A/N: Blinded never happened—although it had some FABulous E/O moments—in regards to this story, boys and girls, let's just use our imaginations and pretend it never occurred.

Watching Elliot walk out of her apartment, Olivia fought like hell the urge to go after him. To tell him she made a mistake and that she was willing to have any part of him that he could offer her, even if it wasn't his whole self. Turning to her side to lie on the couch, she curled into the fetal position and let the tears fall. For once she didn't hold them in—she knew any attempt would be wasted. She cried for her mother, who wasn't there to comfort her. She cried for Elliot, who was going home to a wife he claimed to no longer love, but for whom he still cared enough to sacrifice any chance he and Olivia may have had. She cried for this baby girl that was coming into a world falling apart due to no fault of its own. She hoped that baby would know how lucky she was to have a father like Elliot. Someone who would always put her happiness before his own. She cried for herself, for all the love she'd been denied her entire life. The love from a child of her own. The love from a man, the only man, who completely understood her and stuck by her anyway. The love of a father. The unconditional love of a mother, who cared enough to keep her, but failed to circumvent the regret that came with the decision to keep a child that was a constant reminder of the most painful day of her life.

Finally rising from the sofa, Olivia wandered to the bathroom to wash her tear-stained face. She worried that she was denying herself the one prospect of happiness this life would offer her. But then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and her reflection reminded her that she'd made the best decision for both of them. That if she and Elliot were to ever have a chance at a lasting relationship, it would only endure if it had originated under the right circumstances. She may end up old and alone, but at least she'd never have given herself a reason to feel ashamed when she looked in the mirror. At least she'd never robbed another woman of the husband with whom vows had been exchanged. At least she'd never slept with a married man or shamed him away from his children.

Opening the medicine cabinet, Olivia pulled out two brown prescription bottles. Opening one, she shook two square white pills into the palm of her hand. These pills were new to her, but becoming more familiar each day since the attack. Initially she'd refused medication, but the doctor at the hospital had ignored her and written the prescription anyway "just in case". Simon had filled it at his pharmacy and "just in case" turned out to be the first night she'd been released from the sterile facility with its white walls. She'd tried to get comfortable in Simon's guest room, but found her bruises and ribs were more than what she'd expected and she'd felt desperate for reprieve. Thanks to the white capsules, the constant throbbing had left her ribcage. She wished the demons in her head were as easily overcome as her physical ailments. Moving onto the next bottle, she grabbed a tiny blue tablet and swallowed it with a handful of tap water. This round miracle was not so new to her—she'd been taking Ambien for years. Without them, she never would have been able to close her eyes after a horrendous case, or after a bad night fighting with Elliot. Or worse…after a good night with him. The kind of night where they bantered like two detectives had in the early days; banter that was strangely similar to that of a couple married for years. The kind of night where he brushed a hair from her face or helped her with her coat. The kind of night that taunted her with false hopes.

Padding into the kitchen, Olivia leaned over the counter and opened the case files Cragen had sent over. Balancing on the barstool, Olivia tried to concentrate and get some work done. Anything to keep her from thinking about the goings-on in her apartment only an hour earlier. A short twenty minutes had passed when she satisfyingly felt the medication affecting her body. Heading to her bedroom, she crawled under the covers, and waited for sleep to take over.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Pulling into the driveway, Elliot drew in a breath, gearing himself up for the verbal mêlée that was about to ensue. He knew that once Kathy had found out his late arrival was due to a stopover at Olivia's apartment, she'd come undone, accusing him of things deep down she knew probably weren't true, but because they were not far from being possibilities, her insecurities always pushed her over the edge and the allegations would fly, like they always did. Now that he was home and about to face the woman to whom he'd made covenants of trust and fidelity, he was grateful Olivia had enough sense to put a halt to his advances. At her apartment, kneeling in such close proximity, he'd been overcome by desires too long repressed. Now, even though his feelings for Kathy were no longer romantic, he felt relieved that when she would accuse him, he could once again deny her assumptions without lying. At least not completely. He may not have totally crossed the line with Olivia, but for as long as he lived he would never forget the way it felt to have his lips brush across hers. To share the same air. To feel her eternal eyelashes sweep against his temple. He didn't know which was worse living the past three years wondering how it would feel or living the next fifty knowing.

