Title: Therapy
Author: ZombieJazz
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.
Summary: Olivia talks to her therapist about her husband's reaction to her pregnancy test results and the implications it has for their relationship. A O/S of the therapist office scene in Wednesday's child.
Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.
Olivia glanced back at Will as she jabbed her chopsticks around her lo mein. Chinese take-out on Staten Island would not have been her top choice of things to eat on a Friday night. Or any night. She'd had it a couple times from this place before when Ted and May had thought it'd be a great family 'treat' to get take-out on a Sunday night. They'd made the mistake of spending a New Year's Eve with them that included food from this restaurant. After living in Manhattan, she'd become rather spoiled about sampling 'ethnic' cuisine. This wasn't Chinese food in her opinion. She wasn't even sure she'd really classify it as food. But considering how long it'd taken her and Will to come to an agreement on what to do or where to go, she really hadn't said too much when he'd picked this place.
She'd started to think that they weren't even going to leave the driveway of his parents. That they'd just sit in their car for a while before conceding that they weren't even in a place where they were ready to spend a few hours alone together. The silence had been awkward and extended in the car as it sat their idling. She knew his parents were likely peaking at them through the cracks in their curtain wondering what the hell they were doing. She wouldn't have been surprised if his brothers were doing the same on either side of them.
She should've come up with some sort of plan for their 'date night' before they went over. But before when her and Will had date nights, it'd been in the city. They had their list of usual places – piano bars, Irish pubs and cop dives, spots to have a beer while watching a game, romantic restaurants and quick bites, coffee shops that let them sit for hours and read. They'd occasionally to a museum or a gallery opening or a movie or some faculty function of his. Sometimes a show or concert. Never anything overly fancy. But usually nice. Enough to make them feel like they were still in a relationship and were getting alone time and were on a date when they really hadn't ever dated when you got right down to it. Yet all those options seemed like non-options anymore. Remote possibilities. And, even if they wanted to do them, it felt like they'd have to find new places and spots and things to do. She didn't think they wanted to spend an evening hanging around Manhattan. It felt like they were spending their lives running away from Manhattan anymore while it magnetically pulled them back each morning and mocked them for having left.
Olivia didn't know what they were supposed to do on Staten Island, though. Her knowledge of Staten Island consisted of parks and playgrounds that Noah liked and big box stores that she couldn't find in the city but could make herself endure while they were out in this borough that never really felt like it should be called part of New York City. To her, Staten Island was just hanging around Tottenville. Walking down to the shoreline and sitting on the porch in Will's parents backyard. She didn't think there was a long list of date night options.
"What do you want to do?" she'd finally asked Will.
He'd just been staring straight ahead, his hands on the steering wheel like he was waiting for her to give him directions. She supposed that was fair. She was the one who'd insisted on this. But he was the one who'd lived here.
"I don't know," he'd shrugged. "What do you want to do?"
She sighed. "I really don't know what there is to do here, Will," she finally admitted. She needed to get out of that driveway.
He gave her a small glance. "Bowling?" he suggested.
She met his eyes. "Bowling?"
That shrug again. "Bowling," he stated flatly. "We're on Staten Island. Your option is bowling."
She watched him and tried to weigh that. "Do you want to go bowling?" she asked carefully.
"Not really," he said with just as little emotion.
"Me neither," she said.
She was glad he hadn't said he did. She tolerated going bowling about once a year for cross department fundraiser that Ted now took great glee in forcing her to attend. Before being roped into the McTeague family she'd never bothered to go on behalf of the NYPD and even now she wasn't sure it classified as fun. It definitely didn't constitute something she'd ever want to do on a date night. She wasn't sure a bowling alley on a Friday night in a place that didn't have a lot of an activity option sounded like a great idea either. It sounded like every teen and drunkard on Staten Island would likely be there. She wasn't in a place where she wanted to deal with that.
"I could eat," she suggested and gave him another glance. He was back to staring straight ahead but allowed a little nod.
"Yeah, I could eat too," he agreed.
"Want to go get something?"
Another shrug. "Sure," Will had said. "Where?"
"I don't know," Olivia said. "Wherever."
