A/N: Congrats to everyone who guessed Kristin Chenoweth as the inspo for Dr. Penny, you are correct and you win a new chapter! J/k, but yeah, Cheno is a fave and I'm baffled as to why she has never been on the show, Broadway icon that she is, so I decided to fix that in my universe. Pop on over to AO3 for a new cover art that features her and some other familiar faces, if you are so inclined. Thank you to everyone for the encouraging words about my previous author's note, and thank you to those who have continued to read this story despite the difficult subject matter. I hope it's been more cathartic than triggering, and I hope these final chapters serve as a reminder that healing and happiness are possible. Take care of yourselves and if you ever need to talk, my inbox is always open.

Think I forgot how to be happy
Something I'm not, but something I can be
Something I wait for

- Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

Chapter 60.

What Was I Made For?

. . .

"Better?"

It was and it wasn't. In terms of comfort and aesthetics, the extra space was indeed pleasing to the eye and the nervous system. Convenience-wise, a little less so, although the filing cabinets that lined the street-facing wall to window-height provided most of the necessary storage. Professionally speaking, however, for someone who had worked at a desk her entire career, when she wasn't in the field, it was a bit disconcerting not to have one in her office.

But Amanda had put so much time and effort into what she called "my captain's sanctuary," including having softer lighting installed to cut back on the overhead glare, which gave Olivia migraines and flashbacks to the tripod lights in the shipping container. She'd even paid for the waterfall mirror that stood in the corner, offering a soothing trickle and continuous mesmerizing flow. Olivia zoned out just looking at it. Live plants and flowers were stationed around the room too, along with meditation candles in every imaginable scent. Three different apps on Olivia's phone played relaxing sounds at the touch of a finger, and a pair of noise-canceling headphones were available, for the opposite effect. Framed 8x10s of all their children featured prominently among all the greenery and therapeutic lighting. Heated neck pillows, at least one of which also had a massage setting, rested on the couch back, and a weighted blanket draped over the arm.

"That gonna be an office or a personal spa?" Fin had cracked lightly, peering in through the window before renovation was complete. "Tell 'er to put in a hot tub."

It was a little excessive, and it made Olivia feel like a pampered princess instead of a police captain (she kept thinking about Cragen's rollaway cot, perpetually folded in the corner of his cramped, dingy office), but how could she tell her wife that? After all this hard work and Amanda's excitement to present her with an office totally curated to her needs? She hadn't even gathered the courage to tell Amanda about the "soft retirement" yet.

That's what Dr. Penny called it. The session had run long, with Olivia bemoaning the fact that she still didn't feel reacclimated at the one-six, that she might never. Her temper tantrum had helped—bloody knuckles did wonders for the mindset, maybe cage fighters were on to something—but it was a temporary fix, and the adrenaline wore off within a few days. She couldn't throw a fit in therapy each week and expect it to get her through until the next session. What happened when it stopped working? What happened if she simply did not fit the role of captain any longer?

"Then maybe it's time to consider a different role," Penny had said, breaking into Olivia's lamentations. She didn't usually interrupt, unless Olivia went down a rabbit hole she couldn't talk her way out of.

"I'm not ready to be an inspector. It's just more responsibility, and it's not even a rank I aspire to," Olivia had replied. Her head wasn't quite out of the rabbit hole yet, and she gave it a shake as the image of herself jumping through all the NYPD hoops just to get a shiny new title manifested in front of her mind's eye. She hadn't planned to be a captain either, but look how that turned out. If they stuck her in a room with a bunch of men, a test sheet, and a No. 2 pencil now, she'd go stark-raving mad.

Absolutely not, no. Beyond all the obvious reasons that she couldn't, she just plain didn't want it, period.

"I wasn't talking about seeking promotion within the NYPD. I was talking about a step back from that role altogether, to focus on something new. Something that fulfills you where you are now."

Olivia recoiled slightly, as if presented with a rather distasteful entrée. "Retirement? I can't walk away from my commitments like that. Special Victims is my . . . " She felt herself tearing up, an involuntary reaction she'd had throughout the years, whenever faced with the question of what and who she was
(nothing and no one)
without the job. Back then, it had always been because a life without SVU, without her quest for justice and righting enough wrongs to prove herself worthy of love and existence, was too frightening to imagine. Back then, SVU was home.

