Where would we be
Without the love of a woman
Standing behind her man even when he's wrong
The true pure undying love of a woman
Makes a man a fool to think he can make it alone
"I don't know you," Mama spits, all poison and daggers, and Randall winces because she sounds too much like the Mama he remembers, like the way she used to be before Pop's death and time and the gradual loss of her memories smoothed her rough edges. It's hard to look at her now, to see her as she is, to see a fragile old lady who can be so sweet turn so bitter in an instant. He's ashamed, can't help but feel like every inch of her decline is his fault, somehow, and he's embarrassed, because the people in front of her do not deserve her vitriol, and he doesn't know how to stop it, not really.
"This is Sergeant Bell," he reminds her. "You know, Elliot's boss. She's trying to help us -"
"I don't know her!" Mama insists.
Randall can feel a headache forming behind his eyes.
It's not like he wants to be here, either. The men Elliot is chasing are dangerous and Randall's face is on the security cameras at the warehouse now, and Elliot's boss isn't sure but she thinks that might have put a target on his back, and if he's in the bad guys' sights that means Mama is, too. That's why they're here, why he packed up Mama and Gabriel and a duffel bag full of underwear and granola bars and ventured into the bizarro world Elliot inhabits; he's standing in Elliot's cavernous headquarters, in the middle of the night, because he wants to keep Mama safe, and Elliot's team seems determined to try, though she seems determined not to let them.
"Mrs. Stabler," Bell tries to reassure her in a calm, soothing sort of voice. Randall doesn't know much about the woman, Bell, but he likes what he's seen so far. She's not showy, not puffed up full of bravado like the cops Randall recalls from his youth; she's level-headed and thoughtful when she speaks, and she's got a backbone made of steel. Pretty, too, though Randall gets the idea he might find himself thrown out on his ass if he tells her so.
"I know this is all very confusing," Bell continues. "But we can make you comfortable here, and -"
"Why should I believe a word you say?" Mama sounds perilously close to crying, and Randall is just standing there, wishing the ground would swallow him up.
"There's a lounge in the back," Bell says to Randall, looking past Mama's trembling shoulder so she can meet his eye, like she's decided engaging with him is the safer course. "There's couches and a TV, she can lay down -"
"She is not going anywhere!" Mama squawks. She's agitated, and it's only getting worse, and it can't be good for her, can it, getting all worked up like this? Apart from the gradual deterioration of her mind Mama is healthy as a horse, but he wonders sometimes. Wonders if something went wrong, if they'd even know it. If Mama started having some kind of symptoms, chest pain or a racing heart or whatever, would she even remember to tell them? What if her ticker's gone bad, and this is how they find out, when she has a heart attack in the middle of Elliot's office?
"Mrs. Stabler," Bell says again. To her credit she appears utterly unflustered, though Randall can see the two young cops on the upper level of the office shifting uncomfortably on their feet behind her. "What can we do to help you feel more comfortable?"
She keeps using that word, comfortable, and it's funny, Randall thinks, because there's nothing comfortable about this place at all. The office is more of a warehouse than anything else, stark and strangely empty save for a few desks scattered around the main floor where they now stand and the bank of computer monitors on the upper level. He passed a giant industrial fan on the way in. This place doesn't look anything like Pop's old precinct, and it's no wonder Mama is feeling so unmoored. He's feeling a little lost himself.
"I want to talk to Elliot," Mama says at once.
Randall sighs; he can't help it. He's already told her ten times at least that she can't talk to Elliot right now.
"Elliot's working," Bell says evenly. "He'll be here as soon as he can, but we can't talk to him right now."
"Then I want Olivia."
Christ, Randall thinks. Where did that come from? He doesn't recall Mama ever having a friend named Olivia, doesn't have the first idea whether the woman is even real, or if she's just the fevered imaginings of a mind rattled by age. She might as well have asked for them to bring her the moon.
"Who's Olivia supposed to be, Ma?" he asks. He knows he's not supposed to fight her when her mind slips and she says things that don't make sense; he's supposed to accept it, play along, keep her calm until the moment passes, but his frustration speaks before his mind can catch up.
Mama whirls on him, eyes flashing. "You know Olivia," she says acidly, like he's the stupidest boy in the world for asking. Even batty she makes him feel like a child, two feet tall and helpless. "Olivia," she says again, "Elliot's…" her mouth works soundlessly for a moment, like she's reaching for a word she can't quite grasp, but then it comes to her, and her eyes flash at him.
"Elliot's wife," she says.
On the upper level of the office the young lady detective promptly chokes. Randall can't blame her; Elliot's wife is dead, and her name was not Olivia, and this whole thing is spiraling wildly out of control.
"Kathy's Elliot's wife," Randall reminds her.
"Not Kathy," Mama says exasperatedly. "Kathy was never any good in an emergency, God rest her soul. I need Olivia." She spins back around to face Bell. "You know her, don't you? You can find her?"
First Mama is insistent that Bell can't help because Mama doesn't know her, and now she's equally insistent that Bell can find her mystery woman. It's impossible to keep up with the ever changing currents of her storm-tossed mind.
"Yes, Mrs. Stabler, I can," Bell says calmly, evenly, like it's not the craziest request Mama's ever made, delivering a woman who doesn't exist.
What is she doing? Randall wonders.
