Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A robotics tournament at Hastings-on-Hudson Technical High School was not exactly the picture of a grad student’s ideal Friday night, but it was where Kathleen Stabler found herself, nonetheless. Sort of cursing the fact that her littlest brother had to be some sort of child genius. Eli was equally as annoying as her definitely-not-genius younger brother, so it hardly made any difference to her.

But she was a good big sister, and Maureen was home with a sick kid and Mom was in Jersey with a sick grandma and Lizzie was at a conference and she didn’t even bother trying to figure out where Dickie was and Dad was—

Well.

So Katie was stepping up tonight, and sitting in the uncomfortable bleachers, surrounded by parents who definitely thought she’d been a teen mom from the looks they were giving her, and eating some overpriced popcorn that was apparently part of a fundraiser. Not like her dad already paid an arm and a leg for Eli to go here, or anything.

The competition itself was over. It had taken Katie longer than she cared to admit to figure out the actual objectives of the robots— look, tech had never been her strong suit— but in the end she’d decided upon just watching Eli’s facial expressions to figure out if they were doing good or bad. Not that kids on the robotics team had a wide plethora of facial expressions, apparently.

The build team— which was the one Eli was on— had significantly more people, all boys, all seemed like the sort of high schooler who was in marching band, if Katie had to guess. One of them was ruffling Eli’s hair, and Eli was trying valiantly to elbow him off. The coding team was made up of three, two girls and a guy. The guy had broken off on his own some time ago. One of the girls was tiny and had short, dark hair and a permanent scowl across her face. The other was speaking excitedly to her.

Katie grew bored with studying her brother’s team and dragged her gaze to the parents around her. She had avoided that at first, as she knew she was getting odd looks, but now they all seemed preoccupied with each other or their children. She entertained herself by guessing who was the parent of which kid— which wasn’t all that entertaining, to be honest— until something caught her eye.

Sitting alone, like her. All the way at the top of the bleachers.

Olivia Benson.

Katie’s heart stuttered to a stop before pumping suddenly back awake, with a passion.

It had been years.

She’d seen the news— all of New York had seen the news— and she’d sat by the phone and agonized over what to do, whether to call. Her parents had made that decision for her, in the end. Though she still thought… sometimes, she thought, she should’ve reached out anyways.

Katie didn’t realize she’d been staring for way too long until Olivia looked up from her phone, and right at her.

Maybe that should’ve been her cue to look away. She didn’t, though, for some reason.

Olivia smiled kindly and waved.

Katie wasn’t exactly sure if she was doing the right thing when she stood and made her way up the bleachers.

“Olivia,” she said as she approached.

“Kathleen,” Olivia replied. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

Kathleen responded by wrapping her in a hug.

“Oh!” Olivia let out a startled laugh, but immediately reciprocated, squeezing tight.

“I’ve missed you,” Katie mumbled, and for a moment, she felt sixteen again.

Olivia smiled into her hair, and even though she couldn’t see it, it felt a little sad. “I missed you too.”

They stayed that way for a moment longer than was probably necessary— though it felt wholly necessary to Katie, in the moment— before Kathleen let go, though stayed tucked into Olivia’s side. “What… are you doing here?” She asked, finally processing that Olivia was, in fact, at the same high school robotics competition that she was. She suddenly tensed. “You’re not— you’re not working, are you? I didn’t just—”

Olivia laughed again, shaking her head. “No, God, not working. Not tonight.” Her smile was bright, real, beaming with pride. “I’m here to see my daughter compete.”

Her smile must have also been infectious, because Katie felt her face break out into a similar one. “Your daughter,” she repeated. “Liv, that’s wonderful. Is she— She’s with Manhattanville, I’m guessing…”

Olivia shook her head, gesturing around them. “She goes to school here, actually. Hastings. She’s on the coding team, so she’s over…” Olivia tilted her head and pointed at the girls Katie had seen earlier. “She’s the tiny one,” Olivia finished. “But you can’t tell her I said that.”

“She’s got the Benson glare down pat,” Katie murmured. “She looks just like you.”

“We get that a lot, yeah.”

Katie’s heart was kinda in her throat again as she realized— that meant Olivia’s daughter was on Eli’s team. They went to the same school. They had gone to the same school this whole time. She scrambled for something to say, but came up short.

“She’s adopted,” Olivia said, after a moment.

Katie jolted out of her thoughts. “Hm?”

“I see you, doing the math,” Olivia continued, her eyes still on her daughter, but her tone knowing. “But she’s adopted.”

It took Katie a second to realize what Olivia was implying, and she nearly jumped to rush to explain. “God, no, no, I wasn’t— I know you didn’t— I just—” She swallowed hard, trying to compose her thoughts. “She’s on Eli’s team,” she finally managed out. “Uh— Eli goes here too. He’s on the build team.”

Olivia blinked, turning to look back at Katie. “Eli’s here?” She repeated, softly, and it kind of made Katie’s heart ache.

“Yeah. He’s, um…” She pointed him out. “Hair long enough that Catholic school wasn’t an option,” she joked, weakly.

Olivia’s eyes were big. “You’re all so grown up,” she murmured. “God, I forgot he wasn’t just a little boy anymore.”

Guilt settled deep into Kathleen’s stomach. “He’s… a genius, I guess. I mean, I know every kid at Hastings kind of is, but he’s really… y’know, he’s still my annoying little brother, so you can’t tell him I was bragging about him up here. But he can look at any object and tell you the exact dimensions—” Katie snapped. “Like that. And he just knows how to put things together, anything. It’s really cool. So when it was time to pick a high school…” She shrugged, and she was rambling, and she didn’t really know what to say but the words kept coming out anyways. “Dad insisted on getting him back to the states, didn’t care about the cost. I think he might’ve felt a bit guilty, y’know, staying in Europe after the divorce—”

From the look on Olivia’s face, she clearly had not known about Europe or the divorce, and Katie was beginning to realize she was only making this worse. “Sorry,” she said quietly, feeling the tips of her ears burn red. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how much you—”

“What track is Eli on, here?” Olivia interrupted, steering the conversation back to solid ground. “Mechanical engineering?”

Katie shook her head. “Um— he’s doing a dual track in Civil Engineering and Architectural Science.” She shrugged. “Recently he’s been getting really into cartography…”

“Architecture,” Olivia repeated, and even though she was smiling again, her voice still sounded pained. “That makes sense.”

Katie wasn’t really sure why it made sense to Olivia, but she agreed that it did make sense once you got to know Eli. Some of his lego creations as a kid…

“And what are you up to?” Olivia asked. “I want to hear all about your adventures.”

Katie smiled, glancing back down at the team. “I’ll tell you, but first I want to hear all about your girl.”

There was that beaming smile again, the one that told Katie that this child was Olivia’s pride and joy. Katie always knew she’d make a great mom, and she was glad she’d had the chance.

“My Juliet,” Olivia murmured, putting her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on her hands. “We mostly call her Jet, though. Suits her.”

It did suit her, Katie decided, looking down at the girl who was dressed head to toe in black save for the cyan insignia of Hastings-on-Hudson Robotics Team on the back of her hoodie.

“She’s the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Olivia continued. “And I don’t just mean for her age— she’s just… scarily smart. I don’t know how she fits all that information in her head. But she’s creative, too. Her and her friend— the girl next to her, Claire— they’ve been building this art project, this light panel thing… It looks like something out of the MoMA, really. She’s on the Software Engineering track, mainly interested in hacking and information security…” Olivia sighed. “She’s been taking some forensics courses, too, though. Recently decided she wants to go into law enforcement.”

“Of course she does,” Katie said with a smile. “Look at her role model, over here.”

Olivia shook her head. “I just wish she wanted to do something a little bit safer.” She took a deep breath. “Her birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Yeah? How old?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen!” Katie repeated. “Liv, most of the kids who make robotics are juniors and seniors, that’s incredible.”

“I told you,” Olivia said, smile returning. “She’s brilliant.”

Katie leaned against Olivia’s shoulder without really realizing she was doing so, but the older woman accepted it and wrapped an arm around her shoulders without saying anything.

“Popcorn?” Katie offered.

“Sure.”

“I’m… well, I’m back in school,” Katie eventually said. “I’m at Fordham, working on my PhD.”

“Oh, Kate, that’s wonderful!” Olivia said through a mouthful of popcorn, squeezing the arm around her shoulders. “God, Doctor Stabler. That’s gonna be a weird one to get used to. Tell me all about your research.”

Katie blushed again from the praise. “It’s… well, personality disorders get a really bad rap, people assume that a person with a personality disorder is more likely to be abusive towards their partner. But women with bipolar are actually at a much higher risk of becoming victims of domestic violence, especially teenage girls.” She shrugged. “I want to… change that. In whatever way I can. Or at least make people aware of the problem.”

