The morning of the hearing, Olivia had risen early, long before the sun crept through the windows of the Stabler house. The silence wrapped around her like a second skin as she moved quietly through the spare bedroom where she'd been staying.
Her bag was already packed, neatly tucked against the wall. She'd done it the night before, methodically folding her clothes and stowing them away as if packing her belongings could also pack away the whirlwind of emotions she'd been carrying. It wasn't just practical; it was symbolic. She'd made an agreement with herself—to stay three days, no longer—and Olivia prided herself on honouring her commitments, even the ones that left her feeling raw.
When she stepped into the kitchen that morning, the faint aroma of coffee lingered in the air. Eli was already there, sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal, his hair tousled from sleep. He looked up at her, spoon paused mid-air, and grinned.
"Morning," he mumbled around a mouthful of food.
"Morning," she replied softly, pouring herself a cup of coffee she didn't really want but felt compelled to hold. The warmth of the mug steadied her hands as she took the seat across from him.
Eli had been the easiest part of her time here. His energy was contagious, his curiosity unending. They'd built a quiet bond over simple things—Go Fish, chicken nuggets, and his constant questions about her job. He'd wanted to know everything, from whether she ever rode horses as a cop to what her favourite pizza topping was. It had been easy, in his presence, to let herself imagine something different, to think about what it might be like to have a child like him someday.
She'd always cherished the presence of children, their pure and unfiltered view of the world. Eli, with his toothy grin and wide-eyed enthusiasm, embodied everything she hoped to find in her own life one day. Now, looking at him across the table, his brow furrowed as he dug into his cereal, she felt the weight of what she had to say.
"So," she began, her voice carefully measured, "I just wanted to thank you. For making me feel so welcome here."
Eli paused mid-spoonful, glancing up at her. His bright blue eyes darkened with something like suspicion. Slowly, he set the spoon down with a faint clink against the side of the bowl.
"You're leaving, aren't you?" he asked, his voice too steady for a question like that.
Her heart twisted, the directness of his words hitting harder than she'd expected. "After the hearing," she said gently. "That was the deal."
Eli didn't look away, but his jaw tightened, his small shoulders stiffening as he sat back in his chair. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. "Why?" he asked after a moment, quieter this time, as though he didn't really want to hear the answer.
Olivia sighed, reaching across the table to ruffle his messy hair. "Because this isn't my place, kiddo. As much as I've loved being here, I've got my own home, my own life to get back to."
He swallowed hard and gave her a short nod, his mouth set in a thin line. "Oh," he said simply, his voice trembling ever so slightly.
The sight of him fighting to hold it together—his chin tilting upward, his lips pressing tighter to keep them from quivering—made her chest ache. He was trying so hard to be grown-up, but he was just a little boy. She wanted to tell him it was okay to cry, but she knew it wouldn't matter. He'd decided he wouldn't let her see.
Eli pushed his bowl aside, the cereal forgotten. His movements were abrupt, almost clumsy, and he stood. For a second, she thought he might bolt to his room, and she braced herself for the sound of a slamming door.
Instead, he surprised her.
He walked around the table, hesitating for just a moment before throwing his arms around her middle. His head pressed against her sweater, his small frame trembling ever so slightly. "I'll miss you," he mumbled, his voice muffled but clear enough to pierce straight through her.
Her breath hitched, and she found herself hugging him back instinctively, her arms folding around his small body. "I'll miss you too," she whispered, her voice unsteady.
For a moment, everything else fell away. There was no hearing, no case, no looming sense of obligation to return to her real life. There was just this boy and the ache of knowing she had to let him go.
When he finally pulled back, wiping his nose on his sleeve and avoiding her gaze, he was back to trying to look tough. "You better call," he said gruffly, though his voice was uneven.
"I will," she promised. "You can count on it."
Eli gave her a reluctant nod, and without another word, he walked toward the living room.
She stared down at her hands, her heart heavy but full in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
If she ever had a son, she thought, she'd want him to be just like Eli.
The courthouse felt colder than Olivia had expected, though she couldn't decide if the chill was from the air conditioning or her own nerves. The sharp scent of disinfectant mingled with the faint musk of old wood and paper. Her hands, folded tightly in her lap, were damp, and her foot tapped softly against the polished floor. She stopped it when Elliot glanced at her.
"Relax," he murmured, leaning closer so only she could hear. "You're ready for this."