A strange sensation that wasn't quite sadness, but not quite fear or defiance either, rose up inside of Olivia. Slowly, as she searched for the right words to describe what SVU meant to her, it dawned on her what she was actually feeling: relief. Not relief that she had her job to fall back on, because there was nothing else; not because she felt some deep-seated sense of guilt that only working nonstop could quieten. She was relieved because, try as she might to think of an excuse why she had to continue on as captain of the Special Victims Unit, she couldn't come up with one.

"I seriously doubt anyone would see it as you walking away from your commitments," Penny said. "From what I've observed and what you've shared with me, you've dedicated most of your life to this job. You've given it everything. Maybe it's time to start keeping some things for yourself. Your health and safety, for example. Compassion and determination to help others are remarkable traits to have, Olivia, but sometimes you need to put yourself first."

"I'm not sure I know how to do that." Timid, almost.

"Well, try framing it as putting your wife and children first, then. You've expressed a lot of dissatisfaction with how frequently your job takes you away from them. Last time we calculated how old your eldest will be when you reach mandatory retirement age, remember?"

"Eighteen," Olivia said, still unable to believe it. "A man." He was halfway there already. She had missed so much time with him, with Jesse. Tilly was young enough that the effects might still be reversed, and Samantha was the perfect age for turning it around completely, never missing another milestone, another school play, another kiss goodnight. Olivia could be more attentive to Amanda as well, getting to enjoy just being her wife instead of her wife and boss. And if her mental health was better, wouldn't that be good for all of them too?

There were certainly a lot of pros to consider, but . . .

"But what would I do? Yes, I want more time with my family, but I'm not really the stay-at-home mom or wifey type, if you hadn't noticed." Aiming for irony, Olivia fell a bit shy of her target, at hopeless dismay. She had stopped herself from crying, though, so that was progress. "Without something to occupy my time, without a strong sense of purpose, I would just . . . self-destruct. At best, I'd make everyone around me crazy. They really would hate me, then."

"No one is going to hate you, Olivia," Penny said warmly, leaning in to capture Olivia's full attention. Her long hair, a slightly darker shade of blond than Amanda's, hung nearly to her thighs like that. She reached out and touched one of Olivia's knees with a delicate, perfectly manicured hand. "That would be impossible to do. You're an amazing woman, and anyone who truly knows and cares about you will support your journey. I think most likely they just want to see you happy. If you have to stay busy to do that—"

"It's not about just keeping busy. I need to help people. Victims. I need to know that someone is still out there fighting for justice, for them." Olivia used her fist as a gavel in the palm of her other hand, hammering down the words. "If it has to be me, well . . . at least then I know it's someone they can trust."

"What about Amanda?"

Surprised to hear her wife's name from her therapist's mouth, Olivia drew her hands back abruptly. "What about her?"

"You trust her to fight for the victims, don't you? To seek justice for them?"

"Of course I do." Olivia smoothed the front of her dress and softened her tone a little, repeating, "Of course."

"Could you ever be happy . . . passing the torch to her? Letting her take up the fight for a while? You've mentioned feeling limited at times by your job—that you can only help victims to an extent, before the law and your professionalism get in the way. I believe you phrased it as 'having your hands tied' by the badge you carry around."

Had she actually said that? Olivia couldn't remember, but it was a thought she had entertained from time to time. How much of a difference did she really make in the victims' lives, seated behind a desk (and not even that anymore), dragging them into law proceedings that didn't always go in their favor and occasionally left them worse off, then losing track of most of them immediately after? When she was younger and obsessed with the idea of putting away men like her father to prevent any more women from ending up like her mother, any more children from being born of rape and hated for it, the law and the badge had seemed like enough. Now, on the other side of the law, she found it lacking. Not worthless or dismissible by any means, but not providing the extended care that a survivor required. That was where her heart lay—the recovery of hope, joy, life, self, for those who'd had it snatched away—and had for quite a while, even before she became an official, undeniable member of the group.

