Don't sit around in here and mope all day.

Jackie's words rang through Olivia's head like a bell. The sun had come and brought with it a new day, a day bright and warm and terrifyingly devoid of obligations or routine. That day stretched out in front of Olivia, hours upon hours and no way to fill them, and so she resolved herself to take Jackie's advice. She would not mope, would not sit in her depressingly bland new house with the shades drawn and brood on betrayals and all that she had lost; she had come here to give Noah - Gabe - a chance for a good life, and it would be up to her to make sure that the life he had was, indeed, a good one.

"Come on, sweet boy," she said to him, unbuckling him from his booster seat at the kitchen table and settling him on her hip. "Do you want to go to the park?"

Though he did not speak his eyes lit up, and he gave her an emphatic nod, little hands grasping eagerly at her sweatshirt, and it warmed her heart to see the joy in him. Though he found himself in a strange house, in a strange city, with a strange name and no ties to the life he had known, he was happy, still.

That's what matters, she told herself. His happiness was paramount; she would spare no thought for her own, certain as she was that trying to find happiness for herself in this place would prove a pointless endeavor. There was nothing in Omaha for Olivia, but there could be something happy here for Gabe, if only she gave them both a chance to find it.

"Here," Jackie said, passing him a paper cup of weak black coffee she'd bought at a cafe down the block from the park.

"Thanks," he said shortly, pulling a face as he took a sip and found it lacking.

Today was the first full day of Olivia's new life as Lindsey Duncan, and for today - for the rest of this week - she would remain under round-the-clock surveillance, the Marshals taking it in shifts to watch over Liv and her boy and ensure that no trouble had followed them from New York to Nebraska. Jackie and Elliot were on the day shift, and so here they were, loitering on the edge of a park, sitting on a bench and sipping weak coffee and trying to look as unremarkable as possible while Liv's son trundled merrily through the little jungle gym on sturdy legs.

"It's good she's getting out," Jackie mused. "Doing normal mom stuff. She'll be all right."

Probably Jackie was right, but every time Elliot thought about Liv and mom in the same sentence his brain short-circuited.

Where did he come from? Elliot wondered, watching that boy like a hawk. The child's foot slipped off a step and Elliot nearly came off the bench, moving reflexively as if to catch him, but Elliot was a hundred yards away and Liv's hands were right there, steadying the boy before he came to any harm.

She's protective of him, Elliot thought approvingly. Of course she was; he'd always known she would be of her own child. He could still feel the tension in her, that day he held her back while the social worker tore Calvin from her arms, could still recall the way her eyes had blazed at him, accusing him for not helping her fight to save a boy who had never been hers to claim in the first place. How much more fiercely would she guard a child who was hers by rights?

"So," Jackie said, stretching lazily on the bench, tilting her head back as if soaking up the sun, though Elliot knew she'd not taken her eyes off Liv and the boy for a second. "Wanna tell me why you left the NYPD?"

"Don't see how that's any of your business," Elliot grumbled.

"Just making conversation. We got nothing to do but sit here, thought we might as well get to know each other."

There were, Elliot figured, at least a hundred simpler, less catastrophic questions Jackie could've asked him if she just wanted to get to know him. What's your favorite food, who's your baseball team, are you afraid of heights? But instead Jackie had chosen to jump straight into the deep end; why don't you tell me about one of the most traumatic moments of your life and how much you regret it? Jesus. What a way to start a conversation.

"Maybe we don't need to talk," he said shortly.

Really, he should talk to her. He ought to give her something; they were partners, and this was only their second day working together, and he had dragged her into a Cold War style detente where both their futures depended on their trust in one another. Probably he should've thrown her a bone, some gesture of good faith to help her believe that he would keep his word, that he meant to be a good partner to her, but Liv was just there, no further from him than the length of a football field, and his head was spinning.

"Fine," Jackie said, and for five whole minutes she managed to be quiet. Five minutes of blessed, beautiful silence, and then -

"She's pretty," Jackie mused thoughtfully.

All Elliot could muster up in response was a grunt. Liv was a hell of a lot more than pretty, but it wasn't like he could tell Jackie that. What he saw when he looked at Liv, what he felt, that was nobody's business but his own.

"You know who the baby daddy is?" Jackie asked.

"Excuse me?"

Despite the note of warning in his voice she smiled at him cheerfully, shrugging as if she saw nothing offensive about her question.

"I just figured, you kept asking about him yesterday, thought maybe you knew the guy."