"I can get her here," Bell continues. "But it's going to take some time. While you wait, why don't you and Randall go sit down, have some water, maybe get a snack. I'll send her to you as soon as she gets here."
It occurs to Randall then that Bell is smarter than he is. Move Mama to a new location, get her settled down, she'll probably forget all about Olivia. It's late, and she's got to be tired; if he can just get her to sit down she might fall asleep, and wake up kinder than she is right now. That's why all the books say he's not supposed to argue with her; a little time, a little grace, and whatever's bothering her will fade away like it was never there at all.
Point, Bell, he thinks.
"I'll go," Mama says. "I'll wait until Olivia gets here."
"Ok," Bells says.
"Thanks," Randall tells her, and then he takes Mama by the arm, and with Bell's help he guides her to the lounge at the back of the warehouse. Gets her settled on the couch with a cooking show on the TV, and the second she sits down she starts to drift. It's going to be a long night, but at least Mama is calm now. All credit to Bell, he thinks; her little white lie has saved the day. Mama forgets all about Olivia, and for a little while he does, too.
It's been about an hour since Mama fell asleep, and she seems to be done for the night so Randall leaves her in Gabriel's competent hands and goes looking for the head. The office is a goddamn maze so he's decided to retrace his steps, go back to the main work space and find one of the cops and ask them for directions. As he turns down the main corridor he finds he's not alone; there's a woman walking ten, maybe twenty feet in front of him. She's tall, dark hair caught in a clip at the back of her head, dressed all in black. She's got a nice ass, and the click of her bootheels on the cement floor sounds authoritative, but that's all he can discern about her from behind. Probably another cop; the way she walks, not just the boots but the cadence of her steps, is heavy like a cop, and it's hard to imagine how - or why - anyone else would come to this place at this time of night.
The woman reaches the office floor before he does so he hangs back at the mouth of the corridor, watching from the shadows. Whatever her reasons for coming here, it's probably more important than him needing a piss, and he doesn't want to interrupt.
"Sergeant Bell," the woman calls in a rich, throaty voice, casting her head back to look up at the Sergeant, who is standing with her detectives on the upper level in front of the monitors.
"Captain Benson," Bell calls back. Randall was right, then; the woman is a cop, and a high ranking one at that. "Thank you for coming. I'm sorry to drag you out of bed."
Has something gone wrong? Randall wonders. Elliot's undercover and his team is trying to keep tabs on him, but really he's out there all alone. What if something's happened, something bad enough to merit Bell calling the big boss at 2 am? Elliot's always ok, but what if this time he's not? Randall's stomach begins to churn.
"I wasn't sleeping," Benson says breezily, like that in itself is not alarming. "It's fine. Where is she?"
"In the lounge. I can take you to her."
Wait a minute. Mama's in the lounge. Did Bell drag the Captain away from her home to talk to Mama? Why would she do that?
" 'scuse me," Randall calls, stepping into the light. "Sorry to interrupt."
At the sound of his voice Captain Benson spins around, and he gets his first look at her face, and his first thought is damn, that's a good looking woman. Proud jaw, soft mouth, big dark eyes; she's a beauty. Too pretty to be a cop, but under her black jacket she's carrying a gun on one hip and a badge on the other, and he doesn't think she'd appreciate his compliments anymore than Bell would, and decides to keep them to himself.
"Captain Benson," Bell calls the introductions, "this is Randall Stabler. Elliot's brother."
"His brother," Benson repeats. Randall is closing the space between them, has some thought in his head like maybe he should shake her hand, but Benson is looking at him like she just swallowed a lemon. Whoever she is, she is not happy to see him.
"Big brother," he clarifies, trying to lighten the mood. "The smart one. Elliot's the good looking one, and Joey's the idiot."
He says it with a grin, but Benson doesn't seem to think it's funny.
"Right," she says slowly, turning back to face Bell. "If Elliot's brother's here, I'm not sure you need me -"
"She asked for you," Bell says softly. "Wouldn't calm down until I promised her I'd call Olivia."
Oh, shit.
Olivia is real, then. Not a figment of Mama's imagination; she's real, and beautiful, and standing five feet away from Randall. A woman whose name he's never heard in his entire life, and she's the only one Mama wants to speak to. How did Mama even know to ask for her? Why the fuck does Mama think she's Elliot's wife? And why does she look so damn sad?
Bell knows her. Bell knows Olivia, knew at once who Mama was talking about, didn't think it was strange, or impossible, asking to bring this woman here, knew that Olivia would come for Mama. Everybody here seems to know a hell of a lot more than Randall does.
"Ok," Benson - Olivia - says tightly. "I'll try to talk to her. I'm not sure how much good it'll do, but…I'll try."
"I'll take you to her," Randall says. He's still gotta piss but he can hold it a little while longer. He wants to see how this plays out. "Let them keep working."
For a second it looks like Olivia wants to tell him no, but she's got no reason to reject him, and so she just nods, tightly, and starts walking towards him.
"Thanks," she says shortly.
"Hey, no problem," he says, and then he falls into step beside her, leading her deeper into the warehouse.
"Thanks for coming," he says as they walk. His mind is racing; he has so many questions, and this woman holds the answers, but he's not sure she'll be willing to give them to him. "Mama's a little…lost, these days. She thought you were Elliot's wife."