“Kathleen, look at me, baby,” Olivia said, and God, she knew all the words to make Katie feel like a child again. “I am so incredibly proud of you, y’know that?”

This was a bit more attention than Katie could reasonably handle at the moment. “Lizzie’s an arts teacher,” she blurted out instead. “She does— uh— she works at a school for kids with disabilities. Art and music and theater and… all that good stuff.”

“That sounds like her,” Olivia agreed, nodding, recognizing Katie’s attempt to steer the conversation away.

“Maureen’s married, has kids,” Katie continued, trying not to notice how Olivia had stiffened minutely beside her.

She really should’ve been at the wedding.

“Twins. Little twin boys. She was a school nurse, but she left until the boys are school age. You know.” Katie hurried along. “Rich is— I don’t really understand what he does. Stocks and bonds and shit, traveling every other week but never really going anywhere interesting.” She took a deep breath, unsure how much more she should continue. “Mom’s in Jersey,” she eventually decided. “Halfway between Hastings—” she gestured around her. “And her mom and sister. Nana’s sick, so that’s where she… tonight. You know.”

“She’s doing well?” Olivia asked.

Kathleen nodded. “Bit worried for when Eli graduates, she might have to— I don’t know, foster kittens or something to keep from going crazy. But yeah, she’s… yeah. She’s good.” Katie swallowed. “Do you want to hear about Dad?”

Olivia hesitated. “Not really,” she decided. “That’s not your job. He knows— he knows where to find me. Grandma Bernie’s doing okay?”

Katie was glad she’d been given an out. “Yeah, she’s fine. I visit her a lot, actually. She takes her meds, goes to art shows, orchestra concerts— I think she’s in a birdwatching group or something now.”

“Living the good life,” Olivia joked, but she seemed relieved to hear Grandma was alright.

The announcer took the microphone, quieting the crowd, signaling awards were about to start. Katie sat up from where she’d slumped against Olivia, taking another mouthful of popcorn. Both women clapped politely for third and second place, and when Hastings was neither, Katie knew. There was no way they’d lost, so they had to be…

“And in first place we have… Team 54, Blue Moon, from Hastings-on-Hudson Technical High School!”

Katie grinned at her brother’s excitement, applauding hard to make up for how high up in the bleachers she was. Everyone on the team was huddling together, excited, except for Olivia’s daughter. Katie watched as Jet turned, expression still stoic, scanning the bleachers carefully, until she made it at the top and her eyes landed on her mother.

And then she lit up with her smile, eyes scrunching, covering her mouth with a hand encapsulated by the too-long sleeves of her hoodie. She turned back into the group a moment later.

“She adores you,” Katie murmured, looking over at Olivia, who was smiling almost as brightly.

“She’s my world,” Olivia responded softly.

— — — — — —

One benefit to Jet’s tiny stature was she was able to weave in and out of crowds quite easily, making her way through the masses to barrel into Olivia’s arms.

“Hi,” Jet mumbled into her sweater, as Olivia held her close.

“I’m so proud of you,” Olivia whispered, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “You did amazing, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” Jet said, then pulled back a little to look curiously at Katie.

“Jet, this is a friend of mine, Kathleen,” Olivia introduced. “Or— Katie, now, mostly, yeah?”

“Katie’s fine,” Kathleen agreed, nodding. “I’m Eli’s older sister.”

“Cool,” Jet said, tangling her fingers in the bottom of Olivia’s sweater. “Eli’s cool. He’s really good at measuring stuff.”

“A thrilling skill to be known for,” Katie said dryly, and Jet grinned, once again hiding it behind her sleeve. “Want me to take a picture of you two?”

“I think we’re fi—” Jet started, but Olivia cut her off with a raised eyebrow.

“That would be lovely, Katie, thank you,” Olivia said instead. “Come on, I hardly get pictures with you anymore.”

“‘Cause all your photos are sneak attacks,” Jet grumbled, but obliged her mother’s request and backed up against her.

Olivia knew Jet’s smile was her ‘camera’ smile, more of a serious expression than a teenage girl’s natural grin, but she didn’t mind. She was happy to have any images of the two of them together, especially considering how fast her baby was growing up. She wanted to be able to savor every single moment of it.

“Thank you, Katie,” Olivia said, taking back her phone. “Do you know if—”

“There she is!” A loud voice announced, and Olivia turned to see the robotics coach— Coach Aubrey— attempting to part his way through the crowd. “Our little computer savant. Couldn’t have done it without you, kiddo. Don’t worry, I won’t make you high five me. Not until we win nationals, anyway.” He winked down at her, before redirecting his attention to Olivia. “And you must be the famous Captain Benson. Nice to finally meet you in person,” he continued, reaching out a hand. Olivia had gotten lots of emails from Coach Aubrey over the past two months, and Jet seemed to really like him. As much as Jet seemed to really like anyone, anyways. It was always a little hard to tell with her. “Just wanted to stop by and let you know that your kid’s a superstar—” he turned to Jet. “And I wanted to give this to you, ‘cause a little birdie told me somebody’s birthday is tomorrow.” He handed her a Starbucks gift card. “For your jet-fuel.”

“Thanks,” Jet said, taking the card with two fingers. “Who told you it was my birthday?” She asked, looking up at her mother accusingly.

Olivia put her hands up. “I had absolutely nothing to do with this. You think I’d give you any more opportunities to be caffeinated?”

“I thought it’d be fairly easy to figure out, considering your chatterbox BFF,” Coach Aubrey teased.

Jet sighed. “Claire.”

Coach Aubrey turned to Kathleen, and he had a sparkly look in his eyes that Olivia clocked way too fast and had to resist rolling her eyes at. “And you must be…”

“Katie,” Kathleen said, holding out a hand. “Katie Stabler. Eli’s sister.”

Coach Aubrey nodded knowingly. “Good kid. Really good at measuring stuff.” He turned towards the crowd and cupped his hands around his mouth, to shout with his booming voice, “Stabler! Get over here, kid!”

Olivia’s heart constricted a little in her chest as Eli weaved through the crowd. He was so tall. So adult. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed the Stabler kids.

(She had, actually. She’d just learned to shove that feeling deep down and far out of mind.)

“Mama?” Jet whispered, tugging at her sweater. “I’m gonna go see Claire, tell her what time to come over tomorrow.”

“Go ahead, babe,” Olivia murmured, and then Jet disappeared into the mass of people.

“You better appreciate having a sister that comes to these things,” Coach Aubrey was saying to Eli, who had stiffly accepted Katie’s hug. “My sisters only ever crashed my dates and stole my car.” He shook his head. “Except for the youngest. She stole my dates and crashed my car. Good work today, junior. I’ll see you around, Katie Stabler.”

With that, Coach Aubrey saluted the group and left to find his next victims, his loud voice echoing off the halls as he spotted an unsuspecting family.

“He’s quite the personality,” Olivia muttered, but she was quietly amused at the way this outgoing coach seemed to connect so easily with the much more introverted band of students.

“Eli,” Katie started. “Do you remember Olivia…?”

“He was young, Katie,” Olivia interrupted, not quite sure she wanted to deal with the pain that would come from the lack of recognition on Eli’s face. “He wasn’t even four when I last saw him.”

“Sorry,” Eli said awkwardly. “I– uh…”

“She’s your godmother,” Katie pressed. “Come on, you have to at least—”

“Oh, shit!” Eli said, eyes widening, flinching as Katie elbowed him in the ribs with a hissed “Language.” “That’s you?”

Olivia didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

“Dad told me all these wild stories and stuff, but he never showed me a picture or anything— Jesus, Katie, what the hell was that one for—?”

At least she knew she still had a place in Eli Stabler’s life, even if that place was the co-star of some wild stories. “You tell me those ‘wild stories’ sometime, and I’ll tell you how much is true and how much is bullshit,” Olivia said, pleased at the way hearing her curse made the boy grin at his sister in an I told you so fashion. “Congratulations, by the way. Both on the win and on being at Hastings, that’s no small feat. Your sister tells me you want to be an architect?”

“Sorta,” Eli said. “When I was in Italy there were all these cool buildings everywhere, and I thought I could make something like that— and then I came back here and realized how awful our trains are, compared to over there. So I wanna work on high speed rail projects.”

“If one day you can get me from Manhattan to Boston in two hours, you will officially be my favorite Stabler,” Kathleen told him. “You can even tell the others that.” She looked up at Olivia. “It was great to see you, Liv, but I have to play chauffeur and get this one to Jersey. Can I— can we get coffee sometime, or something?”

“I’d really like that,” Olivia agreed. And she would. Seeing Kathleen had been wonderful. “Drive safely.”

— — — — — —

The drive back to the city was quiet, Jet’s head rested against the car window, first wave playing softly through the speakers.

