Six Feet Below
Disclaimer: I do not own SVU or any of the characters from SVU. I do however had rights to any original characters in this.
Warning: This may be a tear-jerker. shrugs I personally don't think it is, but there are some more emotional moments.
Also, this entire piece takes place from Olivia's POV.
The rest of the author's notes will be at the bottom.
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I stood there as they filed past me, leaving me alone by the gaping hold in the ground, which ended six feet below. Some of them risked a glance toward me, but most dared not. Perhaps they thought that if they looked at me I would snap and use the sidearm I've carried for years against them. Perhaps they feared that I was holding in too much, but this is the way I've always done things. Ever since the first time my mother slapped me for crying after a girl cheated during a soccer game. That was in the third grade—you would think people would have come to the understanding that I'm not a dangerous person.
The wind picked up around me and my dark brown hair danced around my face. I tried to brush it back, but the wind still played with it. He loved it when I grew it out. He never once said that he didn't like it short, but after I stopped cutting it he would always remark on how good it looked. I never understood why he liked it long—I always found it frustratingly difficult to brush out the knots after a 48 hour working spree—but since he liked it, I kept it.
At the memory of him my hands tightened around the small black book as the tears threatened to run. The pages were yellowed and tattered and the once spotless leather cover was on the verge of coming apart. I ran my fingertips against the cracked gray leather and held it tight to my chest. He had given it to me years ago and I had thought it was just some Catholic way of trying to convert. Give someone a Bible and let God do the rest. Well, I was wrong. Although he never directly mentioned it after that day, I would find him reading his own Bible as I ran out to his car for work or when we would go out to pick up lunch. It was always subtle and eventually my curiosity had gotten the best of me and I blew the collected dust off the cover. I never told him that I had read it, much less believed it, but I think he knew. Small things about me changed. Things I never told anyone and I don't think anyone but him picked up on. Things like such as when we found a live victim I would pray for her health, both mental and physical health. I never did it publicly, much like him I preferred to keep it to myself. Not that I was embarrassed, but it never felt right. I went to Church once or twice, but each time I would duck out early. The years of guilt and anger were too much for me. Church made it so real and I could never deal with that. At least then I couldn't.
He did ask me how I was doing once, after a victim I had grown close to committed suicide. I had escaped up to the crib, to try and catch a nap, but my emotional female side had taken over and he found me my knees hugged to my chest and tears dripping into my lab. He moved to wrap his arms around me and offer me comfort, telling me it was going to be all right and how strong I was for dealing with victims like that everyday. I remember the look on his face when I looked up at him and whispered, "Even Jesus cried at the loss of a friend." His jaw dropped and his eyes widened in surprise. "So he did," he answered, "So he did."
We both sat there for the rest of the day, simply healing in each other's presence.
We never talked about it again, but from that day on our relationship was different, closer. We were more then just friends; we were siblings, bonded by something so much greater then we could possibly understand.
"Ms. Benson?" The voice violated my thoughts and I turned, wanting to unleash on whatever poor soul had mistakenly talked to me, but I was weary and unable to even conjure enough fire to combat the sadness that engulfed me. I knew the man who had called on me. He was often the press representative for the precinct. I tried to speak, but my voice was broken and cracked. His eyes, however, were kind and forgiving. "Hi, Greg." I whispered, wanting nothing but to throw myself against his chest and sob. His arm came around me and I leaned into his embrace. He lowered his face into my wind-bustled hair and kissed my head. Tears filled my eyes and threatened to fall.
"It's going to be okay, Liv. It's going to be okay." He breathed and I could hear the tears in his voice that he, too, was crying.
"How?" I whispered, barely able to hear myself. "How will it ever be okay?"
Greg lifted my chin and looked me in the eye. It took every bit of control I had not to wipe the tear trails off my cheeks and look away. His brown eyes spoke searched mine. "I'll take care of you Olivia."
"I don't need your help." I jerked away from him and stared into the nearby grave. The cherry wood coffin lay in it and I could imagine him resting peacefully, his eyes gently closed and his hands folded on his chest.
"Alright, you don't need my help, but you know my number when you do." I could hear the brown leaves crunch softly as Greg walked away. I knew that he was heading for his car and going home. My refusal of his help had hurt him, but he would never turn me away. He knew that I knew where he lived and I knew that it wouldn't be more than a few days before I was on his couch. He would be there for me, as he always had. Maybe, when the hectic nature of the funereal had ended, I would spend a few days there. Take some time off of work. It would be nice.