Walking towards the house he rolled his eyes at his front lawn under the scrutiny of the street lamp. Until recently, it had been an unseasonably warm November, so his lawn was free from snow. Although it was still untouched by the frosty powder, the dipping temperatures, however, had brought other ground cover onto the yellowing grass—what seemed to be a mountain, rather than a pile, of golden brown maple leaves. Dickie was supposed to have had a date with the metal rake in the garage two days ago.

Reaching for the door as he walked onto the front porch, he called out, "Richard!"

Removing his coat and hanging it in the coat closet, he waited for Dickie's response. When there was none, he called upstairs, "Richard Stabler, why are there still leaves on the lawn?"

"He's not here, Elliot. None of them are." Startled at the voice of his wife coming from the dark kitchen, Elliot walked towards her.

"Kathy, I didn't see you there." Turning to flip on the light, he stated the obvious. "It's pitch black in here. Don't you want some light?"

But as he turned around and saw her sitting alone at the table with a mug placed neatly on the cork coaster in front of her and tissues dabbing at her blotchy, swollen eyes, he realized she'd left the light off on purpose. Pulling out the chair next to her, he sat and reached for her hands, which recoiled from him.

"Kath, what's the matter, honey?" he asked, alarmed. "Where are the kids?"

Picking apart her Kleenex, Kathy answered, "The girls went to go see a movie and Dickie's staying the night at Nathan's."

"How long have you been alone in here?"

"I don't know. Maybe an hour." She started with the corners of the tissue and was now tearing the sides of it, about a quarter of an inch at a time. Ripping from the top down to the bottom methodically.

"What are you doing? Are you sick? Is something wrong with the baby?" It unnerved Elliot to see his wife this way. He was not necessarily surprised by the crying—with the hormones so out of whack she was doing that a lot these days, but it was usually accompanied with irrational yelling and insecurities. At the moment, there was a calm about Kathy that made Elliot nervous. Her voice was far too even and her demeanor blasé. Something definitely wasn't right.

"The baby is fine. And I'm not sick." She rolled her eyes at her husband. "I came in to get a cup of hot chocolate." Picking up her empty mug, she took it to the sink and rinsed it as she spoke. "I drank it and then realized how quiet the house was. Then I just sat and thought about things for a while."

Opening the dishwasher, she placed the ceramic on the top rack and casually finished her statement as she closed the appliance door. "Don't get so wound up, Elliot. Tell yourself it's the hormones like you always do and I'm sure you'll be fine."

Elliot was speechless. Kathy had never spoken to him like that. So obviously upset but with such restraint and internalization.

"That's not fair," he stood, following behind her as she walked towards the coat closet.

"What's not fair?" she asked, not even bothering to turn around to see his face. "The fact that I might be upset about something that is not involving pregnancy hormones and I'm not in the mood to explain it to you, or is it more that you feel life has dealt you an unfair hand with this pregnancy?"

"I won't talk to you like this," Elliot commanded. "Are you upset because I was late?"

"No. That's something I've come to rely upon over the years. Ironically, the demand of your job was one of the few things in our marriage that was actually consistent and reliable. Besides, I have a pretty good idea you weren't alone, so I wasn't worried."

"Ah," Elliot spoke as if the light bulb had come on and he'd answered the prize riddle. "So your mad because I was with Olivia. You won't believe this, but it was work-related. Cragen asked me to drop off some case files to her."

Holding up her hand to silence him, Kathy spoke unexpectedly without any tone of bitterness or jealousy in her voice. "Yes, I assumed you were with Olivia, but I'm not angry about it. Whether or not you want to believe me is up to you, but at this point I don't really care. She's your partner, Elliot, and I know I can trust you." Trying to pull her coat from the closet, she gestured for Elliot to move as he was in her way. "Now if you'll excuse me."