Beside him Olivia sucks in a breath through her teeth, and he can feel her whole body tense as they move down the corridor. Like it hurts her, Mama's confusion, like she knows just how fucked up it is, Mama getting her and Kathy confused.
"I'm sorry," Olivia says softly. From where Randall's standing it doesn't look like she's got anything to be sorry for, but she sounds like she means it, just the same.
"You know why that is?" he asks her. " 'cause I was at Elliot's wedding, and I don't remember you standing at the altar."
"She's just confused," Olivia tells him. No shit, he thinks. "I was Elliot's partner."
"What, like on the job?"
"Yeah."
In a way that makes sense. Mama has a hard time recalling the right word, these days. Maybe she could remember that Elliot and Olivia were a matched set, but she couldn't bring up the word partner, and wife was close enough. It's unsettling still, though, because Randall doesn't remember Elliot ever mentioning his partner. Now that he's thinking about it, he can't recall Elliot ever mentioning anyone he worked with by name. Not like Pop, who used to bring Donnelly around for drinks most every weekend, who spent years raging about the men he worked with, cursing their names for abandoning him when the job spit him out. Pop's partner was a fixture in their family, until he wasn't, and Elliot never mentioned his at all.
"You work together long?" he asks. It's obvious, he knows, his interest, his discomfort, but he's too tired for finesse. He wants to know, wants to know how long she's been a part of his brother's wife and why Elliot kept her a secret.Partner is an important relationship to a cop, even Randall knows that. If they were partners, they spent a lot of time together. Watched each other's backs, moved through darkness together. Mattered to each other, if not enough for Elliot to mention her name. Then again, maybe that's why he never did; maybe she mattered too much.
"Thirteen years," Olivia tells him grimly.
Shit, that's a long time. No wonder Mama remembered her. Elliot never mentioned Olivia to his brother, but for a while there they weren't talking at all. Maybe Elliot confided in Mama more. It hurts, a little, this reminder of how strained his relationship with his brother used to be, of just how many things Randall doesn't know, how much they each missed. Life is short, he thinks, and he's spent too much of it just standing by, watching it slip away.
"You put up with his ugly mug for that long?" Randall asks, and she huffs out a sound that might be a laugh.
"He put up with me," she says.
Nothing ugly about her mug, though, he thinks. He wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crackers.
When he left the lounge Mama was asleep and he's kinda hoping she'll still be out when they get back. He wants to sit and talk to Olivia for a while. Find out what her connection is to Mama, find out what her connection is to Elliot. She said she was his partner, and since she doesn't work in this office and she's a Captain now chances are she's not his partner anymore, but she's still come all this way in the dead of night just to set his mother's heart at peace. That makes it sound to him like Elliot and Olivia are still friends, and he'd like to pick her brain. Like to find out about the thirteen years of his brother's life he missed, like to hear the old stories - of which he's certain she's got plenty - like to hear her talking to him in that low, pretty voice some more. Thirteen years Elliot spent working side-by-side with a knockout; yeah, Randall wants to know more about that.
But Mama's awake when they get back, and her eyes light up when she sees them.
"Olivia," she calls the woman's name like it's a relief. Recognizes her on sight, and that means they've met before, Randall realizes. It isn't just that Mama remembers her name; Mama remembers her. Mama holds her hand out, and Olivia glides to her side, drops elegantly onto the sofa next to her and takes Mama's hand in both of hers.
"Hi, Bernie," she says warmly. Bernie, not Mrs. Stabler; there's a history there, but he's got no idea what it is.
For a second Olivia stands, holding Mama's hand, smiling down at her gently like a doting mother hen. Mama looks her over, and then sucks her teeth.
"You're too skinny, sweetheart," Mama chides her in the exact same voice she'd use if she was talking to Sharon or Dee. Like Olivia is hers to fuss over, like Olivia belongs to her. Like this woman Randall's never seen before in his life is as good as his sister.
Olivia is also, to Randall's mind, not too skinny; she's got curves for days. But Mama remembers her from the dim and distant past; Mama's got something to compare Olivia's current appearance to, and Randall's got nothing at all.
"Are you taking care of yourself?" Mama asks her seriously.
"I am," Olivia promises her, and then she settles herself down on the couch next to Mama. They're still holding hands. Gabe is nodding off in a chair in the corner, and Randall leans against the door frame, watching the two women getting reacquainted with one another and wishing he'd just gone to the bathroom while he had a chance. He's in this now; he doesn't want to miss another second of this conversation.
"I don't know what I'm doing here, Olivia," Mama tells her sadly. "I want to see Elliot and I want to go home."
"Elliot's working," Olivia tells her gently. Yeah, Randall thinks, and what do you know about that? Olivia's a cop, and Elliot's friend, apparently; even though she's not on his team she may know more about what's happening out there than the Stablers do, and that strikes Randall as patently unfair.
"And he brought you and Randall here to keep you safe. He's not going to let anything happen to you."
"What about him?" Mama asks forlornly. "Who's going to keep him safe?"
"He's got a good team behind him, and he knows what he's doing." Olivia sounds for all the world like a mother comforting her child after a nightmare, and Mama seems to be responding to it; she's still upset, but she's not getting agitated like she was before.
