"You're not going to shoot me, Dean," Olivia tells him, though her hands are already tentatively in the air and she has unconsciously backed up a step.
"Don't count on it," he growls. "I'm heartless, remember?"
"You can get out of this," she says. "My squad still thinks Reslow was involved, that there's a connection between him and Da Silva and Wilson. I'm figuring you just concocted that lead to throw them off, but they don't have to know that."
What's taking him so long? she thinks.
In her coat pocket, her phone vibrates. She casually sticks her hand inside and hits the side button to stop its buzzing. She waits a second, and then her finger expertly travels across the device from memory, first locating the speaker button, and then 'send.' She presses it twice.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
From the passenger seat of Cragen's car, Elliot's phone rings. His eyes widen as he sees Olivia's name on the display. Cragen looks at Elliot from the driver's seat and puts his index finger to his lips.
Elliot nods and answers the phone without saying hello. He listens for a second and puts it on speaker.
Someone barks: "Hands where I can see them!"
Elliot flinches. He knows that voice.
"My DNA was in Reslow's van," they hear Olivia say. "I assume you planted a hair of mine there. It'll be pretty hard for Reslow's lawyer to argue that though. With all the drugs they found, he's as good as finished."
Cragen catches the eyes of his passengers in the car. Elliot covers the phone's tiny mike with his thumb and everyone nods back their understanding: nobody say a word, because if Porter figures out that Olivia's on the phone, she's a goner.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Elliot and his colleagues eavesdrop all the way up Porter's stairwell. They listen to Porter explain how it couldn't be helped that Olivia and her partner were not found for three full days after he, Porter, killed Da Silva and Wilson. That's how long it took for the bodies to be discovered and for Ballistics to identify the gun as Olivia's. Porter tells it like it wasn't his fault at all; the squad should have been quicker to connect the dots.
Elliot feels his blood boil at this admission, as he thinks back to how weak and frail his partner grew as the hours dragged on without food. He wants to bash Porter's skull in.
But as they creep up to Porter's door, Elliot confronts the reality of the situation. This is no petty pissing contest between him and Porter; his partner is in grave danger. And so he forces himself to buck up, to swallow his emotions, and to focus on the task at hand: Olivia needs him right now, but she needs him to be a cop. His guttural hatred for Porter will do her no good. And so for her sake, he will stop thinking like a jealous lover, like a man in love, like a potential father-to-be, and he will only think like a cop.
Elliot tests the door handle; it is locked.
Guns drawn, Elliot silently counts to three with his fingers. Cragen, Fin and Munch nod in unison.
On three, Elliot kicks the door in.
As expected, Olivia is standing across the room from Porter, her back nearly against the far wall. Her hands are in the air. Her pregnancy is blatantly visible now, and Elliot winces at the glaring reminder of how vulnerable she is.
"Drop it, Porter," he snarls.
Elliot points his gun at Dean. Dean, in turn, keeps his gun trained on Olivia. Cragen, Fin and Munch shuffle quietly into the room, pointing their guns at Porter. The six form a hexagon around the room. Olivia is the only one who is unarmed.
Elliot narrows his eyes at Porter. "You gonna shoot a pregnant woman who's carrying your child? Come on, Dean, don't be stupid here."
"She says it's yours!" Dean hisses.
Only Olivia detects the subtle way Elliot raises his eyebrows, stifling a startle reaction.
"Come on, Dean, we know this isn't you," Cragen pipes up. "Put the gun down and this can end peacefully."
"Dean, what happened to you?" Olivia whispers.
Elliot glances at his partner. He wonders if the disappointment and disillusionment in her voice is genuine, or if this is the detective in her, letting some emotion kick in for the sake of appealing to Dean's conscience.
"Shut up!" Porter snaps.
Elliot abruptly shifts his attention back to Porter. He watches him closely. The man is starting to sweat. Elliot knows Porter likes Olivia and he believes he would not hurt her all else being equal, but all else is not equal. The man has spent his career perfecting the skill of suppressing his emotions when he has to. His feelings for Olivia won't save her. Especially now that he knows the baby isn't his.
Why did she go ahead and tell him? Elliot thinks miserably. He's thrilled about the news, but all the same he would cede paternity to Porter in a heartbeat if it meant he would let her go unharmed.
Without warning, Porter points his gun at Elliot.
Olivia takes the opportunity and charges across the room, in Porter's direction.
A shot rings out and for a second, the echo of the bullet reverberating is the only sound in the room.
And then all hell breaks loose.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
It all seems to happen in slow motion. At the back of Elliot's mind, he can't help but be reminded of the incident at JFK.