He didn't budge, so she stepped around him. Annoyed at the games she was playing, Elliot sighed, "If something is bothering you, I would hope that you would clue me in, let me help you. Believe it or not, I'm not completely unfeeling. I do care for my family. But I'm not going to beg you to tell me."

"I know you care for your family, Elliot. I even know that you care for me, although you won't admit that it's not in the way a husband cares for his wife." By now Kathy had on her coat, which no longer buttoned around her swollen belly and was slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I need to get some air. I'm going for a drive."

Sighing, she placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, a gesture of goodwill. "Don't wait up, and don't worry. I'll be back in a few hours. The girls should be home any time, so watch for them, will you?"

For the first time, Elliot realized his wife was going through something complex. And it wasn't just being pregnant at a time in her life when she thought she was finished with diapers and baby food. He hated the mysteriousness, the vague answers. He felt regret over their entire relationship. Not regret for the family they'd created and loved together, but regret in the sense that as her husband, if he had really been there for her, shouldn't he know what was bothering her? Or shouldn't he at least be the kind of husband that if he didn't know, she'd want to tell him and would feel comfortable doing so?

Kathy was a good mother, and she'd been a good wife. She'd been more than anyone could have expected from a woman married to a man that not only worked appalling hours, but who came home from a job emotionally drained with hardly anything leftover to give to her. It bothered Elliot that she was struggling with something seemingly alone when he should be the one person she should turn to. He contemplated going after her, but then thought better of it and decided to give her the space that she'd requested.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

It had been a week since that night and Kathy still wasn't acting herself. She began sleeping in the den, until Elliot finally told her that if she was going to insist they sleep in different bedrooms, Elliot would take the den—no pregnant wife of his was going to be spending her nights on a lumpy couch that was a hand-me-down from Uncle Frank.

He could tell she did her best to appear "normal" in front of the kids, but even they could sense something was up long before Kathy had taken to separate sleeping quarters. Approaching the kitchen one morning, Elliot had overheard Dickie asking Kathleen why he had to be the one to pick her up from her community service, and Kathleen had responded that "Mom" had another appointment with Father Bennion and wouldn't be available.

Then Elliot had heard Lizzie join the conversation with "Again? What's going on? And why is she crying all the time? If this is what having a baby does to you, count me out! Was she this way when she was pregnant with me?"

"Who wouldn't have been?" Kathleen teased her younger sister.

"Aren't pregnant women supposed to cry a lot?" Dickie offered his expertise.

"Not this much—at least I don't think so. She thinks I don't hear her at night, but my room is right next to her bathroom and she's always in there late at night. One time I went in to see if she was okay and she told me to just go back to bed," Kathleen said.

Worried they might find him eavesdropping; Elliot coughed just before he entered the kitchen, making his presence known. The three teenagers quickly preoccupied themselves with something else, most of them leaving the room. Liz stayed behind.

Giving her father a hug before she grabbed an apple and left through the back door, she whispered in his ear, "It's okay, Dad. We all know you're trying."

The next day Olivia made her re-entry into the bullpen with the energy of a Tasmanian devil. She'd been alone too much, given too much time to think, and not enough time keeping busy doing what she did best: helping the victims. There was only so much she could do working from home. Bringing in a bag of bagels for everyone, she gave a melodic "Good morning!"

As she dug in the paper sack for the tubs of cream cheese and plastic knives, Munch stepped close to her and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek.

"Welcome back, Liv. It will be nice to have a face worth looking at around here again."

Squeezing his elbow with a smile as wide as the Washington Bridge, she gave a small chuckle. "Thanks, John. I've missed you, too."

"Detective Benson, glad to see you're back in full force. May I?" Chester asked as he pulled out an onion bagel. Olivia nodded her permission wholeheartedly.

"Man, if you eat that you can forget about working closer than twenty feet with me anytime today," Fin snipped at Lake, pointing to the bagel of topic. "I ain't gonna be forced to get a whiff of your stinky onion breath, even if I am getting paid."

Olivia laughed. Boy, was it ever great to be back. She'd never admit it to anyone, but she still felt stiff, and if she moved the wrong way the pain would momentarily return. But she knew that in order to heal quickly, the best thing she could do was to get busy again. Get back to what was familiar and comfortable.