“How’d you know Eli’s sister?” Jet eventually asked.

Olivia took a deep breath. “Used to work with their dad.”

“The one that’s in Italy?”

“Yeah.” Imagining Elliot Stabler living in Italy, attempting the language, was at least funny enough that all the information Olivia learned tonight wasn’t completely crushing her chest.

The divorce?

“He was NYPD too?”

Olivia didn’t know how much further this was going to go, but it was making her a little nervous. She’d had a rule from the beginning— when Jet talks, let her talk. She’d always been so quiet, so it didn’t matter what the topic was, how uncomfortable the questions were— Olivia never cut her off. And even if Olivia were to change the topic now, her daughter knew her well enough that it would only make her more curious, inspire more questions. “He was, yeah. A long time ago. Does Eli talk about Italy a lot?”

Jet shrugged, thankfully not suspicious of the line of questioning. “I think he misses it, but he says he likes having his siblings around. And he says it’s easier to impress girls here by speaking Italian than it is to impress girls there by speaking English.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. “And has he tried speaking Italian to you?”

That was absolutely the last thing she needed right now. That might actually be nearing worst nightmare territory. The idea of being dragged back into Elliot Stabler’s orbit because his son had a crush on her daughter? The world did not need another Benson–Stabler spectacle, the world absolutely did not need—

Jet let out a little snort. “Of course not. All the guys in Robotics treat me like their kid sister.” She thought for a moment. “He tried on Claire once, though, she told me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She answered in Chinese and he didn’t know what to do and got all embarrassed. She said it was cute.”

“Good for Claire.” They stopped at a light, Olivia hit her blinker on. “You okay if I invite Katie over tomorrow? I think you two would get along really well, she’s a good big sister.”

“Sure. You can invite Eli too, if you want. Tell him Claire’ll be there, he’ll come running.”

Olivia smiled, amused, shaking her head. She felt weirder about inviting Eli over than Katie. Maybe because Katie was an adult, an adult she had a long history and friendship with, whereas Eli was a kid, still living with Kathy, no memory of Olivia beyond his father’s tales.

Just Katie, then.

“Decide what you want for dinner yet?” Olivia asked.

“Tonight or tomorrow?”

“Tonight. Thought I’d get some trays from Vincenzo’s for tomorrow, that sound good?”

“That sounds good. Can we just get Wendy’s or something like that?”

“Yeah. You tired, babe?” Olivia glanced out of the side of her eye at the girl. Jet was something of an insomniac, and nothing really seemed to help. She was prone to crashing for naps in the oddest places. So if she was actually tired at night, for once, Olivia would count that as a win.

Jet sighed. “Not really. My social battery’s just…”

So much for wishing. “I can imagine. You had a big day, sweetheart.”

Jet hummed her response, leaning her head against the window again.

Back to quiet.

Olivia considered turning up the radio, but it was actually kind of nice, after the crowded gymnasium. And if she thought so, then Jet definitely thought so.

“I love you,” Jet blurted out.

Olivia blinked, startled by the seemingly random timing of the statement. “I love you too, Jet. Very much.”

“And I’m glad you got to see the competition today.”

“So am I. You’re a very impressive group of kids.” She glanced over at her again, softening as she saw the girl’s eyes trained out the window. “You know your competitions are always my priority, right? Competitions, awards ceremonies, any time you get up there and the world gets to see how amazing you are. That’s always where I want to be.”

She hated that she couldn’t promise more, that kidnappings and hostage situations and serial rapists still clamored for her attention. But she could promise that much— she always wanted to be there for her girl, first and foremost.

“Work is important,” Jet mumbled.

“You’re importanter,” Olivia countered, hoping to elicit at least a smile.

It didn’t work. Jet picked at the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. “Did I pull you away from anything today? Anything really big?”

“First of all,” Olivia started, and they were at Wendy’s but instead of pulling into the drive-thru Olivia pulled into a parking spot so she could address her daughter directly. “You never ‘pull me away’ from work. If anything, work pulls me away from you sometimes. But it’s up to me to choose what to prioritize. Second of all, do you think I just keep Uncle Fin around for decoration?”

That, at least, got a smile.

“He’s not just employed to sit there and look pretty. He’s more than capable of running the place when I’m gone. Capisce?”

“Capisco.”

“There we go,” Olivia said, starting the car again to pull into the drive-thru. “At this rate, you’ll be able to match Eli’s Italian word-for-word in no time.”

Chapter Text

Olivia entered the bullpen, Fin on her heels. The meeting at 1PP definitely could have been a zoom call that could have been an email that really wasn’t necessary at all, so she was a bit peeved that they’d dragged both of them out of the precinct on a Friday just to feed them meaningless junk about administrative staffing.

“You took the key to your office,” Amanda called as she spotted them, shuffling the papers on her desk.

Olivia scrunched her face in confusion, pawing for her keyring. She understood why the higher ups had implemented measures to ensure the commanding officers’ offices locked automatically, but it could be woefully inconvenient at times. “Why’d you need to get into my office?”

Amanda wordlessly pointed at Fin’s desk.

Olivia approached the desk, finding nothing on top, but something on the floor caught her eye. She crouched, finding Jet curled up beneath the desk, asleep with her head against the back.

Fin chuckled behind her, and she couldn't help but smile.

“Jet,” Olivia whispered. “Juliet, sweetheart, wake up.”

Jet let out a little hum, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before they began to blink open, and Olivia instinctively stuck her hand out over the girl’s head. Which was a smart choice, because as soon as Jet woke up, she immediately startled and jumped, and Olivia’s hand was the only thing preventing her from slamming her head into the desk.

“Morning, birthday girl,” Olivia murmured, amused.

“Oh,” Jet breathed, blinking a few more times, remembering where she was. She quickly scrambled to get out from under the desk. “Sorry, Uncle Fin.”

“No problem, babygirl,” Fin replied. “Turning fourteen is hard work, gotta get your rest.”

Jet rubbed at her eyes as she shouldered her galaxy-print backpack. Olivia was very supportive of individuality and self-expression, but she had eventually insisted that not every single one of Jet’s clothes and accessories could be black, she couldn’t look like she was on her way to a funeral everywhere she went. So galaxy-print had become their little compromise. There were colors, which pleased Olivia, but it was still all dark and geeky, which pleased Jet.

“You wanna nap on the couch for a bit?” Olivia asked as she unlocked the door to her office. She knew Jet had been up practically until the sun rose the night before. “I can find you a blanket.”

Jet mumbled something incomprehensible and instead darted straight for Olivia’s desk, dropping her backpack beside it before crawling right back into her previous position.

Olivia smiled, shaking her head.

She had been worried, at first. Worried about the way Jet seemed to always make herself as small as possible, tuck herself into the little nooks and crannies of her environment, like she didn’t want to take up too much space. But in the end— that was just how Jet felt safe. Curled up so her knees protected her torso and face, backed in a corner so nobody could sneak up on her. Bonus points if she was near Fin or Amanda’s desks, or Barba or Melinda’s offices. Jackpot if she was in her mother’s office. Always in the sights of someone she trusted.

Olivia dropped her bag on her desk and settled in her chair, craning her neck to look down at the girl snuggled beneath. “Okay down there?”

“Mhm.”

“I just have a few forms to fill out, and then hopefully we can head out a bit early. Grab the food on the way home. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Jet murmured, and she sounded mostly asleep again already.

— — — — — —

The shelves of stuffed animals are a little daunting.

Olivia doesn’t know anything about this little girl, not really. Doesn’t know if she’s the sort of kid who would like the pink bunny, wearing the pretty ballerina dress— or the sort of kid who would like the silly green monster with his pointy teeth and mischievous smile.

God, she doesn’t know anything about this little girl at all. They don’t even know her name, only what the videos always called her— the jewel.

The memory makes her a little nauseous in the middle of Hallmark.

But the truth of the matter is, the important thing is, there’s a small girl in a hospital room with nobody in the world looking out for her right now, and Olivia wishes she could be by her side for every moment of her recovery but she also needs to take down the men who put her there.

So she’ll get her a friend, a protector, for all the moments that Olivia can’t be there.

She’s not naïve. They both know a stuffed animal can’t truly protect a little girl from all the terrible things in the world. But it’s— well, it’s something. It’s something soft in a lifetime that has so far been marred by so much horror and pain and tragedy.

Olivia scans the shelves, looking for something protective without being scary, something that imbues safety without big teeth or sharp claws. She could just get the girl a bear. She knows that. But she wants her to have something special, something all of her own and only hers.

In the end, she finds him tucked in a corner of the bottom shelf. A blue dragon, curled up like he’s about to fall asleep— or like he’s wrapping himself around something for safeguarding. His wings are dark and velvety soft on top, but underneath they’re patterned with stars.

It feels right. It feels correct.