"I'd feel better if you were with him," she grumbles. "You always took such good care of him. You've always been such a help to the family. I don't know what would've happened to Kathleen, if it weren't for you."
That's news to Randall. He doesn't know anything about Kathleen being in trouble, doesn't know if it was last year or two decades ago, and that rankles. He cares about all his nieces and nephews, and he's tried his best to be there for them, to make sure that they know they can call Uncle Randall anytime, for any reason. Why would they need a stranger's help?
"You saved her, Bernie," Olivia says. "I can't take credit for that."
"Oh, yes, you can," Mama insists. "My boy, he...he never could ask for help. I never knew how to help him, what he needed. I...I tried, but I don't think I was ever very good at it. You saw the way out, Olivia. Kathy...Kathy told me that sometimes she felt like you were the only thing holding him together."
Olivia's eyes dart to Randall's face; there is something like an apology, something like shame in her eyes, though he doesn't know why. If all she did was help her partner, what's she got to feel guilty for? Isn't that part of the job?
There's something else going on here, he thinks. A beautiful woman, holding a man together, helping his family, becoming part of that family in a way - even if it's a way Randall doesn't understand; there's a seedy conclusion to be drawn there, but he doesn't want to, not yet.
"We helped each other," she says, like she hopes that's enough.
"I'm glad he still has you," Mama says, squeezing Olivia's hand for emphasis. "He's been so...lost. He needs help finding his way back."
Maybe that's true. It was certainly true in the days just after Kathy died; Elliot wouldn't return anyone's calls, was never home when Sharon tried to visit him, scared the bejesus out of all his kids. Randall found out about all of it later, when Eli called him from Maureen's house, despondent after his father fell apart in front of all of them. But that was years ago now, and surely Elliot's had enough time to find his feet. He's got a nice apartment, isn't living out of a hotel anymore, and he's no longer rabidly chasing the man he thought was responsible for Kathy's death. Grief doesn't just disappear, Randall knows that, but hasn't Elliot had enough time to get his shit together?
"He will," Olivia says. "And in the meantime, I'm going to be right here. If there's anything you need, I'm here to help."
It's a generous offer.
"My, we've gotten gloomy," Mama says, waving Olivia's offer away. "Let's talk about something else. Elliot told me you have a little boy now."
How she remembers that, and forgets that Olivia isn't Elliot's wife, Randall doesn't understand. This disease, condition, symptom of old age, whatever it is that's eating Mama's brain, it's not choosy. Facts are there one minute and gone the next, past and present mixing together into an unpalatable soup that just makes him sad.
"I do," Olivia says. "Would you like to see some pictures?"
"Yes, please," Mama answers happily.
Olivia pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts showing off her kid, and Randall takes that as his cue to exit. Mama is content for the moment, appears to have forgotten all about her fear and what brought her to this place, and he's too far away to see the pictures of Olivia's kid himself. It takes him twenty minutes to find the head and less than five seconds to empty his bladder, and he feels a little steadier as he makes his way back to the lounge where he left them. The security on this warehouse is top notch, and they are surrounded by cops with guns, and whatever's happening out there, it can't touch him here. It's late and he's exhausted, and a stillness has fallen over the world; no sound of traffic or wailing of sirens reaches them here, and as he moves through the bowels of the warehouse toward the room where Mama is waiting he leaves the hum of voices and clacking of computer keys far behind. Nothing and no one is moving back here; it is as if time itself has stopped in its tracks. Like they've stolen a few hours of peace for themselves. He wonders what price they'll have to pay for this respite.
When he reaches the lounge he pauses for a moment near the door; Mama has fallen asleep again. Her head is resting on Olivia's shoulder, and Olivia appears unbothered by this, is just sitting quietly, scrolling on her phone. Gabe has begun to snore. This far away from Elliot's team, this deep into the night, it feels like Randall and Olivia are the only people awake in the whole world.
"Thank you for doing this," he tells her hoarsely as he wills his feet to move. There's an empty chair on Olivia's right, and he collapses into it with a quiet groan of relief. He's thanked her once already but it doesn't feel like enough. Olivia has a son, a man, too, probably, a job of her own she'll have to do tomorrow, but she has come here without complaint, and she is staying, not trying to extricate herself from the old lady who's fallen asleep practically in her lap. The job is done, the job that Olivia was called here to do, but she doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get back to her life.
"It's no trouble," she says. Randall thinks that's a lie; she's actually gone to a great deal of trouble to come here tonight.
"Elliot never told me your name," he says. It's been bothering him, his brother's silence, and he's just tired enough to admit it.
"He never told me yours either," she says calmly. No wonder she looked so grumpy when Bell announced that Randall's Elliot's brother; as much as it bothers him, not knowing about her, she doesn't know about him either.
"Typical," he mutters. It's so like Elliot, keeping secrets.
"He doesn't like to talk about complicated things." It's true; Elliot wants everyone to be ok, to be happy, to be safe, and he's never been any good at talking about the hard things, the things that matter. But something about her words gives him pause.
"Are you complicated?" he asks seriously.
He knows he is. His relationship with his brother, their childhood, the terrible fight that led to him leaving home too soon and never looking back; it's all complicated, the nature of their relationship colored by their father's brutality and their mother's unpredictability and their own juvenile attempts at navigating a world that seemed determined to crush them. Randall's kept secrets of his own, and it's complicated, his family, his brother. But Olivia was Elliot's partner, and that should, he thinks, be pretty damn straight forward.
