Title: Love You Forever
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's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.
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. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. 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.
WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.
She'd seriously considered not letting him play with his baseball team that week – as part of his grounding. But the reality was that it was his first season on the juniors division tournament league. It was a good opportunity for him – he'd worked hard to get picked in the tryouts. And, beyond that, they'd paid a lot of money for him to be in the tournament league, rather than just the divisional scrimmages. Noah had even saved up his allowance over the winter to theoretically help offset the costs – even though in the end, it was still technically all money coming from the same place. So no matter how much she hated the stunt he'd pulled – she didn't want that mistake to screw up his entire season – especially this early in it - and see her son and their registration fees benched.
It hadn't been a very good game – and Noah's team lost badly. She'd found herself a little bored, standing off to the side watching it – alone. At least when Will was around – they used it as chatting time. Instead, she just hovered drinking her green tea and calling out occasional encouragements to her son. He'd made some plays out on the field – but hadn't managed to connect with the ball up at bat that day. She could tell by his body language that he was frustrated. But she also didn't think his head was entirely in the game.
When the game finally ended, she started to make her way down towards the field to meet up with him. She watched as the teams gathered on the sand to shake hands following the game. She saw Noah going down the line – but then some kid on the opposite team pushed his shoulder instead of slapping his hand. Her son's body visibly moved with the force. She saw Noah clearly say something and the other kid leaned forward and say something back. But then it was done and the kids both moved on. Or so she thought.
She stopped a bit back from the field and waited. She knew Noah liked to sit in the dugout and change out of his cleats after the game – and collect the rest of his gear. Some other kids were still milling around – but the players and their families and other onlookers started to clear. She waited longer and saw the coaches gather up the gear bags and start off too. Noah's coach gave her a nod as he walked by.
"Still waiting on him," he said.
She gave a small smile. "Still waiting on him," she agreed.
Noah was a dawdler. He always had been. He got everything done – but it was always in his own sweet time. Sometimes it drove her a little crazy. Noah was never in a rush. He was always the last one in line or out the door. So, again, she was forced to just stand and wait for him. Wishing he'd hurry it up – so they could get home, get some dinner, and he could get to his homework – and she could get to truly unwinding for work.
She finally saw him appear again – his gear bag hanging loosely over his shoulder - and started walking around the back of the backstop. But then the kid from end-game line appeared from other where a group of the few players from the other team were still gathered. She watched as he walked up to her son. He was probably at least seven inches taller and more than 20 lbs heavier than Noah.
He clearly said something to Noah again – and her son just looked at the ground without a response. Then the kid pushed Noah's shoulder again – this time sending him sprawling into the chain-link fence of the backstop. His bag fell to the ground - and then Noah just stayed there as the kid continued to clearly say something to him – his face only inches from her boy's.
She gazed at it for a moment longer – and then started to walk over. She'd only got about five steps when the kid put both his hands against her son's chest and forcibly pushed him harder into the fence. Noah bounced off it – but again just stood there and took it. She picked up her pace.
"Hey," she called out. "What's going on there?"
The kid glanced over his shoulder at her – still about 10 metres away. She saw Noah's eyes rise to her too – but then he dropped them and looked at the ground. Rather than stopping with her appearance on the scene, the kid rammed her son into the fence again – and then brought his knee up and jammed it onto Noah's crotch. She figured he must've taken pulled out his cup while in the dug out – because the kid didn't have any reaction but her son made a gasping sound and then crumpled over.
"Hey," she yelled that time and quickly closed the gap.
The kid looked at her as she arrived and pushed Noah's hunched figure into the fence again – and he stayed there leaned over on himself.
She reactively grabbed at the other kid's shoulder – and he jerked away. "Don't fucking touch me, bitch," he yelled.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She demanded, positioning herself between him and her son. "Noah, are you OK?"
She son was coughing up whatever he'd hydrated with during the game and now still dry heaving, though nothing more was spewing out of him. He didn't respond – though it was pretty clear he wasn't OK.
"Aww, Benson's got Mommy to protect him," the kid called back over his shoulder to the couple remaining players. She heard some laughs.
"Mom, go away," Noah hissed at her, between his gags and tried to stand up straight again. She looked at him.
"Who is this?" She said to her son – and then looked back at the other kid, who didn't seem scared of her at all. "What's your name? Where are your parents?"
The kid laughed at her. "I don't need a police escort like this little fag," the kid said and spit towards her son. It just fell short of him.
She glared at the kid. "If you know I'm a police officer, then you should know that I can arrest you here and take you in on assault," she said.
The kid crossed his arms. "No you can't. You haven't identified yourself – and you have a personal interest. The fag's your kid. My dad's a lawyer."
"Well, that's good. You're going to need one," she said. "What's your name?"
"Mom," Noah whined again. "Stop."
"Hey," she called at the couple players who hadn't run away at that point. "Who is this?"
They didn't respond and made a sprint for it too.
"Noah, who is this?" She said. He didn't answer.
The kid smiled. "First smart thing he's done in weeks."