Olivia makes her purchase, trying not to dwell on how damn expensive these silly stuffed toys have gotten over the years, and flags a taxi cab to take her to New York Presbyterian.

— — — — — —

“Mama?”

Olivia put down her pen. “What’s up, babe?”

“My heart’s doing that weird thing again.”
Olivia pushed her chair back, sliding down to kneel in front of the desk. Jet had her head tipped back against the side, her slightly-trembly hand over her heart like she was about to say the pledge.

“Let me see,” Olivia murmured, reaching two fingers to press gently against the pulse point beneath her jaw.

Her heart rate was up.

“You have any caffeine today?” Olivia asked softly, bringing the back of her hand to the girl’s forehead. She was clammy, but not feverish.

“No. Not since you told me to stop.” Jet pursed her lips, which seemed paler than usual. She was already pale enough, so it became obvious when she was even more so. “I do listen to you, y’know. Most of the time. And I’m not anxious right now.”

Olivia had held onto hope for quite some time that the racing heart would be attributed to caffeine intake or anxiety or something with a clear source and therefore clear plan of action. So far, no dice. “I think we’re gonna have to see a specialist, baby. Pediatric cardiologist or something like that. I don’t like this.”

“Okay,” Jet agreed, and when she didn’t argue, Olivia knew this must be freaking her out too. “Doesn’t hurt, or anything, though.”

“I don’t want it to start to,” Olivia countered. She dropped her hand to cup Jet’s face, running a thumb over her cheek bone. “You good to stand? Or you wanna stay down here a little longer?”

“I’m okay,” Jet insisted.

Olivia pushed herself up, her knees aching more than she would’ve liked them to, and held her hand out to her daughter, who wiggled her way out of the space on the floor. “Let’s get going. I can bring the rest of this home,” Olivia decided.

— — — — — —

The little girl is in the exact same position she was in when Olivia left the day before. She stares up at the ceiling, unblinking, dark hair tangled around her shoulders. There’s a cartoon playing on the TV, a show with a bear and a duck and a cat that Olivia can’t place, but the girl seems to not notice any of it.

The nurses say she likes Olivia, that she does better when the Lieutenant is around. Olivia sees no difference, really, but doesn’t argue. Maybe her vital signs improve, or something.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Olivia says as she enters, mindful to speak quietly and not startle the child. “I hear you’re doing a little better today.”

No response, but then again, she doesn’t expect any.

“I got you a present,” Olivia says. She opted not to wrap the dragon, thinking that unwrapping may be a bit too much effort for the child to exert. “Thought it could keep you some company when I can’t be here.”

She holds the dragon in the girl’s line of sight and for a moment, she swears she sees something, be it recognition, interest, curiosity, flash in her eyes.

It’s gone just as fast.

“It’s a dragon. It’s nice and soft,” Olivia continues, bringing the dragon down to gently brush it against her hand that’s not hooked up to the IV. “And very cuddly.”

The girl’s hand twitches, and she slowly rubs her thumb over the snout of the dragon. She blinks, and her lips part slightly, like she might say something.

It’s the most Olivia’s seen her do in the few days since her rescue, so she stands back and holds her breath.

Instead of saying anything, the girl breathes in, and to Olivia’s surprise, turns onto her side.

She studies the dragon for a moment, carefully puts her hand down on top of it. Presses down, watches the material squish and then rise back up. She strokes a hand over it again.

And then she looks at Olivia.

Olivia realizes, with a start, that this child may not actually know what to do with a stuffed toy. She may not have ever had her own stuffed animal. She may never have been read a storybook with a dragon in it.

Her heart aches for the baby.

“You want me to show you?” Olivia asks softly.

The girl blinks.

Olivia steps closer, slowly, approaching the child like she’s a frightened animal. She picks up the dragon, hugs it close to her chest. “Like this,” she murmurs, then passes the plushie back to the girl.

The child takes the toy. Timidly holds it to herself, and then squeezes. She looks down at it with big eyes and something almost resembling a smile. Presses her face into the fur.

“Cozy?” Olivia asks, after a moment.

The girl keeps her face buried in the fluff and takes a deep, shuddery breath.

Olivia lets out an exhale.

— — — — — —

“There are my favorite Bensons,” a voice called, on the sidewalk just outside the precinct. Olivia and Jet both turned to see Rafael Barba, attempting to weave his way through the crowd on his way too them. “Perfect timing, was hoping to catch you before you headed out. Happy birthday, Juliet.”

“Thanks, Uncle Rafa,” Jet replied, leaning a bit into Olivia’s side. “Are you coming over tonight?”

“I can’t, chiquita, I’m sorry. That’s why I wanted to catch you now…”

“Let’s sit,” Olivia said. “If you have a minute or two, we do too.”

“Always have a minute for the Benson girls,” Barba teased, holding the door to the precinct open and gesturing them in. The lobby wasn’t too busy, so they found a bench in a quiet corner to sit.

Barba pulled his crossbody onto his lap and began to rummage through. “How was your competition?”

“Good. We won,” Jet informed him.

“Attagirl. I wasn’t as lucky this morning.”

“Calhoun?” Olivia asked.

“Langan,” Rafael muttered darkly, before he found what he was looking for and brightened. “This is for you,” he said to Jet, handing her the neatly wrapped package. “You don’t have to open it now—” by now, everyone who knew Jet was well aware of her intense discomfort with attention, “—But I wanted you to have it today. It reminded me of you and your…” He gestured vaguely. “Art projects and affinity for aliens. Sorry, Liv.”

Olivia blinked. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Jet looked up and between them, a small smile beginning to form. “Those are the best kinds of gifts,” she said. “The ones you gotta apologize to mom for.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. Rafael only grinned at her.

— — — — — —

The girl’s a little more responsive, now. Won’t make eye contact with anyone except Olivia, but will hold her stuffed dragon, roll onto her side, passively watch whatever’s left on TV for her to see. Today it’s just a music channel, photos of album covers and artists accompanied by repetitive fun facts, tinny, overly cheerful pop music playing on low volume.

Olivia’s trying to convince the girl to eat a little, and only somewhat succeeding. Mostly the child stares off into space, squeezing the paws of her dragon in some unidentifiable pattern.

“Once you have a little more applesauce, I’ll read you a story,” Olivia encourages, bringing the spoon up to her mouth. “Just a little more, babe. So you can get nice and strong again.”

The girl mindlessly accepts the spoonful of applesauce, before suddenly stiffening, eyes wide.

“Woah there,” Olivia says, using a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth. “What’s wrong?”

She turns to see where the girl’s looking, and it’s at the TV. Taylor Swift croons her love song— “So I sneak out to the garden to see you… we keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew…” A stock photo of a valentine is on the screen, a fun fact about the city of Verona.

The girl lets out a wordless whine, fixated, frustrated.

“Babe, what is it?” Olivia murmurs, trying to decipher the problem.

“Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter,” Taylor Swift continues, unhelpfully. “And my daddy said, stay away from Juliet!”

The girl rocks forward, pointing insistently, eyes begging Olivia to understand.

It takes an embarrassingly long few seconds of concentration for the realization to hit Olivia. To remember what those awful men had called the little girl— the Jewel. Almost like…

“Your name is Juliet?” Olivia asks, trying not to sound too excited, trying to keep her voice low. “Like the song says?”

The girl looks at her with wide, relieved eyes, and to Olivia’s great surprise, reaches out her arms. She’s been resistant to being touched since entering the hospital— ever since Olivia had carried her out of that old apartment complex, really. She’d clung her arms around Olivia’s neck until she was put down, but after that, refused to let anyone near her again.

“You want a hug?” Olivia asks, pushing the tray out of the way to settle on the bed beside her. The child is in her arms instantaneously. Olivia says a silent thank you to Taylor Swift.

“You’re safe,” Olivia whispers into dark hair, and finally gets to say the words she’s been aching to say since she found her. “Nobody can hurt you, not anymore. You’re safe now, Juliet.”

— — — — — —

“Claire’s gonna be here a little early, and leave a little early too,” Jet said as they entered the apartment, placing down their trays of Italian food. “Cause her mom—” she gestured vaguely, because she knew Olivia already knew.

“Doesn’t want her on the subway after dark, yeah,” Olivia finished, taking the stack of envelopes from the top of the tinfoiled baked ziti to flip through. Claire’s mother was very protective. Sometimes in ways Olivia could understand (no subway after dark, no sleepovers, GPS on at all times— not all rulings Olivia would make, but she at least could see the reasoning behind each one), but sometimes in ways she couldn’t (no male friends? At all?). Olivia had hoped the lack of men living in her apartment meant Claire would occasionally be able to spend the night, but Mrs. Sun seemed to not like Olivia all that much, so that one hadn’t really come to fruition.