And then he walked in. The antithesis of comfortable, but unfortunately the parallel of familiar. Too familiar. Doing her best to appear as though his presence had no affect on her, she smiled at him and offered him a bagel. She laughed as if on cue at Munch's joke, which she only hazily heard on the surface, since all thoughts were bouncing back and forth between the tender kiss that they'd shared at her apartment a week earlier and the way she needed to prove to him that she'd never given that blasted kiss a second thought. She didn't know if she was succeeding, whether or not he was buying her little charade. She knew she was giving it her all, but she worried she still appeared rigid. Counterfeit. Transparent.

Fortunately, she was saved from his dissecting eye when the telephone on her desk interrupted the morning repartee.

"Benson."

"So the rumors aren't true. You didn't run away with the circus, after all."

"Casey," Olivia smiled as she recognized the voice of the caller. "I'm not here ten minutes and you're already harassing me."

"Well, I knew if I bothered you at home anymore you might take legal action, so I decided to take a different approach and bother you at work."

"That plan works for me as long as it puts me back here instead of wearing out a path in my apartment. I was beginning to feel like I was going in circles trying to keep myself entertained."

"Some of us have shorter attention spans than others, I suppose."

Hearing Casey's other line, Olivia asked, "I heard that. Do you need to go?"

Dripping with sarcasm, Casey responded, "Oh, it's only my boss, but I guess I'd better play it safe and talk to him. Listen, I was calling to see if you wanted to grab some lunch?"

"Sure, that sounds wonderful."

"Kay. I'll call you later and we'll pick a place to meet. Bye."

"See ya later."

----------------------------------------------

"Can I pick up anything for you, El?" Olivia generously offered Elliot, who was obviously planning on skipping his lunch break with paperwork as an excuse.

"No, thanks anyway," he stated flatly, never looking up from his desk. He glanced up just in time to see Olivia walking out the door.

Damn her, he thought to himself. Damn her for making it look so easy. So easy to forget, in only seven days, a night of near-confessions. A night of nearly crossing the line. A night of finally letting go of any chance they may have had. How can she waltz in here, bringing her bagels and her electric smile, as if nothing had happened? Worse yet, acting as if a weight had been lifted and she was free from any expectations she may have had. Unless…

His eyes widening at the realization, Elliot sat up in his chair as he chewed on the end of the pen in his hand. Unless she'd already built that wall. The wall that had begun to crumble the minute Gitano had thrust his knife at her throat, knocking down the first brick. Brick-by-brick over the next ten months Olivia had slowly tried to let Elliot in. Tried to trust him enough to let him get close to her again. The final brick being tossed aside as he had fostered his regrets and fears holding her hand in her hospital room after Blackner's attack.

He'd seen it in her eyes then. The complete trust. The vulnerability. The willingness to put it all on the line for him. And she'd seen it in his, too, thanks to Father Bennion's comments about God wanting us to be happy.

And then? Then he'd let his pants get in the way when he'd tried kissing her at her apartment. She wasn't even healed yet and he was already pouncing, concerned only about his longing, his desires. But she had been so beautiful. She was always so beautiful. It wasn't natural for a woman like that to be alone. He wanted to be the one at he side. Her friend. Her constant companion, attending to her needs, her wants, her desires. Her lover.

And now she'd rebuilt the wall. In record time, he might add. What originally took years to construct was destroyed in months and then rebuilt within a week. He knew now that was the reason behind the offhand work façade. That she was feeling as much, if not more, anguish and her survival tactics had kicked in, reminding her that the lower her expectations, the thicker the wall. The greater protection. The least chance of annihilation, which is what he knew she feared from expecting anything more from him other than coworker or partner.

He loved her. He'd do anything for her. Reminding himself of this, he told himself that if distance was what she needed from him to forget about what might have been, than that was what he'd give her.

---------------------------------------

At lunch Casey had been a godsend. They'd chosen a little diner about a block from the courthouse, since an arraignment had been rescheduled and Casey's break was now considerably shorter.

