Eight weeks
Olivia has finally built up the courage to tell her partner. She doesn't know what, exactly, she'll tell him, since she's no better informed as to his paternity than she was two weeks ago. He'll obviously do the math and assume it's his. Then there will be the embarrassing moment when she tells him, actually, no, it's possible it's not.
Then he'll be angry and hurt and he'll toss off an insensitive remark about her apparent promiscuity that will humiliate her. And she'll have to take it because he'll be right. And then it'll blow over, as these things always do, and he'll call her and apologize and tell her he'll be there for her, regardless of what the eventual tests show.
Then there will be relative calm until the time comes when she's able to determine paternity and things will be tense for several weeks as they await the results. And then…. there will be either elation or devastation. On both of their parts.
She wonders whether Elliot will be a pessimist or an optimist when it comes to waiting for those results.
And then it occurs to her that maybe he'll want the baby to be Dean's. She knows he'd never actively try for a sixth, but shit, it's not crossed her mind till now that he might lobby God not to be the father.
But it's too late; she's already called him into a free interrogation room to tell him, having rehearsed her words all night and spent the better part of the morning summoning her courage.
But no sooner has she closed the door behind them than Cragen bursts in, having seen them go in there.
There's a new case and they're needed urgently.
Of course there is.
There's always a new case.
Olivia sighs and tells Elliot, never mind, it wasn't important.
And off they go.
x-x-x-x-x-x
Nine Weeks
They've been working this goddamn case for a week straight and Olivia's beyond exhaustion. She knows all this stress and fatigue can't possibly be good for her, but it's a high-profile case and she keeps thinking she and Elliot are one interview away from cracking it.
Also, she chickened out last week and hasn't been able to regain her nerve.
If she tells anyone now, she'll be yanked from the case and that just wouldn't be an auspicious start to her maternity leave. Besides, the case isn't dangerous per se; the players are pedophiles. They only hurt children.
These are the things she tells herself to justify keeping mum.
There's a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach she'll pay the price for this, somehow, later.
x-x-x-x-x-x
Elliot's at the end of his ropes with this case. He would do anything to take a break to see his children, but Kathy's taken them to Rochester to live and though he nominally has visitation, it's a five-hour drive. He's bitter about this, but also knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on: it's not like he could say with a straight face to any judge that he did a good job seeing them when they were right here in New York.
But he's exhausted from this case and usually the only thing that keeps him going is knowing he can go home and see them, even if it's just to watch them sleep.
Things are still a little awkward with Olivia and he knows she's tired too but he longs to talk to her about that day in the locker room. He wants to know what she's thinking, how she's dealing with it.
What made her say yes.
What it would take to get her to say yes again….
But now's not the time.
Overnight the case went from being about catching a handful of pedophiles who had a penchant for sharing files to sinking a bona fide child pornography ring. Sensing that law enforcement has been on to them, the leaders of the ring have transferred their operations twice. They're technologically savvy, and this makes everything more difficult. He and Olivia have got lots of clues, too; once Morales picked up on their encryption technique, the connections within the network presented themselves. But even still, there appears to be one central leader – the big fish – and they can't seem to pick up his scent.
x-x-x-x-x-x
Ten weeks
As she approaches the end of her first trimester, she thinks she's finally gotten ahead of the constant fatigue. This last week has been rough; she's been nauseous constantly, and as a result she actually lost two pounds.
Thankfully, Elliot hasn't noticed at all. Because he seems to be just as tired.
This morning she noticed, for the first time, the microscopic beginning of a tummy. She cupped her hands around it, overcome by emotion. It's not big enough that anyone else would notice it, but she does. She knows it's there.
And suddenly it's real all over again. She realizes how ridiculous it's been that she hasn't told anyone at work. Not to mention that she's continued to do this job, this dangerous job, and she's carrying the only baby she'll likely ever have. How could she be so irresponsible? She is not a man; her body is charged with cultivating this life and how she treats her body will determine how her body treats her baby. She can protest this fact, or she can accept it.
She is forty-one years old and until now her identity has revolved around her job. She has understood for years that this lack of balance is not an ideal way to live, but it has worked for her and it's helped her cope with her demons and so as vices go she's always regarded her obsession with her job as a relatively benign one. But this morning as she stared in awe at the tiny bump, it hit her: such an obsession is no longer so benign. And she'll be damned if she's going to let a damaged psyche sabotage her one chance at true happiness.
She goes to work feeling terribly guilty and determined to tell Cragen. It doesn't mean she has to tell Elliot, she reasons; she can always tell Cragen to keep it hush-hush until she's worked out a plan. Cragen would go along with it. As long as she's out of the field, he'd be okay with it.
There's hubbub in Cragen's office when she arrives. She goes in and is utterly taken aback to find Dean sitting across from her boss, reclining in the stiff metal chair like it's his office too.
It seems their case has gone federal, and low and behold he is the agent who's been assigned.
Olivia wonders if the FBI doesn't have a sense of humor after all.
x-x-x-x-x-x
In the course of forty-eight hours the case has gone from being merely big to being CNN pundit-commentary-worthy big, and Elliot and his partner are the lead detectives.