Claire, though, was a godsend. She was the overly cheerful Sophomore campus ambassador who had given Olivia and a then-distrusting Jet their tour of Hastings, and upon enrollment and learning Jet was interested in robotics, had immediately taken Jet under her wing. Olivia had expected her daughter to be overwhelmed by Claire’s chatty and very bubbly nature, but Jet had surprised her, as she often did, by not only tolerating her but seemingly enjoying her presence. As much as Jet enjoyed anyone’s presence, anyways.

Olivia’s favorite thing about Claire, though, was how normal she was. Sure, she was an absolutely brilliant little math-and-music prodigy, as most Hastings students were (either brilliant or rich, and Claire happened to be both), but she was also a teenage girl. She listened to boy bands, kept up with celebrity drama, did normal teenage girl things like get manicures and bubble tea and shop at— wherever girls shopped at these days. Olivia could hardly keep up.

And while Olivia was fine with the fact that Jet never really had any of the same interests as Claire (except for bubble tea, Jet was definitely very interested in bubble tea), she did worry that her daughter sometimes tried to grow up too fast. Jet had missed out on so much of being a child, so many important milestones just skipped. Most of her company consisted of her mother’s adult coworkers. And now she was so intent on becoming a cop as fast as possible, following in her mom’s footsteps at twice the speed her mom had gone, that Olivia was worried she’d skip even more in the process. Or burn out trying. So the fact that Claire was around, encouraging her to do normal teenager things, brought Olivia a sense of relief.

“Who else is coming?” Jet asked, stirring Olivia out of her thoughts. “I know Uncle Fin and Uncle John.”

She appeared to be focused on very carefully using her fingernail to break the tape holding together the green wrapping paper of Rafael’s gift, but Olivia knew that behind the lightness of her question was no small amount of anxiety. Jet liked knowing exactly who was and would be in her house at all times. Olivia couldn’t blame her.

“Aunt Melinda and Hannah,” Olivia said, counting on her fingers. “Aunt Amanda, and Katie. My friend from last night.”

Upon inviting Katie, she had informed Olivia that Eli had plans, which had saved Olivia from having to either formulate some reason to just invite Katie or survive a very awkward phone call with Kathy Stabler, who she had no idea where she currently stood with. Thank God for small victories.

“Jesse and Billie?” Jet asked.

Olivia shook her head. “They’re at home with Sonny tonight, Billie has strep. Just Amanda.”

Jet nodded as she took in the information, before looking down at the box in her hands. “I… have no idea what this is.”

Olivia pulled two letters out of the stack of mail. “Swap with me. Alex and Uncle Don sent you birthday cards.”

Olivia handed her he cards and took the white box from her, which displayed some sci-fi looking contraption she had never heard of. “I don’t know, Love, you’ll have to take this one up with Uncle Rafa or Google.” She looked back up to see Jet staring wide-eyed at her card. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” Jet said, and shook her head. “Nothing. Just— Barnes and Noble gift card. For a— a lot of money.”

Olivia wondered sometimes if Alex was still trying to win her back over by spoiling the hell out of her daughter. “Yeah?”

“She gave me a list of books she thought I’d like, said to get whatever I haven’t read yet.” Jet was starting to smile as she read the card. “Is she gonna be back in New York again soon?”

“I don’t know, babe,” Olivia sighed. “Hope so.” And she did hope so. Even if she didn’t necessarily agree with Alex’s current career path, she did miss her. "Your heart calmed down yet?"

"Yeah. It's normal now." The door buzzed, and Jet looked up and put her cards down on the table. “That’s Claire,” she announced, darting to let her in.

Olivia took the gift card out of Alex’s card, which seemed to contain a small novel’s worth of writing inside, and the cash out of Cragen’s, who she had suspected for a while now saw Jet as the granddaughter he’d never had, so she could stand the two cards up on their counter. She used one of the empty envelopes to tuck the cash inside and placed it on a side table along with Rafa’s box of curiosity, hoping it would encourage guests to leave their gifts there.

“I have an idea for the lights,” she heard Claire’s excited voice from the doorway. “I’m not actually sure— I don’t really know how to pull it off, but I know you’ll be able to figure it out—”

And then they were in the kitchen, Claire trailing after Jet.

“Hi Ms. Benson!” she said happily.

That was another thing about Claire. She was the only person who could call Olivia ‘Ms. Benson’ and get away with it. No matter how many times Olivia insisted on Claire using her first name, she always defaulted back. “Hey, Claire. Thanks for coming, sweetie.”

“Thank you for having me,” Claire replied, hands fidgeting behind her back. “I really— is that a theremin?” Claire was distracted, and it took Olivia a moment to realize it was by Rafael’s unidentified gift.

“Jet, that’s so cool!” She squealed, approaching the table to look at it.

“Um,” Jet said. “What… is it, exactly?”

“A theremin?” Claire repeated. “Can I pick it up?”

Jet nodded her go ahead.

“It’s a musical instrument,” Claire said, turning the box over in her hands to observe. “It’s how they made like— ghost and alien noises in 80s movies. They’re kinda freaky. This is a mini one, they’re super rare now. It doesn’t have strings or anything, it uses electromagnetic waves, so it looks like you’re just playing… thin air, really.”

Art projects and aliens indeed. “No alien noises after ten P.M.,” Olivia decided to set the ground rule right there. “You will scare the shit out of me.”

Jet grinned, taking the box from Claire to study it. “You wanna try it?”

“Are you kidding me?” Claire replied.

Jet looked up at Olivia, who waved them away with a smile. “Go have fun, I’ll call you when people start getting here.”

— — — — — —

It was really nice to see her coworkers at a place other than work, Olivia decided, and it was nice to have a reason to celebrate. When she’d adopted her little girl, she’d expected the sudden increase in business to push her away from her friends. Somehow the opposite had occurred, and she’d only grown closer to the people surrounding her, who all loved her daughter just as much as she did.

Or almost as much. Olivia wasn’t sure if it was physically possible for anybody to love Jet as much as she did.

They were seated around the table, chatting about everything and nothing. Melinda and Fin were trying to recount a narcotics case they’d once worked together that they appeared to remember very differently. Olivia was trying not to giggle and Amanda wasn’t trying very hard at all, Munch interjecting to argue with Fin at points about events he clearly had not been present for. Hannah, Melinda’s younger daughter, had joined Jet and Claire in Jet’s room, where occasional spooky synthesizer noises floated out from as the girls tried to program their light sculpture to respond to the musical instrument input.

The things smart kids do for fun, Olivia thought to herself. She probably would’ve been playing spin the bottle at this age, or some other party activity that she was very glad Jet wasn’t interested in participating in.

The doorbell rang again, and Olivia stood to buzz up their final guest.

Kathleen was smiling, but clearly a bit nervous, fiddling with the envelope in her hands. “Hey,” she breathed as Olivia opened the door.

“Hey, Katie,” Olivia greeted warmly, wrapping her in a hug. “Come in, we have Italian…”

“Thank you,” Katie said, and reached to hand Olivia the envelope.

“Oh, you didn’t have to…”

“Of course I did, it’s a birthday,” Katie said, hanging her jacket among the others. “I made an educated guess.”

“An educated guess?” Olivia repeated, raising an eyebrow, tapping the envelope against her hand.

“It’s a Hot Topic gift card. She seems the type.” Katie grinned mischievously as Olivia laughed at that.

“Your guess paid off, she’s definitely the type. Come on, let’s get you some food…” Olivia turned to cup a hand around her mouth and call, “Jet, come say hi!”

One thing Olivia had not considered was the fact that Fin and Munch absolutely remembered Kathleen Stabler. Especially Fin, who had been present for… well.

Olivia started to help Katie gather food onto a paper plate. “Kate, this is Amanda,” she gestured over at Rollins, “and Melinda, and then you remember…”

“Yeah. Yes. I remember…” Katie smiled again, and it seemed a little more nervous than a few moments ago, as she offered a small wave to the people at the table.

Jet appeared at that moment, saving Olivia from having to say anything more. “Hi,” Jet said. She looked at Katie with interest, like she was curious about her, which Olivia knew was a positive sign in Jet’s world. “You wanna come see the lights?”

“Um,” Katie said, clearly not knowing what the lights were. “Sure.”

“Cool,” Jet said, and to Olivia’s surprise, grabbed Katie’s free hand to guide her to her room.

Katie looked over her shoulder at Olivia with an expression somewhere between anxiety and amusement, and Olivia had to bite back a laugh as she watched them go.

“So…” Fin said, before she’d even turned back to the table. She scrunched her face up in displeasure while they still couldn’t see her, because she knew exactly where this was going to go.

“Just say it,” she muttered.

“That,” Munch said, pointing in the direction Katie had just been dragged. “Is a Stabler kid.”