"Have you ever tried the peach cobbler?" Casey asked as she licked her lips in anticipation of her dessert's arrival.

"No, but just watching you may be enough to satisfy any cravings I may ever have for it," Olivia laughed. "I had no idea you had such a sweet tooth, Counselor!"

"Normally, I try to be a good girl and avoid the sinful sweets, but this…Liv, you've got to try it. It's better than Mom would make."

Olivia laughed again. "Hmm…I'd say with my mother, that's likely a safe bet."

Just then, the waitress arrived with the golden dessert.

"Mmmm," drooled Casey, as she pierced it with her fork, slowly and purposefully. "Hello, sin."

Raising an eyebrow, Olivia picked up her own fork. "Okay, okay. Let's see what all the fuss is about."

Filling her mouth with a warm bite, she had to admit that the peaches and cake did seem to melt on one's tongue.

"Hmmm?" Casey asked for Olivia's opinion.

A nod of her head designated her approval.

"So how is it being back?" Casey inquired.

"It's alright. I still feel stiff, but I think now that I'm actually doing something, my body should be able to work through it and loosen up."

"That's good to know, but it's not what I meant. I meant how are things with you and Elliot?"

"Oh. Um, they're good, I guess. It's always, uh, you know, kind of stressful when a partnership goes through, uh, a scare like that. But we're getting back to normal."

"Normal? No offense, Liv, but you two were never a normal partnership."

"True, but…well, you know what I mean." Reaching over to Casey's plate, Olivia took another bite to avoid discussing Elliot any further. "Got any fun plans for Thanksgiving?" Olivia asked, eager to change the subject.

"Headed to Boston to meet my mom's newest boyfriend," Casey rolled her eyes. "My dad's been gone for six years and in that time I think my mom has dated or been engaged to at least ten men. Do you know how humiliating it is knowing that your own mother dates more than you do? The truth is that I don't think she knows how to be alone after thirty years of marriage to the love of her life." She sighed. "Oh, well. At least my sister will be there—she's always good for a laugh." Her eyes lighting up with an idea, Casey asked Olivia, "Want to come? I'm sure they'd love to have you."

"Oh, no thanks. I really appreciate the offer but—"

"Come on, Liv. Don't spend another holiday cooped up in your apartment. Especially after, you know…what just happened."

"Actually, I was going to say that I have plans already. Simon and Lucy invited me to their place." Olivia smiled, proud that she could finally use her own family as an excuse in her polite rejections to the pity-invites she received every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. "But thanks for thinking of me."

They sat in comfortable silence, picking at the leftover crumbs on the plate.

Olivia sighed and finally spoke. "Andrea Millecam's apartment isn't empty anymore. An older couple moved in last week. They seem nice. The woman, especially. Her name is Betty." She ran her fingers through her hair as she sighed again. "I spent some time talking to her last week in the laundry room. She's very sweet. They've been married longer than I've been alive."

Casey just looked at her, lending an ear to a friend whom she could tell was in need of one.

Olivia looked down, embarrassed at the emotions she was still feeling about Andrea's death. "I…I guess I just didn't expect to feel this way. I hardly knew her."

"You don't have to be best friends with somebody to be affected by their death. And let's remember here that Andrea's death was vicious, and then her killer came after you, making it even more personal."

Placing her hand over her friend's, Casey reassured Olivia. "You're entitled to experience some heavy emotions here, Liv. You've been through a hellacious ordeal."

A moment passed and Casey's phone began to ring.

"Guess that's my cue," she said as she dropped a couple bills on the table for the tip. "I'd better get going."

"Yeah, me, too," Olivia said, grabbing her purse. "Thanks for lunch, Case. Let's do it again soon."

"Sounds good," Casey observed Olivia stopping at the register. "You coming?"

"In a minute. I'm gonna grab some cobbler for Elliot before I go. I'll see you later."