For the first time since the coffin had been placed in the ground, I looked up and around at the remaining members of the funeral party. The captain, Munch, Fin and a few other officers were still here. Casey had disappeared.
Back toward the row of cars stood his children. Maureen, married and with her own family, stood silently, with her arms wrapped around her oldest son, Michael. The seven year old's head was bowed and he clenched Maureen's arm. Her other two, much younger children, were probably already at home, asleep. Maureen's husband, John, had left earlier, taking the two children with him. Kathleen stood to Maureen's right and rocked her own baby back and forth. Kelly was easily the cutest two year old I had ever seen. She had the most amazing dark brown hair, which always hung in ringlets around her face, and she had her grandfather's eyes. Her mouth hung open as she slept and Kathleen smiled down. If it wasn't for the glistening of tears in her eyes I would have thought that Kathleen was unaffected by the funeral. Lizzie and Rich stood in front of Maureen and Kathleen. Richard, always the brother, had one arm wrapped tightly around Lizzie's waist as Lizzie rested her head on his shoulder. Lizzie's fiancé was in France currently working on his PhD and Lizzie had absolutely refused to allow him to come home for the funeral. She, I heard, had threatened to call upon her father's ghost if he dared fly back. Derek remained in France.
"Mommy! Mommy!" My head snapped around as my son came running up the hill. My arms opened and he flew into them, his head burying itself in my shoulder.
"Shhhh, baby." I whispered gently as sob racked his little five year old body. I gently wrapped my arms around him and lifted him off the ground. Looks of sympathy flashed across the faces of the other guests and I turned away. How could they possibly understand, much less pity me?
I buried my face in my son's hair and breathed in deeply. The sweet smell of his shampoo calmed me, but I still soundlessly cried into his sandy blond hair. "Jacob." I whispered gently. His little head rose from my shoulder, but his blue eyes still held uncried tears. His face was red from crying and my heart melted. He looked so lost. "Jake, oh darling." I mumbled, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to pour from me. My baby was hurt and it killed me. I used the side of my thumb to wipe away the tear streaks that ran down his face. His little hand reached up and pressed my palm to his face. His eyes shut and he leaned onto my shoulder, without letting my hand go. I slowly rocked back and forth, humming gently. I wanted him to sleep, but as soon as his body began to relax, Jacob jerked awake, pushing himself off my shoulder.
"Jake, buddy, what's the matter?" I asked. Jacob didn't say a word, but looked at me with those eyes. They are his father's eyes, and showed more emotion than I thought possible for a five year old to express. He looked at me without a spark of joy in his face; his eyes were wide and solemn. He took my face in his soft hands and leaned in. "I love you mommy." He whispered, his voice steady and low.
Tears filled my eyes and I had to bit my lip from breaking into uncontrollable sobs. "It's alright, mommy, it's alright to cry." Jacob said, concern on his face. I hugged him tight to me and allowed my tears to fall into his hair. I cried for him and for me. I cried for the fact that Jacob would never be allowed to know who his father was.
It only happened once, between us, but once is enough. I was on birth control and he was wearing a condom. But, as we found out, that didn't guarantee anything. I didn't realize I was pregnant until two months latter, but there was no doubt in my mind who's baby it was. We had to lie to the Captain. It was gut wrenching to tell him that I had no idea who the baby's father was. He stood right behind me, the entire time, offering silent support. The Captain was silent when I told him, but he watched us carefully. He wanted some sign that the baby was his. Anything that would incarcerate us. The Captain knew that we wanted our relationship to go beyond just friends, just partners. He almost had me transfer to a safer unit, but we both vehemently fought against it. I wanted, I needed the support of the unit and he wanted to know his baby.
I think Casey knew. She tended to know these things. She suspected I was pregnant weeks before I knew. I subconsciously stopped drinking and after pulling my gun out on an unarmed suspect, she confronted me about it. I, of course, denied it, but she still pressed and after four weeks of her nagging I took one of the at-home tests. She never bragged about being right, but she had a stupid smug smile for days.
Jacob's birth certificate still has an unnamed father. Maybe one day, after I retire, I'll fill it in, but until then it's just me and him. Casey's his guardian, now, should anything happen to me. She's been my closes girl friend through this entire motherhood thing. She never missed a beat, even while spending hours a week with me at classes, reading books and shopping for those damn maternity clothes. Casey has the most incredible ability to scope out the sales. She even fought to get me a huge raise for work and figured out how to get the most back on my taxes. Without her I truly would have been lost. I figure she's the closes thing Jacob has to a second mother and if I was to die, she'll raise my son well.