“Yes, it is,” Olivia replied, trying to hold her head up high as she returned to her seat. “Katie’s doing well for herself, she’s working on her doctorate…”

“Elliot Stabler’s kid is getting a doctorate?” Melinda muttered in disbelief, before sipping her soda. “She certainly doesn’t get it from him.”

Amanda was still giggling at that, and Olivia decided she’d maybe had enough wine.

“And what’s Katie’s dad up to?” Fin pressed.

“I don’t know. Last I heard he was galavanting Europe.” Olivia rolled her eyes and stole Amanda’s wine. “Kathleen is an adult, I’m allowed to have a friendship with her that doesn’t involve her parents.”

Fin put up his hands in a woah there gesture. “Never said you couldn’t. Just thought maybe you’d heard from him, is all.”

“No, and I don’t care to,” Olivia said, maybe a bit too sharp. She stood again. “I’m going to get the cake. If anybody tries to sing happy birthday, Jet does know how to use the cake knife, and is not afraid to. Got it?”

Olivia moved for the kitchen, finding the simple bakery cake where it sat in the fridge. Chocolate and raspberries, some golden star sprinkles across the top. No name, no happy birthday, no fourteen candles— all at Jet’s request. Maybe at some point it would be healthier to encourage Jet not to shy away from the spotlight, to help her recognize the difference between appreciation and exploitation, but for now, Olivia wouldn’t force her to be stared at for the sake of some silly tradition. They could celebrate her daughter without making her feel gawked at. And Jet seemed fine with the set-up— happy, even. Really happy, just to be here with the people she loved.

That was all Olivia wanted for her. To be happy. Really happy.

— — — — — —

The movie playing on the TV screen when Olivia enters is probably a bit too old for a seven year old, but she doesn’t have the heart to change it. Because for once, Juliet is engaged. Her eyes are wide and follow the screen, her mouth slightly open in awe, her dragon snug in her lap.

Olivia hasn’t seen the movie before, but picks up bits and pieces from where she enters. A group of teenagers, a little alien robot, a plan to get him home safe.

There’s one tense moment, the kids running from some evil-unspecified-government-man, where Juliet begins to get upset, holds out her arms to Olivia. Olivia debates then turning off the TV, but Juliet is still interested, just needs some comfort.

So Olivia sits on the bed, gathers her into her arms, and the girl is calm again, snuggled safely against Olivia’s chest.

They save the cute little alien, of course, evil public servants be damned, and a spaceship begins to materialize above the teenagers, before shooting off into the sky.

Juliet is entranced.

She tugs at Olivia’s shirt, twisting to look up at her.

“What’s up, baby?” Olivia asks, expecting some sort of pointing, or snuggling, all on brand for the little girl lately.

Instead, the girl moves her mouth for a moment, like she’s feeling out what to say. And then, in an impossibly tiny voice, she asks,

“Me too?”

Olivia is stunned, but trying not to show it, not wanting to scare the girl into quieting again.

It’s the first thing she’s said in the days since her rescue.

“You… too?” Olivia repeats.

Juliet nods, looking up at her hopefully, pleadingly.

“You want to go up in the spaceship too?”

Juliet nods again, quicker.

Olivia lets out a slow breath. “Well, that baby alien had to go back home,” she starts, slowly, carefully. “But when you’re feeling all better, I’ll take you somewhere we can see all the stars, and you can wave hi. How does that sound?”

Juliet beams, and rests her head back against Olivia’s chest.

“You too?” the little girl asks as the credits begin to role.

“I’ll be there too,” Olivia promises. “It’ll be you and me, babygirl.” She reaches down to pat the stuffed animal’s head where it rests in her lap. “You, me, and your dragon.”

Juliet giggles, and that’s the moment Olivia knows.

That’s the moment Olivia’s absolutely sure.

This little girl is her little girl, and she belongs to Juliet just as much as Juliet belongs to her.

— — — — — —

“Who gave you this?” Olivia asked, amused. She was holding a rainbow octopus that smiled brightly, until she pushed on its head, and it turned inside out, revealing a grumpy little scowl.

Jet covered her smile with the sleeve of her jacket. “Uncle Fin.”

“Makes sense.” Olivia placed the octopus to the side, gathering Jet into her arms. “Good birthday?”

“Mhm.” Jet nestled her head under her chin. “I like Katie a lot. She’s fun.”

“I’m glad.” Olivia pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “How’s Hannah?”

“She’s good. She’s doing senior research now, giving mice alzheimer’s.”

Olivia blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jet shrugged, deciding she’d had enough of hugging and detangling from her mother. “Her neuroscience senior project is something to do with alzheimer’s. So she gives the mice alzheimer’s and makes them glow in the dark and then dissects them to look at their brains.”

“Oh,” Olivia said, and decided she would not be having a second slice of cake after all. “Lovely.”

“Me and Claire did something with the lights,” Jet continued, appearing unbothered by the Flowers for Algernon–esque experimentation of Hannah Warner’s university studies. “Before everyone got here. You wanna see?”

“Of course,” Olivia said, placing down her— Amanda’s— glass of almost finished wine to follow her girl into her bedroom.

The light sculpture was on the default setting Olivia was used to, the LEDs floating gently around the cylindrical pole. “Oh, we also made it do this,” Jet said, sticking her hand into the mini theremin. As she rose her hand, the lights rose with it, and got brighter as the sound got louder. It did, in fact, sound like a 1980s ghost-alien-creature. “But that’s not what I…” Jet trailed off, unplugging the instrument from her computer, allowing the lights to reset. She pulled up some file from her millions of minimized tabs, typing something fast and clicking a button that said run.

“Nasa keeps databases of constellations,” She said. “So if we give it a minute to load, it should…”

A second later, and the lights flashed to a new position.

“There,” Jet said, with a pleased smile. “This is what the stars looked like fourteen years ago today.”

She turned to her mother, always the first she looked to for pride, for encouragement, for approval. And Olivia had a lot of all of those to give.

Olivia shook her head in awe, taking in the delicate little pinpricks of light as she circled the structure. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Jet shrugged, becoming bashful. “Claire’s idea.” She picked up a remote to turn off the lights, before leaning back over her desk. “Next project is Morse code.”

Olivia watched Jet methodically save her work in a few different tabs before shutting down the computer.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Olivia offered, leaning against the bedframe. “I don’t have to be up tomorrow. Can get a little wild tonight.”

“Ah, yes. Ten P.M.,” Jet deadpanned, glancing at her clock. “What a party animal you are.”

“I was going to say Interstellar,” Olivia said, shaking her head. “But now I’m not sure…”

“Wait, I take it back!” Jet said, brightening. “Can we— ooh, or—”

Once again, she didn’t finish her sentence before darting out of the room— a habit Olivia was used to by now, as Jet’s thoughts often went much faster than her mouth could keep up. She pushed away from the bed to follow her daughter to the living room, where Jet was standing in front of the TV, scrolling through their movie library.

Interstellar. The Martian. Earth to Echo. Guardians of the Galaxy. Hitchhiker’s Guide. Wall•e. Yes, there was a noticeable theme. Jet had her preferences. (Seven years out of that hospital, though, Earth to Echo still remained her comfort watch.)

“NeverEnding Story?” Jet asked hopefully, looking back over her shoulder at her mother, as if Olivia could ever say no to her.

“I will cry,” Olivia warned, settling on the couch beside her.

“That’s half the fun,” Jet said with a grin, grabbing their throw blanket to pull over the two of them.

For all of Jet’s teasing, she was the one dozing off not even fifteen minutes into the movie, not helped along by Olivia’s fingers gently scratching at her scalp.

— — — — — —

Atreyu had just named the empress when Jet stirred in Olivia’s arms, somewhere half between sleep and wake.

“Mama?” Jet whispered.

“Mhm?”

“Realized something, today.” She reached to fiddle with Olivia’s necklace.

“Yeah?”

“You found me when I was seven,” Jet said, “and today I’m fourteen.”

“That’s right,” Olivia said slowly, not sure where she was going with this.

“After this year, I’ll have spent more of my life with you than without you,” Jet murmured, and Olivia could feel her eyelashes brush against her collar bone as she blinked.

Olivia brought a hand back to cup her face, ducking to press a kiss to dark hair. “I love you, sweetheart,” she said quietly, trying to hold back tears for the second time that night because God damn it that part with the horse always got her. “So, so much.”

“I’m glad it was you,” Jet mumbled, back to mostly asleep.

She didn’t have to clarify. Olivia knew what she meant.

“You and me, babygirl,” Olivia murmured, and kept on stroking her hair until Jet was fast asleep, safe with her mother, where they both belonged. “It’s you and me. Always.”

Chapter Text

It had been a weird, weird transition for Katie. It all felt so sudden— one day she was living at home with two parents, four siblings. Aunts and uncles and grandparents on the holidays, or on sundays, or on birthdays, which were quite frequent in such a large family.