Unless it isn't. And if it isn't, he wants to know why.
Olivia is wearing a pretty golden pendant on a chain around her neck, and she reaches for it now, twists the little disk between her fingers and stares at a spot on the far wall, refusing to meet Randall's gaze.
"Yeah," she says quietly.
A beautiful woman, a complicated woman, and a man who kept her secret from his family; Randall's pretty sure he can read between the lines, and he doesn't know whether he ought to be angry with his brother, or impressed. Of the two of them, Elliot's always been the one who did the right thing. Fell in love with the right girl when he was a kid, stood by her when she got pregnant, joined the Marines, the police just like Pop wanted, provided for his family and went to church and stayed married to Kathy for damn near forty years, death the only thing that shattered their bond. Elliot's the son Pop wanted, dutiful and strong, a real man in the way Pop defined it. Randall's too soft, couldn't bear the life that Elliot lives so easily, let Mama down when she needed him most. Joey's the son she always wanted - though he's coming apart at the seams, now - and Randall wasn't good enough for either of them, Mom or Pop. In a twisted kind of way he feels vindicated by this revelation about Elliot; the golden boy's a little tarnished, after all.
Still, though, Kathy was a good woman, and she deserved better.
"Wanna tell me about that?" he asks her. "We got all night."
He has all night. He can't go anywhere until the cops determine it's safe, until someone makes contact with Elliot. Technically Olivia can leave whenever she wants to, whenever their conversation drifts into territory that makes her uncomfortable, but she's stayed this long, and he's sure that she won't want to wake Mama if she doesn't have to.
Did Mama know? He wonders then. Mama recognized Olivia's face; they've seen each other, spoken to each other before. Mama called Olivia Elliot's wife. Kathy talked to Mama about Olivia. Did Mama know that Elliot was unfaithful? He doesn't think so, because Mama was so happy to see Olivia, was so nice to her, so comfortable with her, and there's no way Mama would be accepting of Elliot's infidelity, not after the way Pop used to run around on her.
Olivia's mouth works soundlessly, like Mama's does when she can't seem to recall the word she needs to express herself, and then a grimace overtakes her pretty face.
"I don't like to talk about complicated things, either," she says.
They're evenly matched, then, her and Elliot. As dysfunctional as each other.
"Why'd you do it?" Randall asks her then. "Come all the way out here, this time of night. You coulda just talked to Mama on the phone."
Really, Olivia could've just not come at all. He's not sure where she lives but the warehouse isn't actually close to any residential district and the nearest apartment buildings, the ones he saw on the way in, did not look like the kind of place he imagines she'd live. An old lady sundowning and making life difficult for the people looking after her doesn't exactly constitute an emergency. But Olivia left her bed and her boy behind just to come sit next to Mama awhile, and that speaks of compassion, yes, but of care, too. Olivia cares about Mama, and he wants to know why.
"She's Elliot's mom," Olivia says, smiling at Mama's sleeping face a little wistfully. "He'd want to be here, if he could. He'd want to take care of her."
"And when he can't do it, you step in."
"It's what partners do." The way she says he thinks she would've shrugged, if Mama wasn't sleeping on her shoulder.
How many other times has Olivia stepped in for Elliot? What else has she done for him? Those thirteen years they were together, how many times did they carry one another's burdens? Did he ever return the favor?
It's not that Randall's nosy, most of the time. He's not big on gossip; Pop always said that was a woman's occupation, and Randall's tried to forget Pop's lessons about what it means to be a man but the older he gets the more he finds himself admitting that he took the old man's words to heart. What Elliot does in his own time is his own business. It's just that Randall loves his little brother, really he does, and he wants to be part of his brother's life, and the reminder that he isn't, that there are parts of Elliot he does not know, may not ever know, is unsettling. They're brothers; they're supposed to share everything, know one another better than anyone else. Most of the time Randall thinks he's got Elliot's number, but then there's moments, like now, when he feels as if his brother is a stranger to him. He doesn't recognize the foreboding, bearded old man his brother has become, doesn't know how to reconcile the truth of Elliot's infidelity with the version of Elliot who lives in his head, the dutiful boy who always did what everyone else wanted him to. There is a box in his head marked Elliot where all the pieces of his brother live, and there is no room in that box for this beautiful woman and the secrets she keeps behind her dark eyes.
"He'd do the same for you?" It's half a question, half a statement; he thinks that's what she's implying, that this care, this duty she feels to his brother is reciprocated, but he wants to be sure. It looks like maybe Elliot couldn't keep it in his pants and that makes him a son of a bitch, and Randall just wants to make sure that Elliot's taking care of her; it's the least he could do.
"He does," she says. Not he would, not a hypothetical; he does. Active, present, ongoing.
What does she need from Elliot, he wonders; when has Elliot stepped in for her? Olivia doesn't look like the kind of woman who needs anything from anybody.
