The days that follow slog past like cold molasses. As Olivia frees herself from the shackles of her alcoholism the fog begins to lift. The task is daunting, and each passing day feels like a millennia. One evening she is sitting around the peace of her dinner table when her son looks up at her with a grin.

"Mama?" He begins sweetly.

"Yes, son?"

"I missed you," he tells her as if she's been gone for days.

She furrows her brow, and allows her fork to come to rest on her plate. She tilts her head, and waits for him to offer clarification. He doesn't immediately respond.

"Noah, I haven't gone anywhere. It's Saturday. We've been home all day."

"That's not what I meant. You haven't been present," his words hit her with the precision of a long-range missile.

"Noah, you're right. I haven't. Parents too often get caught up in the weight of the world, and unintentionally bring it home with them. I am only human."

"Can I ask you something without hurting your feelings?"

"You can ask me anything. It's not your job to worry about my feelings."

"What happened to your mom? You don't talk about her."

"My mom died a long time ago."

"How?"

She purses her lips at the sobering question her son has lobbed in her direction.


A fluffy periwinkle towel is wrapped around her securely as she wipes the condensation from her bathroom mirror. Her son has long since retired to his bed. Her bare face stares back at her silently as her wet hair clings to her shoulder. For a moment all she can see is her own mother staring back at her. The next automatic thought is how badly she wants a drink. The anger rises in her chest as she lowers her body onto the edge of the empty bathtub.

She has spent most of her adulthood pushing everything and everyone away. Emotions that cause pain get shoved to the bottom, or drowned. People who threaten to get close to her, and really see her get left out in the cold. Her tears greet the air with pride. Her brother in blue's words circle her brain, and infuriate her. Only because he's seen her, or at least glimpses of her, and his assessment is wholly accurate. She's grown adept at leaving things ambiguous.

She applies an old, familiar pair of flannel pajamas she wears when she needs to feel safe. Her sweet innocent boy's face is burned into her brain. She hates herself for not being emotionally available in the ways he has needed. She sighs as she peels back her fluffy down comforter. In honest reflection the truth is she has often not been physically present when he's needed her. The hats she wears have defined her long enough it is time she redefine them. Enough time has escaped her.

No amount of libation will heal her pain. Her glance drifts to the picture of her son sitting on her bedside stand. She knows in her heart of hearts she is doing better than her own mother. She blinks away tears as she measures herself in the shoes she's hoped to fill. The lamp clicks off, and her tears greet her pillow.

When she rises in the middle of the night, waking in a cold sweat tangled in her sheets she frees herself from her restraints, and exits the room. She hovers outside her son's room. As her frame leans against the door frame she just watches as his chest rises and falls. Time is a mortal enemy that waits for no man, she is reminded as her thoughts briefly wander to him fitting in her arms. She wipes the tears from her cheeks, and quietly climbs into bed with him. She presses her hand against his chest as he sleeps. He presses his hand against hers as if he knows she's there, even in his slumber.


Monday morning rolls around too soon. The coffee isn't strong enough, and the cases are too much. Fin nods acknowledging the weariness in her eyes. It is the middle of the day when he fills her doorway.

"'Livia?"

She looks up from her desk and meets his gaze. It is more than she can do to muster a feigned smile.

"Everyone is chasing leads. Take some time and pick your son up from school. Hug that boy, and get your mind right. The perps will be waiting when you get back."

For once in her life she doesn't argue. She offers a subtle nod and vacates her desk. She pulls on her jacket and moves towards him. Before she slips through the bullpen he silently embraces her. She accepts his act of compassion, as it is one of the few things allowing her to carry on.