And then the next day she was on her own.

Mom and Dad and Eli were in Europe, Maureen moved in with her fiance, and Lizzie and Rich decided to go away for school. Birthday parties and holiday gatherings turned into discount Hallmark cards with checks inside, the only thing Katie did on weekends was go on terrible first dates and check in on Grandma Bernie. If she needed advice from her mom, she had to wait for the time zones to match up. She never knew what state Rich was in anymore. Dad was traveling so much for work she felt like she hadn’t heard his voice in ages.

So maybe Katie had been a little bit lonely. She missed being somebody’s sister.

She thought that’s probably why she made the offer to Olivia in the end. If she’s ever off from school while you’re working, she’s more than welcome to hang out with me at Fordham for the day. Katie missed having the feeling of Lizzie or Rich or even Eli being her little shadow. And Jet didn’t have any siblings, didn’t seem to have many friends at all, really, so this seemed like it could be a mutually beneficial relationship.

Plus, it helped that Jet was an easy kid to entertain. That made sense, as the only child of a working mom, that she was content to sit and read or work on homework in silence. She was quiet and polite. Katie had already received compliments twice about her “well-behaved little sister.” She had attended a lecture that Katie was the teaching assistant for— Abnormal Child Psychology— and even though it was an upper level psychology course that she had no previous context for, Jet seemed genuinely interested in the material being taught and even scribbled down notes of her own every so often.

“I’m gonna have office hours in a little bit,” Katie announced. She was sitting at her computer, nearly dizzy from the data cluttering her screen. Jet was curled up in the corner of the sofa against the back wall, reading a well worn copy of Shirley Jackson’s We Have Always Lived in the Castle. She looked up at Katie’s words.

“You’re welcome to stay in here if you’d like,” Katie continued. “I’ll probably have a few more students than normal because we have an assessment coming up, but you’re welcome to stay. Or, if you’d like, I can see what some of my friends are teaching in the next few hours, and you can sit in on another lecture.”

Jet perked up at that a little. “Whatever’s easiest for you,” she replied.

Katie opened the messages on her phone, to a group chat aptly named Dissertation Devastation, which was populated by a grad students from a variety of backgrounds and departments that Katie had met at orientation. She hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out how, exactly, to explain why a fourteen year old was hanging out with her today, before deciding that maybe easiest was best.

Katie S: Got my little sis with me today, anybody got a class in the next few hours she might be able to sit in on? She’s quiet, happy to just sit in the back and take notes.

Asha G: What’s she into?

Katie S: She’s not picky. 14 y/o, so let’s keep it PG.

Katie dropped her phone on the desk and swiveled in her chair to face Jet, who now had her head leaned in her hand, elbow propped on the arm of the chair.

“You thought about college at all?” Katie asked. “Your mom told me you were thinking of being a cop.”

Jet nodded. “I just wanna help people. I know I don’t need a lot of college to get into the academy, but Mama wants me to get a degree anyways.”

“Your mother’s a smart lady,” Katie said, tilting her head a little. “What do you want to study?”

“Computer science. I wanna work for the Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force.” Jet pulled her knee up in front of her, resting her head against it, letting her eyes fall away from Katie. “I think if I— if I wasn’t gonna be a cop, I think I’d wanna study astronomy, or aerospace engineering, or something. But it…” She bit her lip for a moment, then released it. “...it feels silly to study something like that when there are people out there who need help, y'know? To go off stargazing when there are kids who…” She shook her head, trailing off.

That was interesting. Katie had assumed Olivia would make every effort to keep Jet away from her work, the way Katie’s own father had done the same for his kids. But it looked like Jet felt some personal responsibility to carry on her mother’s work, she almost seemed like she felt guilty for considering other options.

Or maybe Olivia did keep her work away from Jet. Jet had been adopted, and not as a baby, because if she’d been adopted as a baby that would’ve been when Olivia and Dad were still partners and there was no way Katie wouldn’t have heard about that. So Jet had been adopted as a child, which meant she had somehow ended up parentless at an age she was old enough to remember the circumstances that left her that way.

So maybe this wasn’t about Olivia at all.

“Well, whatever path you end up taking, I know you’ll be doing a whole lot of good for the world,” Katie said. “You thinking of staying in New York, or spreading your wings a little?”

“I’m staying in the city,” Jet answered immediately. “I know I’m supposed to wanna move out, but I just— I like living with my mom, ‘sall.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I stayed in the city for all my degrees. I liked having my family nearby.” Katie picked up her phone, tapped it on the desk, opened her messages. “Any of these look interesting to you?”

Asha G: I’m teaching feminist theory in Hughes in an hour

Devon L: Oceanography?

Emmi D: TAing Government & Organized Crime for Prof Richroath later. Dealy Hall.

Chris W: Doubt she wants intermediate microecon. I don’t even wanna be in intermediate microecon.

Jet took the phone from Katie to look at the messages. “Organized crime?” she asked after a moment, almost tentatively. “Is that like— mafia stuff?”

Katie shrugged. “You wanna find out and let me know?”

Jet slowly nodded. “Yeah, that sounds… that sounds cool. Thanks.”

Katie S: Em, I’m sending her your way.

Emmi D: Another L for intermediate microecon

Chris W: Way to rub salt in the wound

— — — — — —

Katie knew Jet didn’t like being touched, the exception being by Olivia, but it seemed she was becoming an exception as well. Jet would take her hand as they walked to and from the subway, or between campus buildings, in a move that seemed a little younger than the girl was. Maybe because Katie was the nearest adult? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t mind.

They were walking to the subway now, when Jet’s phone rang in her pocket. Or, ‘rang’ was generous. It was some sort of strange rock song Katie had never heard.

Jet picked it up, without checking the ID, and said, “Hi, Mama.” The girl glanced up at Katie as she said, “Yeah, I’m still with her. We’re going to the subway now. Don’t you have an app where you can see where I’m—”

She cut off with a smile at whatever Olivia’s sarcastic response was. “I know. Are you gonna be…” The smile faded. “Okay. Yeah, that’s— I’ll be fine.” She looked up at Katie again as her mother continued to speak. “I’ll ask her.” She waited again. “Okay. G’night, Mom,” Jet eventually said. “Be safe. I love you.”

“All good?” Katie asked, once Jet had hung up and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

“Yeah. She’s gonna be late, but that’s okay.” Jet looked straight ahead, even once Katie’s eyes were on her.

“Interesting ringtone.”

That made Jet smile again, almost mischievously. “Mother, by the Police.” She looked back up at Katie. “Because she’s my mother, and also the police.”

Katie laughed. “Alright, I’ve gotta give you that one.”

“She hates that song,” Jet said, still grinning, before she looked down and kicked a pebble down the path. “And she says if you don’t have dinner plans she’ll buy for both of us.”

Katie smiled. Of course she would. “She doesn’t have to do that.”

Jet shrugged. “I know I already took up most of your day—”

“And I had fun,” Katie interrupted. “It gets lonely sitting around in that little office all day, you’re good company. Does anyone stay with you when your mom’s late at work?”

Jet chewed her lip. “Uh— no. Unless it’s overnight, or like, really late, and then I stay with Aunt Manda and Uncle Sonny, whoever’s watching the babies. Or if they can’t get away, then I stay with Aunt Melinda.”

“How about we bring some takeout back to your apartment, and I’ll hang out with you until your mom gets home?” Katie offered. “I haven’t been very exciting today, I can make up for that. We can play Mario Kart, or something.”

Jet smiled at that, a real smile. “I’ve never played Mario Kart.”

“You’ve never played Mario Kart?” Katie asked, in mild horror. Which she thought was an appropriate response. It was Mario Kart. She knew Jet played video games, had seen them stacked neatly below her computer desk in her room on her birthday. Mario Kart was a classic.

“Who was I gonna play Mario Kart with? My mom?” Jet asked, seeming amused by the idea.

“I would love to see Olivia try to play Mario Kart,” Katie said off handedly. “You and Claire never…?”

“Claire’s not allowed to play video games. Her mom says they promote ‘bad habits.’”

Katie raised her eyebrows and chose not to comment on that one.

“I think your brother has a crush on her,” Jet continued, almost conspiratorially. “Claire. Not— not her mom.”

“I’ve heard him talk about a pretty girl in his band class.”

“She’s in band, yeah. She’s an oboe prodigy.”

“I’ll keep this in mind to optimize for teasing purposes later,” Katie decided. “Thanks for the intel.”

The subway was packed, and they didn’t talk for the duration of the ride, Jet nestling close into Katie’s side and closing her eyes. Katie got the feeling that the girl absolutely did not like crowds.