That 'wherever' had likely been the nail in the coffin in what she had in front of her now. She should've specified she wanted to go and sit down somewhere. She should've said Italian or even McDonalds, which compared to this might've been a better choice. But she supposed at least they'd ended up with something. Though, with takeout, they were now up in his brother's loft above his garage. At least at dinner, Will would've been forced to stare at her for 60 to 90 minutes. Now he'd again settled into yet another couch and had his eyes set against yet another television screen.
She gazed at him over her shoulder. He didn't even seem to notice she was looking. His attention was focused on the TV even though she knew with near certainty that he was barely tolerating what was on the screen. If she was going to have to endure Chef Wong, she was at least picking what they were watching – as much as the TV up there managed to pick up much of anything. She'd snagged the remote as soon as they sat down and Will started digging into the bag of food. He didn't seem particularly bothered by the cheap facsimile of kung pao chicken. It was being shoveled into his mouth no matter how unappetizing it looked and he'd near inhaled his egg roll. Will rarely at things so deep fried and he never ate that fast. If anything, he ate agonizingly slowly to the point that even she was asking to excuse herself and start the cleanup rather than having to watch him pick slowly at his meal. She suspected the mouth-stuffing method had something to do with the hope of not having to talk if he had his mouth full.
She'd let him to that point. Slowly nursing her egg drop soup and noting to never-ever order it from Chef Wong again, if she ever had to eat there again. But now that she was looking at her lo mein, she was starting to think that maybe they should try to acknowledge each other's existence. Otherwise she suspected Will would finish his meal and suggest they go back to is parents, where he could sit his ass on another couch and look at another TV and try to ignore her in a new location.
She sat back a bit on the couch and looked at him again. He still didn't acknowledge it. So she leaned against him a bit and that did earn a small glance and a thin smile – more or less, he had food in his mouth.
"Can I lean against you?" she asked, checking.
She didn't want to piss him off. She didn't want to invade him space if that was going to set him off and make him uncomfortable. But at the same time she did want to crowd him. She wanted him to acknowledge her. She wanted him to be there with her in that moment. She wanted to put some pressure on him – so he couldn't just get up and leave.
He shrugged. "Yeah, sure," he muttered.
She wasn't sure he was really agreeing but she took him at face value in his statement and let more of her weight fall against him, shifting and tucking her legs under herself as she settled up onto the couch and against his side. But then his arm raised and made room for her to settled her back against his chest, his arm coming back down across her so he could continue to eat his food. But it wasn't that different from how they used to sit while watching the evening news. It was almost cuddling or at least sharing space together. It was an improvement from before.
They both went back to eating and looking at the screen. She saw some of his food dangling out of the corner of her eye and glanced up at where he was managing his chopsticks to get it into his mouth.
"None of that better end up in my hair," she teased.
He glanced down at her and seemed to consider that for a moment before shrugging. "You're the one who wanted to lean against me while I'm eating with chopsticks," he said flatly. She rolled her eyes but he had a point. He nudged his container at her. "Switch?" he suggested.
She glanced at his and then looked at hers. His had a much bigger dent in it. She'd barely started hers. She wasn't sure how hungry she was after-all – or at least not hungry for this.
"I got lo mein," she warned.
That shrug again. "That's OK," he said.
"It has shrimp in it," she further warned. He'd started to eat more fish and seafood since they'd been together but it was never something that was at the top of his list of choices.
"Meh," he muttered and held out his box again. "I'm sick of this."
She examined his. Spicy wasn't usually her thing but she thought the heat might drown out the rest of the taste of the atrocity, so she accepted it, switching meals with him and starting to work at picking out what looked edible in what was left in the container.
"This is an awful movie," Will muttered at her again now that he was working at inhaling her meal.
She glanced up at him. "Who calls Mary Poppins at awful movie?"
"I call Mary Poppins an awful movie," he said flatly.
"It's Dick Van Dyke," she offered as some sort of defense and gestured at the screen where yet another musical number looked like it was about to start.
"It's Julie Andrews," he said with some disgust. "I hate Julie Andrews."
She looked at him again. He was being slightly obnoxious but at least he was talking – about something, anything – and was talking to her. She had to just make those moments count these days.
"Who HATES Julie Andrews?" Olivia contended.
"I hate Julie Andrews," Will said, like that was more than enough of an explanation and defense.
"Oh well," Olivia said. "Chim chim chroo. It's a classic."