She nodded, but the tightness in her chest didn't ease. She wasn't worried about her ability to testify—she'd spent her career in courtrooms, confident and composed. What unnerved her was how personal this was. This was her life, her safety.
And this was it—the hearing where Daniel could challenge the restraining order.
The bailiff called the court to order, and the judge settled into her seat.
"Calling the matter of Olivia Benson versus Daniel Price," the clerk announced.
Olivia instinctively glanced toward the door, her heart lurching at the idea of Daniel striding in, smug and ready to twist the truth. But the door stayed closed.
The judge raised an eyebrow. "Has the respondent been served and notified of this hearing?"
"Yes, Your Honour," the clerk replied. "Service was completed, and there has been no communication or response from Mr. Price."
Olivia exhaled slowly, the knot in her stomach tightening rather than loosening. Daniel not showing up felt like a game—a way to undermine her resolve without even being present. Or worse, maybe it meant he wasn't taking the restraining order seriously.
The judge's pen scratched across her notes. "Ms. Benson, do you wish to proceed with a default judgment, or would you like to request a continuance?"
Elliot shifted slightly beside her, and she could feel his silent encouragement. A default judgment would mean the order could potentially be granted without Daniel's input, but there was something unnerving about the idea of him not contesting it.
"I'd like to proceed with a default judgment, Your Honour," Olivia said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.
The judge nodded. "Since the respondent is not present to contest this matter, I will proceed with your testimony. Please state your case for the record."
As Olivia began to speak, recounting the incidents with Daniel, the familiar rhythm of courtroom procedure gave her a semblance of control. She detailed the encounters, the break-in, the bruises, and her fears, her voice unwavering even as her heart raced. Elliot testified again, his words bolstering hers.
The judge leaned back, her expression unreadable. "Thank you for your testimony. Based on the evidence and the respondent's failure to appear, I find sufficient grounds to grant the petition for a permanent restraining order. The order will be in effect for five years."
The sound of the gavel brought no satisfaction, only a quiet, heavy relief. Olivia nodded, her throat tight. It was done, at least for now.
As they left the courtroom, sunlight spilled onto the courthouse steps. Olivia tilted her face upward, letting the warmth soak in, even as her eyes scanned the crowd on the street below. She hated the instinct to look for him, to feel the old, gnawing fear creep in.
"He's not here," Elliot said quietly, his voice steady, reassuring. He didn't reach for her—he knew better than that—but he stayed close.
She let out a breath, shaking her head. "I know. But I can't turn it off." Her hands tightened on the strap of her bag, the tension lingering even after the judge's ruling. The piece of paper might grant her protection in the eyes of the law, but it didn't undo the months of looking over her shoulder or the shadow Daniel had cast over her life.
Elliot studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Coffee?" he asked, his tone light, almost casual.
She blinked at him, caught off guard by the simplicity of the suggestion. Then a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Coffee sounds good."
They walked toward a café a few blocks away. It was a small place, tucked into a corner with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and baked goods wafted out as they stepped inside.
Olivia ordered a black coffee, her usual, while Elliot opted for something she didn't catch but involved whipped cream and caramel drizzle. They slid into a booth by the window, the afternoon light streaming in and casting soft shadows across the table.
For a while, they didn't say much, just sipped their drinks. Olivia stared out the window, watching people hurry past, each one absorbed in their own world. She envied their ease, their lack of vigilance.
"You don't have to say anything," Elliot said, breaking the silence. "But if you want to, I'm here."
She looked at him, his steady gaze meeting hers.
"I thought I'd feel different," she admitted. "Like, getting the permanent order would be this huge relief, and everything would go back to normal." She gave a hollow laugh. "Whatever normal even is."
He nodded, not rushing her.
"But it doesn't feel like that," she continued, her voice quieter. "I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to find some way around it, to show up again."
Elliot exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he glanced out toward the street. "He might try," he said, his tone blunt. "Let him. He'll see what'll happen."
The words weren't a comfort, not in the way someone else might have delivered them. But coming from him, they felt solid—grounded in reality, not false reassurance. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, letting his no-nonsense steadiness anchor her, her fears exposed but not dismissed.
As they stepped back outside, the sun had shifted, the light warmer now, less harsh.
"Walk you home?" Elliot asked as they stood on the sidewalk.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
Approaching her apartment, he broke the silence. "Liv," he said, his voice quieter than usual, "you know that order—it's good. It's important. But it's not everything."
She stopped walking, turning to face him. Her expression was guarded, but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "I know," she said softly. "It's not a magic shield. It's just...something."