What if I do? Elliot thought. What if whoever had fathered Liv's child was someone he knew, someone he remembered from the old days? Who would it have been? No one on their team - the thought of Munch or Fin having a baby with Olivia was almost as distressing as it was funny - but someone else? An old boyfriend seemed unlikely; if she hadn't liked any of them enough to commit to them the first go round he couldn't imagine her coming back for more. But who did that leave? Langan, maybe, Elliot never liked the way that gangly motherfucker looked at Liv. But no, he thought, no it probably wasn't Langan, or anyone he'd ever heard of, and somehow that made him feel worse, knowing that there was someone in Liv's life who mattered to her, someone important, who Elliot had never met himself.

"No," he said.

"You're a chatty one, aren't you," Jackie said drily. "Look, I'm just trying to get the lay of the land. You've got a damn good reason to keep your mouth shut, but I don't know her, and I don't know how she feels about you, and I don't know if we can trust her."

"We can trust her," he said without hesitation. "She's pissed as hell at me but she's not gonna mess this up. She wants to keep her kid safe, she's gonna do this right."

"What's she pissed at you for?"

For being just another asshole in a long string of assholes who walked out on her, Elliot thought. For breaking my promise.

For better or worse, he'd promised her that, spent thirteen years promising to be there for her, always, and then he'd just left her and he knew why he'd done it and if he could go back he'd do it all again because a clean break was the only way to set her free, to help her move on without taking her down in flames right beside him. How was it possible, he wondered, to regret something so deeply and still believe it was the right thing to do?

"It's a long story," he said.

"Right." Jackie regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and then she turned her gaze back to Liv and let the subject drop.

He was just there. Annoyingly, maddeningly, damnably close. Every time she glanced his way she saw his eyes trained on her face; even when she wasn't looking at him she could feel it, his eyes heavy on her back, the weight of his presence suffocating.

This is fucking ridiculous, she thought, even as she caught Noah at the bottom of the slide and guided him back up again. It was ridiculous that Elliot was within shouting distance and she wasn't allowed to speak to him. It was insane, actually, that after four long years of missing him he was finally right in front of him, and she had to pretend as if he didn't exist.

He doesn't, she told herself.

The Elliot she had known, the one who had protected her, supported her, laughed and cried and bled with her, he didn't exist, not any more. That man on the other side of the park, he wasn't her Elliot, because her Elliot never would've left her. The Elliot she'd known, the one she'd cared for - cared for, a monumental understatement but the only way she could allow herself to think about the feelings she carried for him in her heart - could never have been so cold. The man in front of her now, he was a stranger to her, cold and distant, and she had nothing to say to him.

Christ, there was so much she wanted to say to him.

She wanted to tell him about Noah, about how she'd found her boy and how she'd brought him home and the bloodshed and the tears and the long struggle of making her family. She wanted to ask him about it, about how he'd survived the toddler years five times over and whether he thought she ought to be worried, about Noah not talking yet. She wanted to know how Eli was doing and she wanted to know what Kathy thought about the move to Nebraska- Elliot was still wearing his wedding ring, so Olivia had assumed Kathy was still putting up with him, but what if she wasn't? Where were the rest of the kids, was Kathleen all right? Had he talked to Bernie, did Cragen call to tell him that Olivia had died? What do we do? That's what she wanted to ask him.

And what the fuck is wrong with you, she wanted to ask him that, too. Wanted to know why she wasn't good enough, why he didn't think she deserved a good-bye, wanted to know why it was so, so easy for him to walk away from her when the few short months she'd spent in Oregon had sent her hurtling straight back into his orbit, desperate to return to the way things used to be. What's the secret, that's what she wanted to know.

What's the secret to letting go? She'd never let go of anything, not really.

Noah was growing tired of the slide so she set him on his feet, followed a few steps behind him as he raced off towards the swings, and all the while her eyes kept flickering back to Elliot. He was watching her every move, unwavering. She wanted him to leave and she wanted him to come closer and she wanted, very much, to scream.

If only he would just say something. Just approach her, call her, something. She had no way to reach him, didn't know his number or where to find him, but he had her number, had her address. He could come to her, if he wanted. If it mattered to him, if she mattered to him, he could do it. Open his mouth, and speak, find some quiet moment for the two of them to rage and weep and tear at each other.

He wouldn't, though. He hadn't returned her calls after Jenna, and he wasn't reaching for her now, was just sitting there, on the other side of the park, watching.

I think I hate him, she thought. She didn't, not by a mile, but she wanted to; it would've been so much easier.

Nothing about them had ever been easy.