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.
Noah glanced up at her as she came back into the living room from the kitchen. He still looked upset – though he offered no comment, and quickly shifted his eyes back to the Yankees' game on the television.
He had it on mute. She wasn't even sure he realized it was still on mute. She'd seen that he looked lost in thought when she stepped into the room. He had muted the television, though, when she'd allowed him to call Will when they got back home and he'd awkwardly lowered himself on the couch and accepted the soft cold pack she gave him, followed by the phone.
She'd heard him talking to the only man he'd ever known as his father while she was in the kitchen making him something to eat. The one-sided conversation had been hushed but she'd heard words like "not fair" and "hate her" and "it's stupid" and "I don't care". It had been a short conversation, though. Will really didn't excel at telephone conversations anyways and he really lacked patience in dealing with the young teen over the phone. He always felt like everything with the boy by phone was confrontational and that Noah just didn't listen. It upset Will and he basically refused to participate. She expected that Will would call her back later and express that that was exactly what had happened – again. But for now, Noah offered no explanation.
She held out the plate with the fried egg sandwich towards him. He glanced at her again – his elbow on the arm of the couch and his cheek resting on a clenched fist there in a clear and angry sulk. He contemplated her for a moment but then accepted the plate – so she sat down on the opposite end of the couch from him and watched him. He picked up the one corner of the sandwich and examined its insides for a moment – before lifting the half from the plate and taking a bite.
Fried-egg sandwiches. It was one of the few things her son would eat without having to be promoted. They were so simple – but he wouldn't make them himself, though he would ask for them. Only she made them the right way, according to her now 13-year-old, who was quickly drawing near his 14th birthday. It was ridiculous but somehow nice to still feel needed by the boy.
How she made them right wasn't even in how she fried the egg – because, really, how many ways can you fry an egg? It was all about how much ketchup she spread in a thin layer on each piece of toast before squishing the egg between the two pieces of bread. Noah claimed he couldn't get it to taste right himself. It was even worse if Will made it for him – the boy would hardly take a bite before rejecting it then. She found it even more ridiculous because she really didn't have a technique to her ketchup application – there wasn't even a rhythm or reason to it. She literally just put a small squirt that felt right on each side and then spread it with a knife. But in being the mother to a cancer child – now survivor – she'd long ago learned that the most comforting things often were things like that sparse layer of ketchup on a fried egg sandwich. Those simple, thin layers of a seemingly meaningless condiment on an otherwise bland meal could become great sources of comfort and could basically become what it meant to be a mother. Motherhood wasn't in the great gestures or moments of achievement in your child's life. It was in the small, simple, everyday, repeated tasks of just being there for your child – and knowing what could make them feel better for at least a moment before the next round.
She watched his eat quietly. He gave her a couple sideways glances, which she knew was his awkward way of expressing thanks while he was still upset with her and with everything else. She wasn't going to push him for more.
For the most part she was just thankful that he was OK – short of some bruises and swelling and him clearly still being in pain, that was expected to last at least a couple days, the doctor had said. Noah hadn't been very happy about her taking him to the hospital. He'd even been less thrilled when the doctor wanted to examine his junk for swelling. She wasn't exactly happy about anyone handling her son's genitals either but she'd figured it was better than him potentially having some sort of serious damage.
He'd been vocally upset with her, though, and had initially refused the exam. It had taken some convincing that with the amount of pain he was in and with how the blow was delivered, it was important that he be assessed – or else there might be a lot more doctors groping him in the future. So he'd reluctantly agreed, after demanding that she go and wait outside the curtain around his bed in the ER. She hadn't exactly been planning to watch. She'd been intending to stand up near his head or behind him and just make sure everything was OK and offer him any support if he needed it. Though she understood why her son wouldn't want his mother in the room – it had still been hard to step outside and wait to be invited back in.
Still, it hadn't been as hard as when Noah demanded she leave again when the cops finally showed up to take his statement and explanation about what had happened. She hadn't even considered he would talk to them without her – or that he would know that that was an option or that the officers would ask to speak with the victim alone – especially when she was a fellow officer. She should've known, though. He was her son. He'd heard enough bits and pieces of her talking about work and been in and out of the precinct enough that he had a reasonable understanding of how these things worked. Not to mention, that she had had a handful of conversations with him about what to do if he ever did get in trouble or was questioned by the police for any reason – what his rights were, who to call, who to talk to, things to ask for.
So she hadn't gotten to hear what the boy had said to her soon or what may have spurred the attack. She hadn't gotten to hear Noah's version of events – which she really desperately wanted to. She'd tried to get a couple details out of the officers when they'd come over to her outside to take her statement and to talk about her involvement in the incident. But they'd been coy – as was basically their job. Though they did confirm that they'd located the suspect and asked if she'd still wanted to press charges. She had said yes, even though she knew that Noah would be against it. She wasn't going to condone the behaviour by the other kid.
So after several hours at the hospital they'd finally been sent home with the recommendation of ibuprofen and ice packs – and to come back in if the pain and swelling continued beyond a couple days or if he had any difficulty passing urine – or pain when getting an erection or ejaculating, which she knew were words her son also had been uncomfortable with her hearing in that setting and from the doctor. She knew if any of those problems were happening too – urinating or otherwise, it wouldn't be her he'd be telling he needed to go back to the doctor, so she kind of wished Will would hurry up and get home.
"I'm not gay," Noah said suddenly – and she shook from her thoughts from where she'd still been sitting and contemplating him. It took her a moment to realize why he was even to saying it.