--------------------------------------------

The weekend at home was ironic—at least Elliot found it to be so. The one weekend he wouldn't have minded catching a case, having an excuse to get out of the house, his cell phone was quiet, still. He didn't know how much more he could take of this. He'd never seen Kathy like this. He'd blame it on the pregnancy alone, but she'd never been like this before. Not once with the other three pregnancies had she gone days without speaking to anyone outside the civil niceties. The polite "Excuse me" in the hallway or "No thanks" when offered a sandwich. She kept to herself in her bedroom, frequently heard to be crying or quietly talking, as if to herself. As if having a debate, but with whom, Elliot didn't know, other than with herself. No one could ever hear her loud enough to know exactly what she was saying. Maybe she was praying. Elliot had tried to get through to her, but she continued to shut him out.

Just like another woman he knew.

At church on Sunday, Kathy had left partway through the sermon and didn't return. Afterwards, Elliot went to look for her. First he tried the Ladies room. Nothing. Then he checked outside. Finally, Father Bennion found him the entryway and told him that Kathy was in his office waiting. Kathy had asked the priest to find Elliot and instruct him to take the children home, that she would find her own way back when she was finished at St. Ann's.

"Father, do you know what's going on?" Elliot asked, desperation in his eyes, pleading for any answers he might receive to explain Kathy's unusual behavior.

"I know you are concerned, Elliot. But I really can't say much without breaking her confidence."

"You mean Kathy's come to you before?" Elliot asked incredulously with widened eyes.

"Yes, as a matter of fact she has." A patronizing chuckle escaped Father Bennion's lips. "Did you think you were the only parishioner who needed someone to listen, someone to give advice?"

"No, I just…Well, I didn't know that she…Why wouldn't she come to me first?"

"Maybe for the same reason you didn't go to her when you needed someone."

For the first time, Elliot realized that it was possible Kathy did not need him as much as he had thought. That there were needs he could not fulfill for her. This tore at his core, as he felt even more a failure in this marriage.

Gently touching his shoulder and guiding him towards the door, where Elliot's children were waiting, Father Bennion tried to console the man he'd known long before he'd become such. "Elliot, Kathy has reached a crossroads in her life and she's just trying to make sense of it all. I'm confident she will come to you when she is ready. Until then, do your best to be patient with her. Loving. Understanding." Then, taking a breath, the priest added one more request. "And forgiving. None of us are without sin."

"What are you saying?" Elliot asked nervously.

"Dad, can we go now? We've been standing here for like, hours, and we're hungry," Kathleen whined, interrupting the two men in their conversation.

"Yeah, Dad. Let's go, okay?" Lizzie chimed.

Facing his children, Elliot tried to give them the attention they needed. Not wanting to say much to Father Bennion in front of them, he simply shook the clergyman's hand and requested, "Take care of her, Father. Regardless of what she may think, I still love her and it hurts me to see her unhappy."

"She knows that. That's what makes what she's going through so difficult. But I'll tell her just the same."

Looking at the three teenagers in front of him, Father Bennion offered his goodbyes. Winking at them, he said, "Thank you for coming, children. Now that you have been spiritually fed, go home and feed your stomachs."

----------------------------

Balancing a small bag of groceries in one hand and her mail and keys in the other, Betty Schmidt tried to open her apartment door.

"Here, let me help you." Betty heard a voice behind her laced with kindness. She recognized it as the tall brunette who lived a few doors down. Her neighbor quickly relieved the burden of holding the grocery bag and collection of mail, making it entirely easier to unlock the door.

"Thank you, Olivia. Before you came I was just thinking about how foolish I was not to have set the bag onto the floor before attempting to do three things at once!"

"Don't give it a second thought," Olivia smiled softly. Remembering the moment before her attack, as she'd fumbled with her own keys and a grocery bag, her voice became quiet and her eyes stared off to the side. "I've been guilty of it myself before."

Betty had always been good with people, had an intuition for their state of mind. And what she just sensed from her sweet new friend was the slightest twinge of fear. And lots of regret, partnered with loneliness. Giving her a moment to reflect, Betty finally said, "Do you want to talk about it, honey?"

"What? I'm sorry—I must have zoned out for a second." Olivia was brought out of her trance, out of her dark memory, and was now looking at the mannerly lady with the round face and permed white hair in confusion. "Talk about what?"