"Are you telling me to go vigilante?" she asked, and nailed the irony this time. Somewhere, Alexandra Cabot's ears were itching.

Penny returned the smirk like a pro. "Something to consider, but no. I don't see that being sustainable for you."

Maybe not for her, directly, Olivia thought, but when it came to vigilantism on her behalf, Dr. Penny was in for a shock.

Disgusted with herself for allowing something like that so near the surface, where it might accidentally come out, Olivia brushed some imaginary fuzz off her skirt and changed the subject. "Anyway. I'm not sure what you mean about passing the torch to Amanda. You mean retiring and leaving her in charge of SVU? She's an excellent detective, but she would have to be promoted to sergeant, at least, before she could command a unit. She's still a second grade, and there's Fin, who already is my sergeant . . ."

Fin, who had no desire to take full command of a unit and had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the post he had now; Amanda, whose promotion to detective second grade was two years ago and was certainly due for the merit-based upgrade to first, after single-handedly bringing down an entire sex trafficking ring and rescuing an NYPD captain. She would be eligible to sit the sergeant exam (and undoubtedly pass with flying colors) soon thereafter.

"Well, it's something to think about." Penny shrugged a shoulder, despite her meaningful tone. "As for what you could do—with your background and experience, you'd have all sorts of options open to you: victim advocate, crisis counselor, private investigator, instructor. You could start a support group or possibly a foundation that covered a little of all that. That way you'd get to be involved with the healing process of others', to have an active hand in it, but you wouldn't have the pressures and dangers faced by law enforcement. Find the right backers, you might even be able to effect change in legislation, without fear of repercussion from your superior officers."

She had obviously been listening when Olivia complained about Chief McGrath and the brass at 1PP, and how hindered she'd felt by the Old Boys' Club before the attack ever occurred, how scrutinized she felt by it now. Dr. Birdwell didn't miss much. In a few short months, she had also learned exactly the motivation Olivia needed to make one of the biggest life decisions she'd ever faced.

Not that it was happening all at once. If it were, Olivia wouldn't be standing in a newly rearranged office, sans work desk, trying to drum up enough enthusiasm not to disappoint her eager wife. But a seed had been planted that day in Birdwell's office, and this very morning Olivia had quietly submitted her recommendation to the commissioner for Amanda's promotion to detective first grade. Assuming he moved it through quickly—he had last time, and that was before Amanda destroyed Gustav Sandberg's kingdom built on sand—Amanda would be able to take the sergeant exam in the spring.

This office could be hers, come April.

To Olivia's surprise, she wasn't too saddened or resentful of the thought; instead, it stirred in her something akin to promise. As if she were on the verge of a new and exciting (but also nerve-racking) step forward. It was the same way she had felt the first day she entered the office, with her small box of personal items and paperwork, Cragen's presence still heavy in the air. The imposter syndrome had kicked in moments after she sat down at what she thought of then as his desk, her captain's. She wondered if that's how Amanda would feel when she took over the squad. Luckily, she would have Olivia there to lean on. Always.

Better? the detective wanted to know, her gaze hopeful as she rocked back and forth on her heels, waiting to hear if the improvements were up to Olivia's standards.

"Much." Olivia looped an arm behind Amanda's waist, pulling her closer and hugging her by the hips. Everyone but Velasco was out on assignment, and if he had a problem with his current and future bosses showing each other affection in the workplace, he could put in for transfer. Same went for the Bobbsey Twins (Fin's nickname for Muncy and Churlish). As for Fin himself, he had always been supportive of their relationship. Who knows, Olivia might never have taken a chance with Amanda, if not for him egging her on.

He could stick around. Amanda would need good, dependable backup.

"I'm glad you like it, darlin'. Figure it'll make coming into work a little easier. No reason you shouldn't feel comfortable in your own office." Amanda hip-checked her lightly, an arm around her waist to keep her close. "That said, how 'bout we duck outta here early today, grab us something good to eat on the way home, and surprise the kiddos with a family dinner night?"

Impressed as she was by the new office, Olivia couldn't think of anything she'd rather do than leave it behind, and go spend time with her wife and kids. Her biggest passion. "I think that can be arranged. I'm pretty tight with the boss, you know."

. . .