Olivia stands in her doorway, with her glasses at the end of her nose. Her dark hair is haphazardly secured in a clip. She brushes a few rogue strands out of her face, and secures them behind her ear. In the bullpen the scurries about their business. The acrid smell of burnt coffee wafts through the room, mixing with a healthy serving of perspiration, and stale take out. The squad plays the song of their people as their fingers diligently dance on their keyboards. A wheeled office chair scoots away from a desk, with a single squeaky wheel.

The Captain exhales, and her eyes fall upon the occupant of the absurdly outdated chair. She clears her throat.

"Fin, can I see you?"

He turns to acknowledge her with a nonchalant head nod. Olivia retreats into her office, as the sensible heel of her shoe practically hovers over the tile floor. She carefully plants herself in the chair behind her absurdly large desk. She feels secure behind her desk, wearing her securely buttoned blazer. Fin enters the office, and immediately begins using his detective skills to dissect the room, as if it is a crime scene. Without a word he closes the door. He hovers behind the chair across the desk from his captain. She shoots him a look, just barely making eye contact. He guardedly takes a seat.

"We just wrapped up a case, which tells me that you are about to drop some other kind of bomb on me," he chooses to begin the conversation, realizing that she is grappling with an intro.

"I wish that you didn't know me so well," she admits, as her guard lowers at least a millimeter.

"How long have we worked together?" He cocks an eye brow, half a grin.

Her level of respect for him disallows her from beating around the bush. "Fin I've been considering putting my papers in."

Her words hit him like a lead pipe to the gut. His years of detective work remind him to check his emotions. He plasters on his most convincing stoic façade as he faces her. He focuses on his breathing while he considers his next move. Immediately his mind shifts to a sit-rep.

Fin pauses to read her, before offering a single response. Behind her stylish frames is a pair of dark circles. The lines on her face remind him that neither one of them are as young as they used to be. For once he has a hard time evaluating where she might be coming from. It is clear she is feeling conflicted. She squirms in her chair. They both know he could use his smooth artful style of interrogation that he saves for special occasions, against her.

Olivia suddenly begins feeling irrationally exposed. As surely as she is sitting in her office, she is certain that he is trying to examine, and analyze every one of her non-verbals, and micro-expressions. She prays that he doesn't pick up on how puffy, and red her eyes are. He will certainly grill her if he suspects that she has been crying. Her pulse quickens as the sinking feeling grows. Her palms start to feel sweaty. As his well calculated pause drags on, she begins to question her decision. Suddenly she feels nauseated at the thought that she has already said too much.

"Liv, I respect that."

Olivia furrows her brow, not sure what her next move is. He hasn't given her the response she has anticipated.

"That's it?" Her voice cracks.

"Liv, I respect you. If all you volunteer is that you are considering putting your papers in, I am not going to question it. You have given years of your life to this job, which you are never going to get back. We have seen things on this job that would ruin a lot of people. We have experienced things that make us question humanity. Every day you sit there, and you still have a passion for it. I can see that you're tired though. It gets to all of us, and I won't fault you for wanting to hang it up. I've considered it myself, and I don't have a kid at home."

"I thought that you might try to change my mind," she confesses, as she allows another brick to crumble from the wall she has surrounded herself with.

"Is that what you were hoping for?"

"No," she replies, as she purses her lips.

"Sometimes in life we need an ally more than we need an adversary," he reminds her.

"Fin, I don't tell you enough how much your loyalty means to me."

"I appreciate that. I am just glad I'm not finding out when the cake rolls around."

She smiles, while simultaneously rolling her eyes, "Give me a little credit."

"I am not fully recovered from my wise cracking days."

"Will you keep this close to your vest? I haven't made my final decision yet."

"I'll take it to my grave, if you need me to. This isn't where you implore me to take your place, is it?"

"Is that what you think?"

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Liv. I have no interest in being the ruler of this kingdom. You know that."

"Will you stay?"

He shrugs, "I don't see any other OG's around here to show the young bucks the ropes. Everyone else has moved on."

Her glance shifts, "Do you ever feel like you missed your window?"

He doesn't miss a beat, "To have a normal life?"

She falls silent.

"This is all I know. Honestly, I thought that I would die in the line of duty long before I had to worry about retirement. Now I worry that I'll hang it up, and still die by growing to intimately acquainted with a firearm."

"Do I need to worry about you?"

"I'm the last person on the planet that you have to worry about. I am just talking about statistics."

"You should get back out there before the others notice."

"Do you have any old cold cases lying around in your drawer? We could just pretend that was why you called me in here."

She pulls open her desk drawer and motions to them. "Take your pick."

He joins her behind the desk. He pulls a thin file out of the middle of the pile.

"Liv?"

"Hm?"

"When you're ready to tell me why you're ready to hang it up, just know that I'm all ears. I've got your back."

"Thanks, Fin."

He glances at the sticker on the file.

"Two thousand and ten? I seem to recall that was a busy year for us."

By the time she arrives home her son is already sound asleep. She relieves the babysitter, and heads into the kitchen. She warms up left overs in the microwave, and climbs onto the counter. The food barely registers on her taste buds as she obsessively continues her existential crisis. She chides herself for the amount of time she has spent doubting herself. She wonders when she will be ready to tell her friend, and colleague the truth.

The phone lying on the counter next to her vibrates. Her eyes shift to the screen. I've got your back, the text message reiterates. She knows that the sentiment is genuine, but it only makes her feel more guilt about withholding the truth from him.