"Noah, out of everything that happened tonight, that boy using those words was the least of my concerns," she finally sighed. "That didn't even register – beyond me thinking he was just trying to be crueler."
"Well, I'm not," Noah clarified more forcibly.
She watched him. He was fidgeting and leaned forward and put his now empty plate on the table.
"OK," she said, "and you should also know that I don't care if you are."
"I'm not," Noah said louder and glared at her briefly, before going back to looking at the television. His knee started bouncing up and down in the same nervous way as her husband.
She nodded. "OK," she said again quietly.
She had never actually had reason to suspect her son might be gay. To her, there hadn't been any reason to think he was. His interests, his mannerisms, his talents, his hobbies – they all seemed pretty masculine to her. Though, she supposed that wasn't necessarily a determining factor. Masculine men could still be gay. But mothers know their children and she felt she knew her child even better than most with all they'd been through. She didn't believe her son was gay.
She honestly wouldn't care if he was, though, beyond him having to deal with the bigots in society. She wouldn't wish that onto him. He'd already dealt with so much in his life to have to endure another uphill battle seemed cruel.
Still, she hated that her son had felt the need to clarify that for her. She suspected it meant that other kids had decided he was gay and where using words and actions to make him feel badly about it. Her concerns that he was being bully had been growing with some of the little comments he'd been making in her continued conversations in the fall-out of his stunt. But that night had made startlingly clear that it wasn't just a possibility – some kid did appear to at least have something against him and she really didn't have the impression it was an isolated incident.
She was already thinking over the past weeks and months trying to think of any signs she'd missed that her son may be a victim of bullying. She hated that she missed that. Noah was just shy, reserved, introverted. He had never made friends that easily and he still didn't now. She kept hoping that maybe he'd get to try again in high school and he'd come out of his shell more if he was placed in a school that more accurately catered to his abilities and skills. But she now was fearing in her waiting and hoping, maybe she had been assuming too much about what was just his norm and not seeing what was truly happening for him at school. It made her really angry with herself – that she hadn't been taking care of him and protecting him. It made her angry at the school that they wouldn't have noticed and brought it to her attention and been working to resolve the problem. They were supposed to be a zero-tolerance to bullying facility.
"Are kids saying things at school?" she tried to press.
Noah shrugged.
She rubbed at her eyebrow and looked at him hard.
"Noah, why did that boy start pushing you tonight?"
He just shook his head.
"Sweetheart, I'm going to find out eventually. I'd really prefer to hear it from you – here, at home."
He shook his head harder.
She sighed and sat back in the couch – though she kept her eyes on him and let him have the silence.
"I can't go to school," he finally said at a near whisper.
"We'll see how you're doing in the morning," she told him. She was already planning to let him stay home, though. He was still hardly moving and was hobbling as he walked when he did. Not to mention, he still had a cold pack sitting in his crotch and wasn't acting like he wanted to take it off that area. That likely counted for something, she figured. She'd let him get a day's rest and hope that the swelling would go down with lack of activity and time laying in front of the television on the couch.
"Not just tomorrow – not ever," he said and threw himself hard into the pillows behind him and crossed his arms tight across his chest.
"Well that's not really an option, sweets," she told him. "You can't just run away from your problems."
He glared straight ahead and offered no response.
"There's only a few months left of the year," she offered. "Soon it will be summer and then in the fall you'll have a fresh start at high school."
"A few months is forever," he mumbled, "and it won't make any difference at high school. It will be the same."
"What will be the same, Noah?"
But he just bounced his knee harder and didn't answer.
"If you tell me what is going on at school, I can try to help make it better for you," she tried.
"I'm not a kid, Mom," he spat at her. "I don't want you going into my school all the time."
She looked at him. "Noah, you may not be a little boy anymore – but you're still a kid and you're going to be until you're 18. You're still my child and I'm still your mother – and it's not going to matter how old you are or how grown-up you think you are, you are always going to be my kid. Even when you're married and have kids of your own – you're still my kid. It's just the way it works."
He briefly made eye contact with her – and she wanted so much to hug him and for him to just open up to her and tell her what the hell was going on. But she knew if she so much as touched him right now he was going to recoil even more.
"Did you talk to your dad about what's going on?" She tried instead.
"No," Noah spat out. "He'd just tell you."
She sighed. "Will you? Noah, you've got to talk to us. Clearly something is happening – that is bigger than just something you can handle on your own. That's what parents are for. It's our responsibility to help you through whatever this is."
He made no comment.
"I told the officers that we want to lay charges," she said.
"You do, I don't," her son responded.
She nodded. "I know – but I think if we were able to have a real conversation about this, we could come to an agreement that what happened tonight is not acceptable."
"You're just going to make things worse," he said quietly.
"What am I making worse, Noah?"
"Everything," he said angrily.
"Noah, please, talk to me," she felt like she was begging – because she really was at that point. She didn't know what more she could say to her son to get him to open up to her. But the silence again hung between them.
"Can you tell me if that happened tonight is at all related to what happened with your essay and your suspension – your problem in your history class?"
"I want to go to bed now," he said – staring straight ahead.
She sighed. She wanted to tell him, no, that he wasn't allowed, that he couldn't until he told her exactly what the hell was going on. But instead she nodded.
"OK, sweets. I'll get you a fresh cold pack from the freezer. Take that one off for a bit while you get changed and brush your teeth. You shouldn't leave it on so long at a time."
He tossed the pack from his crotch on the couch cushion between them and pushed himself up from the couch, wincing. He was near cupping himself as he started to make his way down the hall.
"Come get it when you're ready, Noah," she said, "and to say good night."