"What bothered you just now." Pushing open her door and leaving Olivia holding the groceries and mail, with no choice other than to follow her inside, Betty stepped into her kitchen, indicating where Olivia could place the paper sack.

Pulling a chair out for Olivia, she continued to press the younger woman. "Please, sit down."

"Uh, I really shouldn't," Olivia motioned with her hand back towards the door.

"Why not?" Betty asked boldly. "Do you have somewhere you need to be?"

"Well, no, not really. I just—"

"Just what? Don't want to admit that anything is wrong? Bothering you?" Once again Betty was signifying where she wanted Olivia to sit. Patting the green vinyl chair, Betty insisted Olivia sit. Not wanting to be rude, Olivia obliged the woman and noticed the look of self-satisfaction upon her wrinkled face.

"So…spill it. What were you thinking about in the hallway?"

"Oh, well, it really wasn't anything. I just remembered…I mean…" Frustrated at her inability to put thought into word, she took a deep breath. "Maybe you heard that I was attacked as I was entering my apartment nearly a month ago?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I had heard about it. No wonder being in the hallway bothers you."

"I don't know why it still does. It was so long ago."

"So long ago? Honey, your sense of time is a little warped. Four weeks is not a long time. It's a blink—trust me. Even fifty years ago seems like a blink from now." Standing up to fill a teapot with water, Betty kindly shook her head at Olivia. "Don't rush the healing process, dear. It will take time to recover from your vulnerability."

Stretching to reach the teacups on the third shelf in the cabinet above the sink, Betty sheepishly looked to Olivia for help.

"It's difficult for me as a police detective to overcome the idea that I wasn't able to see it coming. Able to protect myself," Olivia found herself opening up to this woman. She felt comfortable with Betty, as if she was the grandmother she'd never known. Retrieving two teacups with plates, she smiled as she placed them onto the counter and returned to the chair.

"You're not a psychic, Olivia. And it looks to me like you were more than capable in protecting yourself. And without a traditional weapon—what was it you used on the intruder?" Betty glanced at Olivia from the corner of her eye, an eye that had a playful twinkle in it.

Olivia couldn't help but grin with the slightest bit of pride in herself. "It was a book. One from an old Human Behavior class from my college days. I always wondered why I hung onto it."

"Well, I guess now we know, don't we?" Betty smirked out loud. Olivia relaxed and let herself share a laugh with her pseudo-grandmother over her victorious outcome with Blackner.

"Do you…have any family around to help you get through this?" Betty asked hesitantly. "I don't want to seem nosy, but I have never seen anyone coming over to your place." Betty busied herself with the teabags as she waited for Olivia's answer.

"I do have a brother and sister-in-law. They've been wonderful. In fact, I stayed with them the first week after the hospital." Olivia fiddled with the crocheted doily on the center of the table. "And, I have friends. Mostly from work."

"Yes, I'd imagine with your line of work you'd have to have a deep camaraderie with one another. Especially between partnerships." Betty handed Olivia's cup to her and then sat down opposite Olivia. "Do you take milk or sugar with your tea?"

"Neither, thanks. I'm actually a honey kind of gal."

"Oh! Well, then honey, let me get you some honey!" Betty stood and pulled a plastic bear full of honey out of her cupboard. Watching Olivia squeeze a teaspoon-full into the hot liquid, Betty asked about Olivia's work.

"So how long have you been a detective?"

"Ten years this spring," Olivia answered after swallowing. "Nine years in SVU."

"SVU? What does that mean?" Betty asked.

Olivia gave a job description as delicately and non-detailed as possible.

"Sounds gruesome. How do you do it?" Betty shook her head in disgust at the criminals that roamed the city streets.

"Basically, I try to not answer that question. If I do, I just go crazy." Sipping her tea, Olivia tried to help Betty understand. "Most detectives stay a couple years. But, it's taking me a little bit longer."

"Longer for what?" Betty appeared quizzical.

"I…have been searching for answers, I guess." Opening herself even further with this woman, in ways that she'd done with very few people, Olivia told Betty about how her life began. How in her mind, she was here at the sacrifice of her mother's life. That her mother gave her life, her chances for happiness, in order for Olivia to be born and a part of this world.