"Your definition of classic movies … and good movies … has always been flawed. You have always – ALWAYS – picked the worst movies imaginable. It hurts my brain."
She snorted at him and glanced up again. "I sit through your sports WEEKLY without comment."
"Right," Will said. "You just spend the entire game yelling at the television."
"That's my way of being supportive of your interests," she offered.
She could feel him eyeing her. She could feel that his push to shovel food into his mouth had stopped. So she looked away from the screen and found his eyes again. He had a small smile on his face – almost like he was trying to keep it from showing, like he was uncomfortable with the concept of smiling. She was sure they both were anymore.
"Admit it," he said, as she looked at him. "You like watching the games. You get into it."
Olivia allowed a small laugh at that and shook her head, looking back to her movie and ramming her chopsticks into the box again.
"I might've been exiled from your family if I didn't get into the Yankees and the Knicks," she provided.
Will let out a small noise at that. "I remember someone being very opinionated about the Knicks before she even met my family," he said.
She shrugged against him. "I had to be opinionated. Your opinions that season were flawed," she said, repeating back to him on his commentary on her movie choices.
She felt him shake his head. "Whatever," he muttered and silence hung for several beats. "You were never in any danger of being exiled from the family," he said finally. "My mother had her sights on Noah from the moment you guys set foot into the house and you had my dad at NYPD. It would've been me who would've been exiled from the family if I let you get away. It still is…"
He got quiet again after he said it and when she looked up, his face had again settled into a sadness and he looked distant. She let out of her chopsticks and with her one hand reached up and caressed his bearded cheek until he glanced down at her.
"So don't let me get away," she told him gently.
He sighed at her and gave her a frown. But she pushed herself to give him a thin smile.
"Sometimes I feel like no one's ever thought I was good enough for you," he said quietly and so out of no where – like it was something he'd been waiting to say or trying to figure out for days. More likely weeks or months she suspected.
"It's only you who feels that way," Olivia said without even hesitation, "and you've always been your worst critic."
"It's not just me," he said quietly and she saw the glint in his eyes. The sadness threatening to manifest itself as tears again, which she knew would just embarrass him and cause him to shut down.
She forced herself to extract herself from his light embrace on the couch and sat up, leaning against the back of it, though her one knee still lightly rested across his thigh and she stretched out her hand to keep rubbing gently at his sparse and messy beard. Even though she didn't like the way it looked on him, right now it was soft and felt nice under her fingers.
"Well, it's not me that feels that way, Will," she said. "I wouldn't be with you if I didn't think you were good enough for me. You're more than good enough. You always have been."
"But I'm not good for you," he said and looked down to his food. "I keep … fucking things up. Letting you down."
Olivia sighed and moved a half an inch closer to him and this time ran the back of her hand down his cheek before letting her fingers wrap around his bicep in a gentle squeeze.
"You aren't doing as badly as you think," she said. "I just … need you to talk to me."
He shook his head and gave a small sound. "I don't know … how to do this, Olivia," he said and gave her a look that seemed more frightened than sad.
"No one knows how to do this, Will," she pushed back to him a little bluntly. "I don't know how to do this. I've spent my entire career trying to help people figure out how to get through this – and I don't know how to do this. I might be concerned if you … knew how to do this. That's not what this is about."
But his head just shook again. "I'm not what you need," he said with such defeat. "Not anymore."
She squeezed his bicep more tightly until he looked at her. She likely had hurt him a bit. But his statement had hurt. It scared her. She despised him even saying it.
"You are exactly what I need, Will," she said again with a firmness but then felt the tears pressing at the back of her eyes and forced herself to take a slow breath in an effort to stop them. It came out shaky. "Will …" she finally managed though it felt suffocating to speak at the moment. "I … don't know how I would've made it this far without you. You have been a positive force in this family making any sort of recovery. … What … scares me is the concept of trying to get through the rest of this without you. … You haven't let me down. Not yet. You are what I want and need. I just … I need you to … want and need me too. I need you to talk to me. To talk about this … so we can keep working through it. … You're allowed to have needs and feelings about all of this too. You're supposed to. You need to tell me what's going on with you."
He gazed at her. He was focused on her but his eyes seemed so distant too. He let out a shaky sigh. "I don't even know, Liv …" he said. "I just … hate this."