"I'm having a hard time with this," he tells her suddenly, seriously, because the truth is he's having a hard time with everything. Elliot's out of contact, in danger, so busy trying to save the city he doesn't have time to save his own kid - something is going on with Eli, and Elliot can't be bothered to pick up the phone. Joey's in trouble, big trouble, and Randall doesn't know just how complicit his baby brother is in the crimes Elliot's investigating; Randall wants to believe Joey's just an idiot, that he doesn't know about the murder - murders? - or that he does, but he's scared and needs help getting out. What if that's not true, though? What if Joey likes this criminal underworld he's found himself a part of? And meanwhile Mama's losing her mind and Randall is looking at a beautiful woman he's pretty sure Elliot cheated on Kathy with. And if Elliot cheated on Kathy…Christ, does he know his brothers at all? Does he know anything?
"Undercover work is hard on everyone," Olivia says diplomatically. She's fidgeting with her necklace again.
"You ever do it?"
"A few times," she says. "I've only had one long term undercover assignment, and that was…hard."
She's being cagey; they have to be, he knows. These cops, they can't talk about what they're doing or what it means, even after the job is done. Part of that is regs and part of that is just them; the hard things, the difficult things, the complicated things have to be locked away, not examined at length lest the truth reveal itself and the truth, Randall thinks, is that it's not fucking worth it.
"Why does he keep doing it, then?" That's the thing Randall doesn't understand; why does it have to be Elliot? There's other cops here; that young guy he saw hanging around looks like he could pass for ex-military, just like Elliot. Isn't Elliot too old for this shit? Why don't his other obligations, to his family if nothing else, preclude him from disappearing like this?
"Do you want an answer or are you just angry?" Olivia shoots him a level look, and it's not hard to see why Elliot took the risk, why Elliot reached for her. She's beautiful, sure, but the world is full of beautiful women. There's something about her, something powerful and dangerous; she is a wolf, sitting on the edge of a forest, considering the hunt. When she decides to move he has no doubt she'll be lethal. She is self-assured and unafraid, and her cool confidence is alluring. There's something about her, something rangy and mean that flashes in her dark eyes, that reminds him of his brother.
"You think there's any good reason for him to do what he does?"
Randall doesn't think so. This job, it chewed Pop up and spit him out and Elliot signed himself up for the same treatment without hesitation. With eyes wide open Elliot chose to sign his life away to the same force that turned their father bitter and mean. Or no, that's not right; Pop was always bitter and mean, the job just gave him an excuse, gave him power, gave him an opportunity to exacerbate all his flaws. Maybe Elliot's the same. Maybe he's always been a runner.
"He does it because he cares," she says, and there's an accusation there, like she's so proud of Elliot for his selflessness and rebuking Randall for his disdain. "All Elliot ever wanted was to help people. To do the right thing. He suffers so other people don't have to."
"You don't think his kids are suffering?" Dickie and Lizzie have gone radio silent and Kathleen is having a hard time - Randall doesn't know what that means - and Maureen is haggard, looking more like her mother with each passing day, and Eli is flailing, desperately trying to get his father's attention, crying out a warning with no one but Randall around to hear it. Those kids need their fucking dad; what could be more important than that?
"I think Elliot's spent his whole life having to make choices," she says. "Who to save, who to…who to love. Sometimes there's no good answer. Sometimes no matter what choice you make, someone gets hurt. He's trying his best."
That's probably true; even Randall has to admit that, grudgingly. The people Elliot's investigating, they killed a cop, a young man Elliot knew, a young man with a family. And Joey's caught in the middle of it. The choice in front of Elliot - to pursue justice for his colleague, to save his brother, or to devote himself to his children, it's not an easy one. But Randall knows - or thinks he knows - what he'd choose, and he doesn't think it's the job.
"I think it's easier to pretend he's on some kind of noble mission than to admit he made the wrong choice."
Everybody wants to be a goddamn hero, Randall thinks. An island unto themselves, powerful and unstoppable, sacrificing their own dreams in service to others; fucking Batman, or whatever, alone on the rooftop overlooking the city he claims for his own, the city he's sworn to protect, the city full of people who are just numbers, metaphors, stand ins for those he could not save. But life is not a comic book"; the heart of New York City will keep on beating, no matter what Elliot does. The city doesn't know his name. His children, his siblings, his ailing mother, hell, Olivia herself, maybe; they need him, and he's nowhere to be found.
"How's the view from the cheap seats?" Olivia asks sharply, bitterly, and it surprises him, just a little. She's been so gentle with Mama, so careful with her answers to his questions, but the mask is slipping now, and he's caught a glimpse of her teeth. "I think it's easier to call the shots when you don't have any skin in the game."
"He's my fucking brother, you don't think I'm invested?" The words come out louder than he means for them to and Mama stirs, just a little, and Randall and Olivia both snap their eyes down to her face, watch her together in a tense, heated silence, waiting to see if she might wake. She doesn't, though - thank God - and Randall tries again, a little quieter this time.
"You worked with him a long time," he says. "No denying that…brings people together." Long days, late nights, the cramped front seat of an old Buick, two people who are too good-looking for their own good, away from their families, fighting the same war; yeah, he knows Elliot and Olivia must have been close. But -
"But you only got one piece of him," he continues. "Elliot's more than just a cop, and he owes his duty to his family, not this fucking city."
He thought to wound her, to cut her down, to take some of the haughty certainty out of her voice - who does she think she is, anyway, marching in here like she owns the place, talking to Mama like she's family, defending Elliot's stupid ass choices, when she's nothing more than a former coworker? But his words don't have the intended effect; she just looks at him with something like pity in her eyes, like she feels sorry for him. Like she knows something he doesn't.