"What about your partner? Have you had several during your career with sex crimes?"

"No, actually. I've just had one. And he's…" Olivia trailed off, unsure if she wanted to continue her sentence.

"He's what?"

"He's, well, he's the only one I'd ever want."

"After that many years together, I guess you grow pretty close."

"Yes, we are. At least we used to be." Noting Betty's confusion, Olivia clarified. "It's been 'strained' between us for a while now."

"Why? Tired of being partnered with one another?"

"No! I mean, we work very well together. We trust each other and know one another's moves before they even happen." Olivia fidgeted in her seat, obviously at a loss on how to answer Betty's questions. "There's just so much history. So many…feelings."

"Ooooohhh." Betty nodded in understanding. "You're trying to be professional when all you feel for each other is personal."

"Well," Olivia defended herself as she choked on her swallow of tea. "They're not just personal feelings. But when you entrust your life day-in and day-out with another person, how can it not be personal?"

"And this partner, uh, what's his name?"

"Detective Stabler. Elliot."

"Elliot. So Elliot…does he feel the same way?"

"I honestly don't know. There are times when we fight and the tension and anger is so thick and heavy. And then I'll look at him and catch his eye and suddenly, it doesn't feel like tension anymore. It just feels like…"

"Like love? Chemistry? Passion? Sex?"

Olivia stared wide-eyed at Betty's audacious words.

"What?" Betty spit back incredulously. "You think just because I'm over eighty I've never felt that way about a man before? I am married, you know. Tom was my first husband and now I have Jim. I've been lucky enough to feel that way twice in my lifetime. Actually thrice, if you count Saul. But I tend to not count that one because our relationship was never," Betty suddenly whispered the final word, "consummated. He was married, after all."

For the second time in an hour, Olivia nearly choked on her beverage.

"Betty! Why you're just full of surprises, now aren't you?" Olivia teased. "I never would have guessed."

"Well, one has to have their secrets, you know. But that story we'll have to save for another pot of tea. Tell me more about your Elliot. What's holding you back?"

"Uh, well, a lot of things. Our partnership for one. Our work. We're both dedicated and I don't think either of us are willing to give it up. But the, uh, most important complication is that he uh, is, well…"

"You don't have to say it, honey. I know that look. He's married, isn't he?"

"Technically yes. But I want you to know, Betty, that I would never, ever try to seduce or steal another woman's husband. I have the utmost respect for the vows Elliot and his wife have exchanged. Elliot and I have never been inappropriate." Olivia's mind flashed back to the soft kiss he'd planted on her lips just seconds before she'd come to her senses. "These feelings didn't surface until he had separated from his wife. They remained separated for a number of years. And then he had signed the divorce papers. I thought, finally, maybe…" Stirring her tea with her spoon, Olivia fought back the tears that were threatening to fall. "Anyway, it's over now. He's back with his wife and they're having another baby. And he's happy. So I'm happy. For him. For them."

"At least you're trying to be. I can see that, Olivia. You don't have to justify yourself to me. I know a little something of what you're going through. And if your situation is anything like what I think it is, this Elliot is probably as miserable as you are. But be proud of yourself. Be proud that you've done the right thing—stayed your course and remained true to who you are."

Olivia was crying now, her head buried in her arm on the table. Betty was rubbing her back in small circles and it was the first time in a long time Olivia felt comforted. Felt validated. Felt peace.

Betty was patient with Olivia as her tears began to dry. Betty's arms, warm with love, embraced the slender woman and her heart ached for Olivia to feel comfort. To not feel so alone.

They visited for a few more minutes before Jim came home from his walk around the block. Olivia was moved when she saw Jim cross the threshold to take Betty's hands in his and plant a tender kiss upon her forehead. Olivia thought about Betty's confession, about feeling that love and passion for two (make it three) men in her life and it gave Olivia hope. Hope that if she could feel it once with Elliot, maybe she could learn to feel it for another man somewhere down the line. She knew Betty was right and that eventually, her desire to feel happy for Elliot and Kathy might come to be genuine, if she could just learn to move on.