If anything was to happen to me. I looked down at Jacob, who was playing with my hair. It all seemed so real now. The fact that I could die on the job was a reality that hit me harder now than ever.
My gaze traveled around the remaining crowd. Most people had moved onto the reception by the near-by church. I didn't want to go, but Jacob was reading a verse and was telling a story to start the memorial service. He hadn't even allowed me to help him. It was something that he wanted, needed, to do alone. I know which story he was using. That much was obvious to me.
It was last year, when Jacob was four. I was away for a few days on an undercover assignment and Jacob was staying with him. I don't know how exactly, but Jacob ended up falling from a tree and breaking his arm in two different places. Because I was undercover, I didn't know about it until after I got home.
I never heard many of the specifics of that week, but I do know that he helped Jacob through the medications and the pain and the nightmares. I never did go on another undercover mission, no matter how short or insignificant. It wasn't worth risking my son. The Captain was generous enough to grant me that.
Jacob shifted in my arms and I automatically switched him to the other hip. He was almost getting too big for me to be holding him like this, but for now, I'd deal with the sore arms. He needed the security and I needed the physical affirmation of his unwavering love. I wonder if he even knows what death means. He's a smart boy, incredibly gifted at reading people and understanding situations that would be beyond the comprehension of any other child his age. He always seems to know what I need at any given point in time, whether it's a hug and kiss on the cheek to breakfast in the morning. Although, he has yet to figure out exactly how to make pancakes and I typically wake to him standing in the kitchen in only an oversize shirt bathed in half cooked pancake batter and bits of pancake all over the walls. I love him dearly, but that kid can make a mess.
"Casey." I glanced over to Jacob, who had lifted his head to look over my shoulder at the red head who was walking up the hill toward us. Jacob, who would usually squirm out of my arms and run toward her, wrapped his arms tighter around my neck, clearly telling her that he wanted to stay where he was. Casey smiled weakly and brushed his hair back. Jacob didn't say anything, but laid back down, keeping his eyes always on her.
"How are you?" She asked softly.
"He's doing okay. I don't think it's truly hit him yet . . ."
"How are you doing?" She asked a little more forceful this time. Her eyes were stone and I knew she wanted an answer, but what could I say? Oh, I'm doing just peachy. Everything's fine. Isn't the weather lovely? How was work today? I could tell she was concerned, but I was tired of people asking me the same question.
I sighed. "I've been better."
"I know." She responded as she put an arm protectively around my shoulders. Her fingertips just gazed Jacob's arm. Enough to let him know she knew he was there, but not so much that he would feel violated. Children are so fickle that I always wonder about, and am often jealous, of her ability to know exactly where the line between what is okay and what is too much is. Casey is the natural mother that I'll never be.
She spent many minutes just staring at the two of us. I could see her mind working something out. She always has this one look when she's working on a problem. It didn't matter if it was a friend who suddenly threw up every morning or a hardened criminal trying to lie his way out of prison time, Casey gets the same look and no one messes with her.
"Jacob's his, isn't he?" She asked suddenly. I turned away from her and closed my eyes. There were some things that I didn't want anyone to know. Even my dearest friend.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." She said.
"Especially not Jacob," I responded immediately, a bit of an unspoken threat in my voice. Jacob's head tilted at the sound of his name, but I rocked him and he rested back on my shoulder, breathing deeply and rhythmically. Sleep wouldn't be far now. There was still two hours until the service began. Just enough time for a quick nap.
Casey looked almost hurt. "I wouldn't tell him without his permission."
"I know you wouldn't, Casey. I trust you, it's just that no one can know. No one. If anyone was to find out I would be . . ."
"Olivia. Stop this." Casey paused for a second. "I won't tell anyone. What you guys did was a mistake, but that's okay. Everyone makes mistakes."
I paused. Yet again Casey shocked me. I truly did expect her to play righteous and demand that I confess my sin to the Captain and every ranking officer involved. I don't regret that night and I certainly don't regret Jacob, but it was wrong, at least in the eyes of the NYPD.
"Your mistake," Casey continued with a smile in her eyes, "just happened to result in one of the cutest children I have ever met"
I genuinely smiled. "Thanks Casey."
