Olivia's holding a pencil as they move down a familiar street in Queens; Nick's driving.
She's erasing the nervous scribbles surrounding her notes from the morning. It had thrown her, hearing the address, a half-block away from Elliot's. She hadn't said anything to her partner as they grabbed their jackets and headed out to interview the witness. Cragen, though, had understood.
She's already bearing down hard as the house comes into view, the steps where she had told him she could never walk away.
She sees the sign—SOLD—and hears a crack.
Like Olivia, the pencil breaks in two.
Nick turns toward the sound, startled.
"Liv, are you—"
But she doesn't respond; she's completely still, her eyes trained on the passenger side mirror, watching the world behind her grow smaller by the second.
Her wonder stings and she hates herself for it. She tells herself she's blowing it out of proportion, knowing all too well that four of his five children are grown and they're probably downsizing somewhere else in the city. She tries to picture him settling into a ranch a few streets away, a thought that briefly calms her, but something in her bones tell her otherwise. This, she just knows, is the final twist in his disappearing act—her hope, the only illusion.
They arrive at their destination and Nick shifts into park. In the quiet, he can hear her shaky breath, the slow roll of splintered wood across the notebook, dropping to the floor mat. It's clear she's trying to control her reaction, eyes closed, her neck stiffening as if any small move would unleash a beast from its lair, a primal scream that would shatter everything in its path.
He has to say something, glancing up at the witness's front door.
"Want me to take this one?" he starts as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Do you…do you need a minute?"
Somehow, the question pulls her out of it. She laughs, softly, bitterly.
"More than a minute, Nick," knowing that this is a hollowness that will linger, unabated by the confines of time.
"But we don't have all day, do we?" she finishes, the car door opening swiftly and slamming shut as she steps onto the sidewalk, never looking him in the eye. Halfway up the brick steps, she gives herself permission to forget, just for a moment. She loses sight of the sign on the lawn a few houses away, and it's only the welcome mat in front of her, her finger on the doorbell, the sound of children laughing inside.
Nick joins her on the step, handing her a pen as the door opens; a flustered woman greets them while two young boys squeeze past her, trampling over Olivia's toes as they race down the steps.
"I am so sorry," the woman quickly offers before shouting, "You two come right back here and apologize! Now!"
"It's really fine," Olivia starts, but before she can continue, she turns around to find one of the boys looking up at her. The other stands facing the street, frozen at the edge of the walkway.
"Sorry…" the first boy offers sheepishly, his cheeks growing red.
"Manners, son," the woman interjects, prompting him, "Sorry, Detective …uh, Benson, right?
"Yes," Olivia responds, extending her hand to the boy, granting him grace. "Detective Olivia Benson."
At the sound of her name, the second boy turns on his feet and everything stops.
He's taller than the last time she saw him and his hair's a bit different—darker, straighter—but she'd know that face anywhere.
"Eli."
He walks closer and she finds herself sinking, sitting on the steps as he looks at her curiously.
Finally, he whispers, "I remember you."
Olivia has entirely forgotten the scene around her—the mother, the boy, and Nick, the rumble of a garbage truck passing by, cartoons still playing through an open window. Eli, too, is lost in the moment, studying the warm brown eyes that had greeted him the first time he had opened his own.
"You know my kid's friend?" the mother asks.
"My partner's son," Olivia manages to breathe, her voice failing her. She sees Nick's shoe out of the corner of her eye and remembers. "My old partner," she corrects.
"Small world," the woman returns. "Eli stopped over for a playdate before they move out tomorrow." She senses that there's been some distance, adding, "You do know they're moving, right?"
Olivia nods, "I do," and Nick immediately understands why the pencil's in pieces.
Eli looks away, changing the subject.
"Sorry I stepped on your toe."
"It's okay, sweetheart," she offers, her gaze drifting to the left, halfway expecting Elliot to materialize beside his son and offer his own apology. Of course, he doesn't, and she pauses for what feels like an eternity, debating the question she most desperately wants to ask until it decides for her and she suddenly blurts out, "How's your fath—"
But she catches herself, deciding that her closure isn't Eli's burden to bear.
"You know what," Olivia continues softly. "I'm sure your family's waiting for you. I should probably let you go."
And she tries to do just that, to let him—and all of them—go, watching him step backward as they share a wave, her eyes following him down the sidewalk and up the steps of a house that used to welcome her.