She got out her phone – and the kid started sauntering away. "I wouldn't go anywhere, if I were you," she said. "I'm filing a report. You're going to have some questions to answer."
"Whatever," the kid said. "You and Mommy have a good night, Faggot. Don't let the panty police bite. Unless that's your thing, Freak."
She watched the kid for a moment – taking some more mental notes about the direction he was head, his appearance and the number on his uniform. She knew it wouldn't be hard to identify him – even if Noah wouldn't tell her who he was and what the hell was going on. Even if she didn't report it – she sure as hell was going to track down his parents.
She turned back to her son and touched his shoulder. She could see some tear streaks down his face and he still had his hands gathered protectively in front of his mid-section and his feet gathered together like he could hardly stand. He was keeping his shoulder against the fence for support – and to keep himself upright. She thought if it hadn't been there – he would've been flat out on the ground from the kneeing.
"Sweetheart, are you OK?"
"Don't call me that," he spat. "Leave me alone, Mom."
She looked at him. She didn't want to leave him alone. She wanted to know what the hell was going on. She wanted to know he was OK – because he sure as hell didn't look OK. He looked like he was in a huge amount of pain. She wanted to see him try to move – to tell her how hard the kid had kneed him, if they needed to go and get him medical attention. She wanted him to tell her who the hell the kid was.
"OK. I'll give you a minute to pull it together," she agreed hesitantly. "I'm going to call this in."
"Mom, don't," it sounded like he was almost at tears again. "I'm fine. Please, just leave me alone, Mom. Go away."
She moved over to his side and took off his baseball cap to try to get better eye contact with him. He grabbed at it – but she moved it down to her side and slightly behind her back, just out of his reach.
"Hey," she said. "Noah, I'm not going anywhere."
He had tears rolling down his face again now and banged his head against the fence a couple times.
"Hey, hey," she said and put her hand up between his head and the fence. "Don't do that," she told him. She caressed his cheek as he stopped the violent movement. "Noah. Calm down. Look at me."
He sputtered for several seconds but finally brought his glassy eyes to her and she gripped at his shoulder.
"OK, Noah. Are you OK? Can you walk? Do you need to go and see a doctor?"
"I don't need to see a doctor," he protested. She wasn't sure she believed him.
"Can you move?" She asked.
He shook his head. "Not yet," he said quietly and then nearly choked on another sob.
"Noah," she said slowly. "I need that boy's name. That was assault – and sexual harassment. We are filing a report on this."
Tears started again with that.
"Please, Mom, don't."
She sighed. Her mind was churning about how to approach this. The cop in her was saying she wanted to get this reported – that she shouldn't have let the kid walk away. That she should be looking around and collecting witness statements from people who saw the altercation. That what the kid did was wrong. That it was clearly unprovoked. Her son hadn't even put any kind of fight. Part of her mother side was saying the same time. But that side was also telling her to not over-react and to be his mother – not a cop. That side was churning about his physical well-being and trying to decide if he really was just going to be sore for a while – or if they needed to get over to the ER.
"Noah – we can't let someone get away with something like that. That was bullying – in addition to him hurting you. He could've really hurt you. We need to get you checked out. I'm calling it in. If you won't give me his name – then you are going to be giving it to a police officer in a bit."
Noah beat his head against the fence again and gritted his teeth.
"Noah," she said – putting her hand up again to calm his movements. "Tell me his name."
"Ryan Gorwski," he said so quietly she barely heard it. "He goes to my school."
She touched his cheek. "OK, sweets, thank you. Just try to relax, OK? I'm just going to make the call."
She walked a few metres away and took out her phone again and called into command. Though, she kept both her eyes on her son as she did so.
"Hi," she said. "This is Detective Olivia Benson, badge number 4015, I'm off-duty. But my son was just assaulted in Central Park. We're at ball field seven on the Great Lawn.
"Yeah. No. Several minutes after the game, a player from the other team approached him, forcibly threw him into a fence several times and then kneed him in the crotch.
"My son's 13. Noah. He says the assailant's name is Ryan Gorwski. He's wearing an Upper West Side league uniform. It's blue. The team is the Jays. Player number 29 on the back. About five-four, maybe 115 pounds. Blond hair, grey eyes, braces. He left the field walking southeast. The assailant apparently attends my son's school – M.S. 245. I spoke with him. He reported his father was a lawyer.
"No. I don't know him. I'm a witness. No – I didn't make an arrest. I was here as a private spectator, watching my son play. There's other people around. I'm not sure if they saw anything. There was a small group of players from the assailant's team during the assault – but they also have left the scene.
"Well, I'd like to take him over to the hospital to get checked out – if they can meet us there to take a statement. He vomited and he hasn't moved yet. No. I'll call a bus if we need it. Will try to flag down a taxi first. We're closest to Mount Sinai – that's our base hospital anyways. Yeah. This number is fine. OK. Thanks."
She walked back over to Noah. He was still cringing against the fence.
"You just made my life even worse," he told her.