Alex rolled over and looked at the clock. 5:45. She groaned and decided to get up. It had been yet another fitful night for her. She'd had the dream again, the one where Olivia was shot. And this one had ended the way that all of the others had: with Alex waking up in the dark, relief lighting up her features. And then she rolled over, waiting to feel the warmth of Olivia's body beside her.
And then it hit her; it wasn't a dream. Olivia really was gone.
It was six months since Olivia had died, but Alex still woke up most mornings in the hope that it had all been just a dream. But it wasn't.
If Alex was a weaker woman, she would have contemplated suicide. In truth, there were moments when she thought about ending it all. It was usually after a few glasses of wine, when she'd find herself staring into a full bottle of aspirin, imagining the damage that those little pills could do. Or in the shower, shaving her legs, when she'd find herself looking longingly at her razor and thinking about the numbing relief that it could bring her.
But Alex wasn't a weak woman. And so she went through the motions of everyday life, fighting in court against the lowlife rapists who plagued the city streets, drinking with her colleagues after a particularly trying case, or celebrating with them after a victory.
But she knew that she was different, changed. She could tell that even Cragen and Munch had begun to notice the change in her. Her laugh sounded hollow, even to her own ears. And there were times when she found herself glancing longingly at the desk that was formerly Olivia's, almost expecting to see her sitting there.
Alex still had two hours until she needed to get up for work. She threw on a pair of sweats and sneakers and went out for a morning run. As she ran, her mind slipped away, and, before she knew it, she found herself in front of the cemetery.
She stopped for breath and ran the back of her hand across her damp forehead before deciding to enter. She knew exactly where Olivia's grave was. She'd been there so many times that she could make her way through the winding path even in her dreams.
She stopped before the stone and knelt down, feeling the damp earth through the knees of her sweats. "Hey Liv," she whispered, running her fingers along the engraved epitaph. Olivia Serena Benson. Angel of the NYPD SVU. "I'm sorry I didn't bring you any flowers today."
The wind whipped through the trees, blowing the leaves together and making a sound that, to her, sounded like a reply. She smiled to herself. She knew that it was crazy, but sometimes it helped her to feel like Olivia was right there with her, listening to her words and speaking back.
"It's been six months today," she paused. "God, I still miss you so much." She felt a lump forming in her throat, but, for once, she didn't fight the tears.
Hot tears made their way down her cheeks and fell onto the ground. She tried to imagine them making their way under the cold earth and sliding through the metal casket, falling on her lover's face and waking her. She would open her eyes and make her way to the surface, arms wide open and ready to embrace Alex.
But life isn't a fairytale, and she never was one to believe in miracles.
And so she touched the stone one last time and rose to her feet. It was time for her to get back to her apartment and get ready for the monotony of daily living. "Goodbye, Olivia," she said. "I love you."