She gave him a thin smile. "I know," Olivia said. "But I'd hate it more if you weren't here with me in it together."
He returned the thin smile but his eyes dropped to their laps and his finger found a ridge in where her jeans at bunched at her bent knee. It pulled at it and just pushed the material around absent-mindedly like he was trying to focus on anything else but the tears glassing over his eyes and the reality that was wracking his brain. Beyond the few embraces they'd shared over the past couple days, which had still felt so awkward and forced rather than soothing – it was the most he'd touched her in weeks. She watched as his fingers spanned a bit and his hand covered the whole of her knee and part of her thigh. He seemed to massage and consider his hand there for a moment but then either his mind shifted or he realized that she often didn't like him caressing at her inner thigh anymore at least during the limited foreplay they'd been able to force themselves into managing, and the fingers closed and he picked at the ridge in the jeans again.
But as Will focused on that, Olivia allowed herself to just focus on the fact that he was touching her at all. That he seemed to want to. That he was talking to her at all. That he was at least trying to figure out how to say something. So she let him and let him have the silence while he felt the material and her leg and her boney knee – and she brought her hand up and again ran it across the sparse hair on his face before reaching and massaging at his ear. She gently ran her finger around the cartilage and rubbed her thumb against the lobe before giving it a small tug.
At that, his eyes drifted up to her from where they were downcast and he gave her a small smile. He used to really enjoy when she played with his ears. A lot of times it would've been a sure way to get him going. Not so much anymore. He was more guarded about having her touch his face at all. But she was just trying to give him a small bit of comfort, some gentle touch. Some sort of reassurance that she was there for him too. She didn't just expect him to be there for her and for her to give nothing in return. She wanted – she needed – them to be there for each other.
"Time and patience, Will," she told him quietly as his eyes found hers. "We've got lots of both."
He gave a small snort and she saw his eyes drift a bit across the loft to the new bed on the opposite side of the room. He'd gotten the reference. She knew he would. He still wore it on his wrist but he'd clicked immediately to their wedding night up there too when she'd given him that watch in that bed.
"A lot has changed since then …" he said.
She shook her head. "Not that much."
"Too much," he countered and found her eyes.
Olivia traced her fingers down the scar on his face that he'd managed to mostly hide under this facial hair growth at this point. She wasn't sure if that had been his goal or not. But she leaned in and put a small kiss against one visible area where his surgery had been done in the weeks following the assault as concerns mounted about swelling near his optical nerve.
"Time and patience," she said again and looked him straight in the eyes, holding his face in her hands.
She could see him eyeing her and his struggle to decide what he was supposed to do and what he was allowed to do and what he wanted. So she made the decision for him and leaned in, finding his lips for a kiss. There were several moments that seemed to stand there for an eternity but than his mouth responded and he returned the kiss. It wasn't a long kiss but it felt nice. Though, it had just been when they'd both started to allow themselves to deepen it that Will stopped it and leaned against the couch looking at her. He had a small smile that looked a little coy. She raised her eyebrow at him.
"You taste like Kung Pao chicken," he informed her, without her even having to ask what his look was about. This liked that. She liked when she didn't have to ask. When he knew without either of them speaking.
She snorted and let a smile spread across her lips a bit. "So?" she put back to him. "It's one of your favorites, isn't it? Is it a bad thing that I taste like it?"
Will shrugged. "I usually like you to smell and taste like other things."
Olivia allowed him a small laugh at that and felt the smile grow a little bit more. "Well, sorry," she said, "but you picked dinner."
"There were limited choices," Will contended.
Olivia rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure there were other choices."
Will shrugged. "There's other choices on television too," he said and gestured behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to see the movie still going.
As she turned back to him, she leaned back into his space. "So then stop watching it," she said quietly, moving her face closer to his again.
"It's hard to stop watching such outstanding performances," Will said drily.
She smiled at that comment. She was close enough to his mouth again that he must've felt the change on her face and a smile spread on his face too.
"Will …" she said gently "… shut up."
"I thought you wanted me to talk more," he put back to her but the smile was growing.
She shook her head and leaned in even closer. "You can stop talking for now," she assured him and her lips found his again and this time he gently kissed her back without the hesitation.
