten in two days, that sleep was sparse and painful to come by? If someone shined a flashlight against her flesh, would they see the outer shell she wore beginning to break apart into tiny pieces?
It only took one moment. One morsel of bad news, and suddenly everything she had ever survived was right back to the front of her mind. Everything that she thought she had gotten over, it was festering deep inside of her. Except, it wasn't so deep anymore. Everything was rising to the surface. Just like that, she felt so damn small.
She was walking towards the door when she heard him speak. "Is two weeks gonna be enough time?" he asked, his tone low and gentle. When she turned to glance at him over her shoulder, she saw him staring down at the clasped hands in his lap. His lips stayed pressed tightly together, a moment of contemplation for them both.
He wasn't naive, not like the rest of them.
He was aged, but not jaded. He knew of the problems people faced in the real world, beyond the concrete walls of the precinct. There was still a part of him left that wasn't entirely corrupted by 'cop mode', but rather just plain human being. Something in his eyes gave it away that he knew whatever she was facing was likely more than a problem at work – but a real issue that cops often forgot they were bound to face. Something beyond the grasp of criminality. Something normal people on normal streets worried about.
She wasn't going to answer the question that his eyes asked. She would, however, answer the question that came from his mouth instead.
"Yeah, two weeks is enough. Thank you, Captain."
Even in a moment with her back turned to him, both of them knew she was lying. It would never be enough, it would only be the least amount of time she needed before she could face the real world again.
She wondered why he didn't ask her. Why hadn't he crossed the line that nobody should ever have to cross? Did he already know? Maybe it was branded upon her like a scarlet letter. A warning to the people she loved and those around her. Something bigger than words could ever be; bigger than one word could ever be. The final notice, the hourglass, the uncertainty of a ticking clock.
Don't get too close. This person is in jeopardy.
Or, maybe he just relied on the idea that she would tell him when she was ready. If she was ever ready.