"I'm not gonna fight with you over which one of us knows Elliot best," she says in a tone of voice like she thinks she's being magnanimous, like she thinks she'd win that fight anyway and is doing him a favor by calling it a draw.
"I'm going to talk to Bell," she continues, and then she slides herself out from underneath Mama, does it graceful, gentle, like a mother well practiced in not waking sleeping children. She has a child of her own, Randall knows that now; a little boy, that's what Mama said. Olivia looks too old to have a little child, but what the fuck does he know?
"Nice talking with ya," he says drily. Olivia shoots him a troubled look, but does not stop, just slips out of the room on silent feet.
Alone, now, Randall settles deeper into the chair, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes. It's going to be a long night.
He wakes sometime around dawn, perturbed to discover that he has to piss again. Sucks getting old, he thinks as he drags himself to his feet. Gabe is awake; the cooking channel is still playing quietly on the TV and Gabe is dividing his attention between the show and his phone. Mama is snoring. They won't miss him, he thinks.
He remembers the path to the bathroom, winds his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the warehouse, but before he reaches his destination he pulls up short, frozen in place by the sound of soft voices coming from one of the interrogation rooms. There's an open door up ahead on his left, and it sounds like that's where the voices are coming from. Just ahead of that door there's a little cut out in the corridor, about six feet deep, a place for the cops to stand and peer through the two-way glass into the interrogation room, with a little speaker there so they can listen in, and when he ducks to the left, stands in front of the glass and peers into the room, he realizes the speaker is on; that's where the voices are coming from.
It's probably a gross invasion of privacy, but if they didn't want to be overheard he thinks they shouldn't have stepped into a room that is designed to broadcast their conversation to witnesses.
On the other side of the glass he can see them, Elliot and Olivia. Elliot looks rough; that fucking beard of his is untrimmed and bushy, and his clothes are dirty. Heavy work boots, heavy jeans, a plaid button down that looks like it smells; even on the other side of the wall Randall can tell his brother needs a shower. Elliot is leaning against one wall, and Olivia is leaning against the other, cool as anything with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes tracking Elliot's every move like a hawk.
"How much longer are you gonna do this?" she asks him bluntly.
"Long as it takes," Elliot growls back.
It stirs something like anger in him, watching Elliot and Olivia together. It was one thing, talking to Olivia, thinking she'd probably fucked Elliot while he was married, listening to her make excuses for him; seeing the pair of them together makes the betrayal real in a way that turns his stomach. They are complicit, the two of them; they have done this thing together, chosen this life of madness and ruin, chosen to cross the lines they were never meant to cross, to leave chaos and heartbreak in their wake. They did it together, and now here they are, and he can see it, the magnetic pull between them, the fire in their eyes when they look at one another.
"Even if it gets them killed?"
Randall isn't sure who she means by them, but he realizes she could be talking about him. About him, and Mama, in danger on account of what Joey's done, of Elliot's involvement. Would Randall have ever done it, ever tried to hunt Joey down like that, if it weren't for Elliot? Wasn't it Elliot's fucking Rambo act that inspired him in the first place? He looks at Elliot, and thinks if he can do it, so can I. Maybe that's not fair, though, blaming Elliot for his own choices.
"The only way to keep them safe is to stop these guys," Elliot insists. "You know that, Liv. I back off now, that doesn't help anybody. It would set the investigation back, and we'd lose any chance of stopping them before someone gets killed. We have to have eyes on the inside."
"And it had to be you."
It's funny; Randall asked her why Elliot had to be the one to do this work, and she gave him an answer. Defended Elliot's choices, made excuses for him, acted like she thought he was being so fucking noble, but in private, face to face with Elliot, she is accusing him instead. Is that what they're like, he wonders; protective of one another in public, but calling each other to account when they're alone? Someone needs to do it, he thinks; someone needs to remind Elliot where his priorities ought to be, and Elliot damn sure isn't listening to Randall. Maybe he'll listen to her.
"Yeah, Liv, it did," Elliot says darkly. Liv. A little nickname, a term of endearment, a reminder that these two people care about each other, in ways, for reasons, that Randall can't begin to guess. "These guys are Marines. They'd spot a fake. It had to be…it had to be someone who knows."
Olivia regards him quietly for a moment, studies him from the other side of the room, and through the glass Randall can see her expression soften.
"You don't talk about it much," she says quietly.
And shit, but she's right. In the moment Randall actually feels a little guilty, because she's right. Elliot doesn't talk about his service; didn't talk about it when he was enlisted and didn't talk about it after and to this day Randall doesn't know, really, what that was like for him. What Elliot did while he wore the uniform, what he went through. Randall's always kind of assumed that Elliot's time in the Marines was relatively uneventful, but what if that's wrong? Elliot doesn't like to talk about complicated things; just how many secrets is he keeping?
"It was a long time ago."
"And you're not over it," Olivia observes shrewdly. "You haven't gotten it out of your system."
"I don't think I ever will."
Olivia nods, looks away; she's decided to let him keep his silence, decided not to press. Maybe that's something else Elliot likes about her; maybe she knows when to let sleeping dogs lie.