JFK: When his partner fell to the ground after the person holding a gun to her head got shot by Porter.
Only this time it's not Porter who has shot the perp. This time, he is the perp.
And this time Olivia isn't springing up to inform him that she's fine. Instead, she's sprawled motionless on the floor, and her eyes are closed.
"Olivia! Oh my God!" Elliot screams, rushing to her side and dropping to his knees.
He picks up her head, and lays it on his lap, holding her.
And it's the airport all over again.
There's chaos all around him as Fin and Cragen tackle Porter to the ground. Somewhere behind him he hears Munch radioing for an ambulance. But Elliot tunes it all out. All he can process is what's in front of him: Olivia, the love of his life, pregnant with his sixth child, lying still on the floor. He's already crying, trying desperately to suppress the voice gnawing at the part of his brain that isn't in shock, whispering to him that she's dead, and his life will never be the same. He pulls her head deeper into his lap and cradles it against his body, already mourning.
His grief is so powerful, it takes a full minute for it to register that the only sign of wetness on her is the torrent of tears he's shed all over her.
There's no blood.
Frantically, he checks her. Her front, her sides; mindful of her pregnant midsection, he gently turns her to check her back too.
Nothing.
And then she opens her eyes, squints up at him and groans in pain. "Son of a bitch. Didn't think that would hurt so much."
His eyes widen in shock.
She starts to pull at her shirt and he wonders what she's doing, if she's delusional. Or if he is.
And then he sees it.
She's wearing a vest.
She is fine.
And so it is like the airport after all.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
They force her, kicking and screaming, to go to the hospital anyway. They give her a stern lecture about how dangerous it was to have done what she did, that vests aren't full proof, that she has to start thinking like a mother, not a cop. She resents the lecture, even though she knows they're right.
But she also knows that she can never shed her true identity, no matter how many new ones she takes on. And for that, she's not sorry. She is a cop. She will always be a cop. She wants her child to know this.
After she's examined, she pulls out the tape recorder she had in her jacket pocket and hits play. Everyone whistles as they hear the full extent of Porter's deception, marveling that he nearly pulled it off. That they trusted him in their squad room.
Cragen sighs. "I knew we had him, but this kind of proof just makes everyone's lives easier," he admits. "Not that I condone what you did," he adds, looking pointedly at Olivia.
"Who needs digital-this and digital-that?" Munch pipes up. "Good, old-fashioned tape recorder still does the trick."
Olivia grins.
Elliot frowns. If Porter had found this on her, there isn't a doubt in his mind he would've killed her.
Cragen informs the group that the detectives questioning Porter asked him why he used Olivia's gun – of all guns – to kill the kidnappers. Cragen says Porter acted surprised by the question; surely everyone understands that he wanted Olivia and Elliot to be found.
They snort at this.
And then they think about it. That lead indeed saved their lives. Perhaps Porter has a heart in him after all.
But none of it matters now, Elliot thinks. Olivia and the baby are safe, and Porter's out of her life for good.
Elliot wheels her out after they've confirmed she didn't sustain any injuries from the force of the bullet and that the baby is fine too.
Once again he knows he should be furious with her, for the kind of risk she took. But he's not. He's not, because he knows that this is who she is, that he can't change her. Nor does he really want to.
Also, he's got something more important on his mind.
"It's really mine?" he asks as they settle into the backseat of the cab.
She sees the tears in his eyes. Even after all they've been through together and their talk in the hospital upstate, she's still taken aback by the emotion he displays. She doesn't know how to get used to such demonstrativeness from him.
"That's what I told him," she nods, looking into his eyes, searching them.
"I can't believe it," he chokes.
"You're happy?" she asks.
"Put it this way," he says, taking her hand in his. "Three hours ago I would have done anything for it to be his so that I could know he wouldn't hurt you." He pulls her close and kisses her temple. "But now that you're safe, I'm overjoyed. I wanted this so badly."
She closes her eyes, tears welling up.
When they return to her apartment, Olivia asks Elliot to run down to the corner bodega to pick up some sandwiches; she is starving, she tells him, and, as usual, her fridge is bare.
As soon as he's gone, she heads to the lobby to retrieve her mail.
There's an envelope amongst the junk. It's from the lab.
She gets back upstairs to the apartment and sits down on the couch, envelope in hand.
She stares at it for a full minute before she gets up, still clutching the unopened piece of mail, and heads to her bathroom.
And then she tears the envelope to shreds and flushes the pieces down the toilet.
The end