It's the biggest, best-organized child pornography ring they've ever encountered. From what they can tell there are hundreds of predators, with at least twenty-one in the New York area alone. To the best of their knowledge, the ring has existed since 1999, and is run by a pyramidal hierarchy of men. But like a drug ring, no one man knows anyone higher on the food chain than his direct superior. The ultimate leader, a presumed killer whom nobody knows by name, has likely made millions from the operation.
And, thanks to a random, unrelated comment made by Olivia, Elliot has stumbled upon their first solid lead.
Two days ago, after Cragen shooed them all out of his office and made it clear that they were to play nice with Porter and that oh, overtime was not optional, they gathered at their desks to regroup. Elliot's computer promptly flashed him the Blue Screen of Death and upon returning to life began asking him all sorts of questions he wished he had Dickie around to answer – like whether or not he was sure he wanted to reopen Outlook even though it had encountered a Fatal Error. Olivia laughed at his ineptitude and then mused aloud about how there ought to be a statute of limitations on the number of years the Internet could exist before it stopped being socially acceptable for parents to know less about computers than their kids.
And that's what got him thinking.
About adults today, who were children in the late-90's. About the fact that technology and the Internet weren't always so sophisticated, so complex, so opaque. About what the Internet was like in its infancy. About how digital recordings of abuse used to be stored on physical, tangible, findable devices, like CDs.
As a result of his breakthrough in thinking, Elliot and Olivia have now spent the better part of two days hunting down and interviewing a short list of a half-dozen people who, based on their circumstances in 1999, they believe might have information that could break the case. So far they've struck out, but Elliot's optimistic; he knows, in his gut, that they're on the right track.
Most importantly, this time, he and Olivia are going to get credit for it. That bastard Porter won't pull the rug out from under their feet, because this lead is theirs and everyone knows it.
He tries to channel Olivia's excitement, but she seems off today, tired. Well no kidding, he thinks, they've been on this case for two weeks straight. Even so, he wishes his partner would share his enthusiasm. This is big. Commendation-worthy big. It could mean a promotion for both of them.
The witness is not home when they arrive. Disappointed, they decide to check his workplace. They stop for a hotdog and Elliot treats; he still feels some lingering guilt for how he treated Olivia, even though he knows she's a big girl and that it took two to tango that day. Still, he wants to take extra care to let her know he's still here, still committed to her, to the partnership. He feels that the small gesture of the hotdog, somehow, communicates this.
At least this is what he tells the gullible part of his brain.
The real reason, he knows, is far less noble. Ever since that douche bag Porter showed up again, Elliot's determined to keep her away from him. It really has nothing to do with jealousy per se; rather, the guy treated her like dirt and Elliot saw how hurt she was afterwards. And so Elliot's been doing what he can to court her, platonically, to make sure she'd rather spend time with him than with Dean.
No, it has nothing to do with jealousy.
x-x-x-x-x-x
Olivia feels a little guilty eating a hotdog; she's supposed to be filling herself with omega-this and omega-that, but harmony with her partner is worth its weight in gold if it keeps her stress level down, she rationalizes. Also, she appreciates that he's been trying to be nice to her lately, even if he has no idea how timely such kindness is, given her situation.
Shit, her situation. Two days after her grand speech to herself, she is still out here, in the field. After Cragen made it clear to the team that he expected a first-class effort on this one, that it would pay off in multiples in the form of recognition from One PP and even the mayor's office, she knew she could not bail, not for a lousy couple extra days of work that would mostly consist of interviewing former child victims. Because there's no way in hell she's letting Dean solve this case, when she knows in her gut that Elliot's hunch is going to pay off. She's forty-one years old and she's devoted her life to seeking justice on others' behalves and so much of it has been thankless, grueling, heartbreaking and tedious. She'll be damned if she's going to be robbed of the chance to actually derive a modicum of satisfaction and yes, glory, from all her sacrifices.
A man approaches them on the sidewalk as they turn away from the hotdog stand, clutching their messy, foil-clad food. He's young; perhaps in his early twenties, and disheveled and out of breath.
"Please," he pants, looking at them with desperation in his eyes, "are you cops?"
"We are," Olivia answers, "what's the problem?"
"Please, you've got to help me! My sister – she's passed out, I think she's OD'd. Please, please help me!"
"Where is she?" Olivia asks with concern. She pulls out her radio to call for help but the man stops her.
"No! Please, just come look at her! I don't know if she's – oh God!"
He takes off towards a low-rise apartment building across the street and Elliot and Olivia have no choice but to follow. The man sideswipes the building, however, and enters the narrow alley between it and the next building instead.
As they step into the alley, Olivia hears a crunching sound beneath her feet; she looks down and sees that she's stepped on a used syringe. "Nice," she mutters.
They penetrate deeper into the alley, where the young man is standing, huffing and puffing over a girl slumped against the wall of the building. The girl looks like a teenager and she is indeed very much passed out.
Elliot begins to radio for a bus as Olivia crouches in front of the girl, reaching to feel for a pulse.
They both look up as they hear the sound of a van entering the alley.
Nearly simultaneously, they both gasp in response to massive explosions of pain in their heads.
And then everything goes black.