"They're worried about you," she says after a moment. She won't push him to talk about his time in the Corps but she's still fighting for his family, and Randall is grateful to her for that, even if he thinks it's not really her place.
"They are? Or you are?"
She frowns at him, displeased at his insinuation that her motives aren't entirely selfless.
"Am I not allowed to worry about you?"
"You got a funny way of showing it, is all."
"I came here, in the middle of the night, to take care of your mother -"
"You'll do anything for anybody but you won't pick up the phone when I call."
Maybe it's long over, their affair, or whatever. Maybe now that she's got herself a kid and a man she's not willing to entertain him; maybe she was fine with betraying Kathy and the kids but won't do the same to her own family. Maybe it's just been too long; Elliot was gone for a decade, and a lot of shit can change in ten years. Maybe they aren't fucking anymore, but they meant something to one another, once, and it's clear, even from the outside, that those old ties are hard to break.
"You're not the only one with a job to do."
"Yeah? What ghosts are you chasing, Liv? What are you trying to make up for?"
Is that what he's doing, Randall wonders; is Elliot chasing ghosts? Trying to atone for some unnamed sin? Or maybe the sin has a name; maybe the sin is Olivia herself. Maybe he's trying to do for Joey, for that cop's family, what he could never do for his own.
Inside the interrogation room Olivia is staring at Elliot; unblinking, unrelenting, her eyes are boring into his, challenging him. It's refreshing to see someone standing up to him, but he has done no more than ask her the same question she's asked him; why does it have to be you?
"Whatever debt you owed, you've paid it by now," Elliot tells her.
"So have you."
Elliot shakes his head ruefully, finally manages to look away from her frank gaze. "Nah," he says. "I'm still in the red."
In the red, like there's a ledger somewhere, his failures measured against his victories, and he's still coming up short. Who runs that book, Randall wonders; who decides when enough is enough?
"This is the end of it, anyway," he continues. "I gotta see this through. For Sam, and for my family. My little brother's all mixed up in this, Liv, and I gotta get him out before he gets hurt."
"Little brother?" she repeats. "That's Joey?"
"Yeah, where'd you hear his name?"
"I talked to Randall tonight."
"Christ," Elliot groans, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Whatever he said - I'm sorry, Liv."
"He's just worried about you. And your kids. You're lucky, you know."
"Yeah," he says. Says it like he means it, like he knows what a gift it is, to have a family who loves him, even if they all drive each other a little crazy.
"This is it for me, I think," he tells her then. "This job…I can't keep going under. I know it, Bell knows it."
"That's good," she says. "It's time."
"I wanna come home, Liv."
This undercover stint, it's only been a few weeks, but Elliot says the word home like it's somewhere he hasn't been for years, like it's something he aches for, something foreign and lost to him.
"Then come home," she says earnestly, emphatically. Her arms are still crossed and one of her hands lifts up, starts toying with her necklace again the way Randall's seen her do countless times tonight. Elliot's eyes narrow at the movement, hone in on her hand, and the pendent, and the restless way it glitters between her fingers.
"You gonna be there waiting for me when I do?"
She looks down at the pendent, and then back at his face, studies him for a moment, weighs her answer like it's the most important question anyone's ever asked her in her life.
"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I think I am."
Silence falls between them, then. No words are forthcoming from either of them, but they are gazing steadily at one another, and it seems to Randall he can almost hear the whisper of something passing between them. It means something, Elliot's insistence that he's coming home, Olivia's promise to be there; it feels like they have just sealed some kind of vow, made assurances to one another Randall can't begin to understand. Elliot says Olivia won't answer his calls, but when it's his mother who needs help she comes running, and when he talks about home he imagines a place with her in it. There's more to this story than Randall thinks he'll ever know.
But still they don't speak. It seems like their conversation has run its course; Olivia lifts herself up off the wall, turns towards the open door, but before she can depart Elliot is moving, covers the space between them in three long strides and then reaches for her hand. A soft gasp escapes her as he tangles their fingers together, a sound so quiet Randall barely hears it through the speaker, but it's there, just the same, her surprise, her fear, maybe.
"It's time," Elliot repeats her words. "No more running, no more fighting. I promise, Liv."
"Don't make a promise you can't keep," she tells him quietly, and then she pulls away, her fingers slipping through his, his hand outstretched, reaching for her until she drifts beyond his grip, and his eyes watch her as she slips out into the corridor, a look of such longing on his face Randall can hardly stand to look at him.
But he does, looks at his brother, and watches the change that comes over him. The way Elliot shakes his head, just a little, as if to clear some unwanted thought. The way he straightens his shoulders, squares himself up, a boxer preparing for a bout. A few brief, stolen words with this woman, a few minutes of vulnerability, have shored up his defenses, and he looks ready, now. Ready to step once more into the darkness, ready to fight for what he believes in again. She's made him strong, somehow, and Randall isn't sure what he thinks about her, not really, isn't sure how he feels about the things he's learned tonight and the glimpse he's caught into his brother's private life, but he's grateful to her, just the same. Grateful to her for coming when she didn't have to, grateful to her for helping, grateful to her for giving Elliot the strength to keep going, and for the reminder she's given to Randall, the reminder that his brother isn't a saint or a sinner, that he's just man, trying his best.