"Yeah," he said, running a hand over his jaw. "It's something, but it's not enough to make me stop worrying."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she looked like she might argue. But then she sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I don't blame you. I feel the same way."
"Good," he said, his tone firm. "Because I need you to be careful, Liv. Don't let yourself think this is over just because the judge signed a piece of paper."
"I won't," she promised, meeting his eyes. "I'm not letting my guard down."
He nodded. "And you know I've got your back, right? Whatever you need, whenever you need it."
Her gaze softened, and for the first time that day, her smile reached her eyes. "I know, Elliot. I do."
They reached her building, and as Olivia approached the door, Elliot hesitated. "You want me to come up? Just for a bit?"
She paused, turning to him. Finally, she shook her head. "I think I need a little time to myself. But thank you. For everything."
He nodded, stepping back as she disappeared inside. Standing on the sidewalk, he watched the door for a long moment, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The restraining order might be on file, but his concern for Olivia wasn't going anywhere. And until he was sure she was truly safe, he'd keep showing up for her.
The first few days back home felt like stepping into an old, familiar sweater—warm, comforting, and oddly grounding. Olivia hadn't expected it to feel this easy. She'd braced herself for the emptiness, for the silence of her apartment to gnaw at her, but instead, she found herself easing into the quiet.
The first morning, she woke to the soft hum of the city outside her window. No alarm, no hurried shuffling in the hallway, no little boy giggling over his cereal. Just her, tangled in her sheets, the sun slanting across her bed in golden streaks. She stretched, savouring the peace, and allowed herself the rare indulgence of staying in bed just a little longer.
By noon, her routines had kicked in like muscle memory. She brewed her coffee—dark and strong, the way she liked it—and stood by the window, watching the world move below. A jogger with a golden retriever. A couple arguing over directions. The normal rhythms of life were a reassuring backdrop as she sipped her coffee.
She cleaned the apartment that afternoon, not because it needed it but because she wanted to. Each swipe of a cloth, each folded blanket, brought a sense of order she hadn't realized she missed. The smell of lemon cleaner floated in the air, sharp and familiar, fresh. She ran errands, chatted briefly with the barista at the café on the corner, and walked the long way home just to feel the chill of the autumn air against her skin. The city buzzed around her, alive with its usual energy, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like she was part of it again.
She hadn't thought much about the hearing—not in detail, anyway. It had gone as well as it could have. But she didn't dwell. There was no sense in it. And the quiet felt different now, more deliberate, less stifling. It was a space she could breathe in, not one she needed to escape from. The addition of security cameras had helped, too. At first, the idea of them had felt like overkill. But now, every time she passed a corner and caught a glimpse of the small, unobtrusive cameras, they were a silent reminder that she wasn't just waiting for something to go wrong. She was safe, in her own home, with a semblance of control over her surroundings.
On the third evening, Olivia made dinner for herself, something simple but comforting: pasta tossed with olive oil, garlic, and a sprinkle of Parmesan. As she twirled the warm noodles onto her fork, she found herself smiling—a small victory, not so much in reclaiming her normalcy, but in mimicking the small comforts she'd loved at the Stablers': hot meals at regular times, a sense of rhythm that steadied the day. The dish was modest but satisfying, and she couldn't help but congratulate herself on the effort. Her first thought, unbidden but welcome, was that it would be perfect to serve if she ever had the Stablers over.
She could picture it: Eli eagerly digging into a plate, his enthusiasm undimmed even as he grumbled about her insistence on cutting up the noodles for him. It was kid-friendly but still had enough flavour for grown-ups to enjoy. Her smile deepened as she considered the little details that would make their visit feel special. She'd have to remember to pick up a new deck of cards before they came—her current one had seen better days. The cards had lost their slippery sheen, and she was pretty sure there was at least one missing, which would make Go Fish a challenge. She'd also set the table properly, maybe even add a loaf of crusty bread and a bowl of salad, just to elevate things a bit.
For the first time in what felt like ages, she allowed herself to savour the thought of something pleasant—a gathering filled with laughter, connection, and warmth. It felt good, imagining the chatter and the sense of belonging that came with it. It was a future that felt achievable, a small but important reminder that life had room for joy, even after the shadows she'd been walking through.
But just as Olivia started to embrace the stillness, allowing the routine of her days to convince her that normalcy had finally returned, that she had stumbled upon something resembling happiness, everything came crashing down.