"Of course, Liv. You know I'll always be here for you. And for Jake."
"I know." We smiled at each other briefly and then turned to watch the diggers fill the grave. It was surreal watching the coffin disappear, knowing that I would never see him again. It took forever for the hole to fill. Shovelful and shovelful of dirt fell and slowly the coffin was gone and then the diggers were gone. And it was just us, Casey, Jacob and I, standing there. Watching nothing.
"Olivia." Casey began softly, touching my arm to gain my attention. "We should go."
I turned away from her, wanting nothing more than to throw myself next to his grave and cry out all my frustrations and fears. It wasn't fair. He left me. He died and left me alone with his son. Who was Jake going to play soccer with? Who was going to intimidate his first girlfriend? Who was going to give him the talk? Who was I going to talk to at midnight when I wake up from a nightmare about losing Jacob? Who was I going to get advice from about raising children? How dare he. How dare the perp shoot him and make the rest of us watch as he died slowly, his blood pouring out of the open wounds.
"Mommy?" Jacob whispered, as if he could tell my thoughts. He sounded worried. I forced myself to calm before looking at him. "Casey's right, mommy, we should go now."
I nodded, slowly, before setting him on the ground. "Alright, but you're walking."
He nodded back. Jacob looked me straight in the eye, which was about the same height with me squatting on the ground. "You stay here."
With one last look Jacob turned and walked toward the grave. I could see him mumbling a few words, but from the angle I was at I couldn't make out what he was saying. He wiped one tear from his face and then threw a single flower onto the grave. It was then that I knew, someday I would tell Jacob who his father is. Someday I would tell him of all the mistakes we made and about the night he was conceived. I would tell him about all the secrets and lies that we feed to everyone. Jacob will probably hate me—for a long while—but someday, when he's ready, when I'm ready, I'll tell Jacob. That, however, will not be for a long while.
Jacob only took a few seconds more, standing beside his father's grave, before he came and trudged back up to where Casey and I stood. He stood motionless before us, playing with the hem of his grey sweater sleeve.
"Jake . . ." I began before his blue eyes matched mine.
"I'm ready mommy."
I smiled weakly and reached out my hand. Without breaking his stride, Jacob put his smaller hand in mine and we walked back up the hill. Casey followed, respecting our need for space.
The walk to the church was a short one. We opted to walk instead of driving because it gave us time to simply be. To walk and say nothing. To have no one offer their condolences. To have no hurting soul come and force themselves into a hug with you and force you to listen to all their stories.
As he would have wanted it, we had the service in a nearby Catholic church. Although it wasn't the church he usually went to mass in, Maureen and I felt that it would be appropriate none the less. I had actually visited this church, once, when Jacob was a toddler. I spent months searching for a church before finally landing at the one Jacob and I now attend. It's not Catholic, but does that truly matter? If you're following the same God, what does it matter what church you're in?
The church was small, only able to seat a hundred or so. This service was only for closer family and friends. The NYPD will have its own memorial in a week. That will be more public. This we wanted to keep just those who knew him best.
Jacob and I slowly walked toward the front row. His other hand, the one not firmly gripping mine, clenched a crumbled piece of paper. It, I suspected, was the beginnings to what Jacob was planning on saying. How he was going to hold it together, I didn't know.
When everyone was seated, Jacob squeezed my hand and stepped forward. His little frame shook with emotion. I found myself grabbing tissues from Casey and trying in vain to cover my tears. How was I going to hold it together?
I didn't last long. Even before Jacob had reached the microphone, all the emotion I had been holding back all day poured forth and I cried. I cried. Casey held me against her as I wept for the man and the friend I had lost.
Jacob cleared his throat and reached to pull the microphone down to his height. He pulled his crumbled paper out and held in front of him. He read it slightly first and then looked at me, as if trying to convey some deeper meaning. His voice was soft and gentle, much like a spoken lullaby, and he read without a crack in his voice or any sign of his overwhelming sadness.
"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth . . ."
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The verse was from the New Oxford Annotated Bible (NRSV) and is from 1 Corinthians 13:4-6.
Author's Notes: The 'he' that was in it was Elliot. I'm not trying to insult anyone's intelligence, but in case someone missed that. Go back and reread it if you didn't get that the first time.
I have some other ideas for some more background type stories and some future stories in this same universe if anyone wants to read them. I would love it if people would leave reviews with what they want to read. I have some time this summer so let me know.
Sarah