After a ride that was slightly longer than Katie would’ve liked, they arrived back in the Upper West Side, a few blocks from the Bensons’ apartment. Armed with Thai food, Katie had to shuffle through her wallet to get an acceptable ID for the security guard in the apartment complex, even when Jet informed him they were together. It made sense that Olivia would live in an apartment with such strict security. Especially after… well, after everything she’d been through.

“Can we add her to the list of approved visitors?” Jet asked.

The security guard raised his eyebrows, clicking through some tabs on his computer screen. “Gotta run that one by your mom first, sweetheart. Tell her to stop by the desk when she comes in.”

“Okay,” Jet agreed.

Another ride up the elevator, and Jet let them into the apartment, dropping her bag of food on the table. “I’m gonna get my switch so I can figure out how to download Mario Kart while we eat,” she announced, darting off for her room.

Katie put down her bag and trailed after her. Jet’s room, upon first entering it at her birthday, had been both exactly like and nothing like Katie had expected. What she had expected was for it to be all dark and tech-y. But she had also expected it to be minimalist, which it most certainly was not. It was organized chaos— everything seemed to have its place, even if it was an interesting choice of place. There were little trinkets scattered around her desk and dresser. Colored pencils, half assembled robotics projects, books and video games, an assortment of stuffed animals. There were posters on the walls of bands (some Katie recognized, some she did not), old movies (hello, Kubrick?), and astronomical phenomena. And then, of course, there were The Lights.

Katie took a step into the room as Jet crouched beneath her desk, rummaging through her storage. She looked over the bookshelf, which seemed to be organized thematically. The top shelf was all non-fiction, books about space and cognitive science and genetics and artificial intelligence. The next shelf was sci-fi, mostly classics. That made sense. Wasn’t Olivia’s mother an English teacher, or something like that? Katie counted up Bradbury, Vonnegut, Le Guin, Wells, Asimov…

The bottom shelf, though, was maybe the most intriguing. Katie tilted her head a little to see it, partially hidden as it was. Rosemary’s Baby, Steven King’s Carrie, The Exorcist, American Psycho— and Nabokov’s Lolita?

Katie looked back up at Jet, who was fully invested in trying to find Mario Kart on her switch. Was she old enough to be reading half of these? Any of these? American Psycho? Katie couldn’t imagine Olivia being cool with her young daughter reading American Psycho. Katie couldn’t even stomach American Psycho herself, and she was over twice Jet’s age.

And what was up with Lolita?

“I think I got it,” Jet announced, putting her Nintendo Switch down on her desk. “Just have to let it charge, forgot to plug it in after I used it last. Are you okay?”

Katie realized she must have had an odd expression on her face, and immediately schooled it. “Yeah, fine. Just curious about…” She jutted her chin out at the lights. “How you did that.”

“The lights?” Jet swiveled to look at them. “Oh. You ever— did you do arduino boards in school?”

“No,” Katie said, feeling very old for a moment. “But I do know what an arduino board is.”

“It’s kinda like that. Claire and I made it together, over the summer, but we keep it here because Claire has like— a million siblings.”

“A million?” Katie repeated, amused.

Jet shrugged. “Well, three.”

“Rookie numbers. I have four.”

Jet blinked, wide eyed. “Four? There were seven of you in the apartment?”

“Well, we lived in a house. And it was six for a long time, until Eli was born. But I was in college by then. C’mon, I’ll tell you about them over dinner.” Katie extended her hand, seeing if Jet would take it like she did earlier.

She did, curiously enough.

“Maureen’s the oldest,” Katie started, as she unwrapped her noodles. “And then there’s me. And then the twins, Lizzie and Rich. And then, like, fifteen years later came Eli. He was…. A bit of a surprise, let’s put it that way.”

Jet looked at her in awe. “Are you all… friends?” She asked tentatively.

Katie laughed. “We get along like siblings get along. We used to fight all the time— and I mean all the time— but we love each other very much. The teenage years are just…” Katie shrugged. “At least, mine were a mess. And I know Rich’s were too— But I was the problem kid.”

Jet blinked. “You were not the problem kid,” she repeated in disbelief.

“Oh, I was,” Katie said, smiling wryly. “I got into a lot of trouble. My parents had no idea what to do with me. It was actually…” She looked down at her noodles, stabbing at a chunk of tofu. “It was actually your mother who got me back on track,” Katie murmured. “I owe a lot to her.”

“She loves you a lot,” Jet said. “I think she was really happy to see you at that Robotics thing.”

“I was really happy to see her too,” Katie said, and decided that was enough of the heavier stuff. “But anyways, getting in trouble as a teenager is fine. Maybe not to the level I did— definitely not to the level I did— but what’s the point in high school if you’re not breaking a few rules?”

Jet grinned at that, but quickly shook her head.

“No? You’re on the straight and narrow?” Katie teased.

Jet was still smiling, pushing around her shumai with a plastic fork. “My mama went through a lot to get to adopt me. I’d never do anything to make her regret it.”

She said it so casually, so off-handedly, that Katie was stunned for a moment, before putting down her fork. “Jet,” she said softly. “Jet, sweetie, there’s nothing you can do that would ever make your mama regret adopting you. Absolutely nothing.”

Jet bit her lip, wouldn’t meet Katie’s eyes, focused intensely on her dinner. “Her whole job is making sure people follow the rules. I don’t wanna get her in trouble.” She pushed her plate away. “I think I’m gonna save the rest of this for lunch. You wanna play the game now?”

“Sure,” Katie said, studying the girl, who still would not make eye contact with her. “But I’ll have you know, I’m the reigning champ of the Stablers. So you better be ready…”

Jet laughed at that, and Katie felt a little spark of relief.

— — — — — —

“You had a good day?” Olivia asked, cracking open her can of diet coke. She’d come in fairly late, in the end, to Katie and Jet curled up together on the sofa, leaning over Jet’s Nintendo Switch. Jet had bounced up immediately to give her a hug, and was now getting ready for bed as Katie wrapped up to leave.

“Yeah,” Katie said, nodding, leaning against the counter across from her. “She’s a really sweet kid, Liv.”

Something was off, though, Olivia could tell. Katie was nervously bouncing her leg behind her, biting the inside of her mouth.

Olivia slowly took a sip, studying her, seeing if the silence would prompt anything.

And it did, when Katie sighed. “Look, it’s none of my business…”

Great start.

Katie was clearly scrambling for the correct wording in her mind, mouthing nonsense syllables as she tried to construct a sentence. “It’s just— y’know American Psycho?”

Not at all where Olivia saw that one going. She grimaced. “I know of it, yes.” She knew enough details to know that while it was an important literary work, it was one she’d never be reading herself. Books were supposed to be her escape from the job, not remind her of all the most horrific parts of it.

“And… Lolita, I’m sure you’re familiar with that one.”

Olivia felt something cold and uncomfortable stir in her gut. She put down her soda. “Kate, what’s the problem?”

“I just think… those are some disturbingly violent books,” Katie said, voice dropping so low that Olivia practically had to lean in to hear her. “Ones I don’t know if a kid Jet’s age should be reading. I mean, I read Steven King in high school, but that— I had nightmares. But at least I knew my limits, and American Psycho…”

“I’m still not getting…”

“They’re on her bookshelf, Liv. I don’t know if she’s already read them, but she does have both. And a few… some other interesting selections.”

Olivia closed her eyes, took a deep inhale, and then swore under her breath.

“She also said something to me,” Katie continued. She glanced back at the hall, tension draining from her shoulders when they heard the shower turn on, promising them an uninterrupted few minutes of conversation. “Something a little concerning. Um. We were talking about just— you know, teenagers getting into trouble, high school rule breaking, that sort of thing. She told me she could never… that she’d never do anything like that, because she didn’t want you to regret adopting her.”

“I would never—”

“I know, that’s what I told her.” Katie ran a hand back through her messy ponytail. “Again, none of my business, but— I’m guessing she’s been through some shit?”

Understatement of the century. Olivia swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. “Yeah,” she replied, voice hoarse. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“I just wanted you to be aware,” Katie said. “I’ve, um— I’ve seen behavior like this with some of the kids in the clinics I’ve worked at. Not exactly… y’know, not identical. But… this is the age where they start becoming more aware of their bodies, and if they’ve already been… If it was violent, she might just be trying to process— God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’m sure you already know. You’ve been doing this for years…”

“No, no, I appreciate it, Kate, really,” Olivia said, reaching out to rest a hand on her forearm. “I monitor what she watches, movies and TV, I don’t know why I never even thought about what she could be reading…” She picked up her diet coke, decided against it, put it back down. “She is in therapy, I’ll mention this to Dr. Soren. This is… you’re right, that she should not be reading American Psycho. And I don’t like that she thinks that I’d ever regret…” Olivia shook her head. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

God damn it, it had been a difficult, difficult day at work, and now she was getting emotional in front of Katie Stabler. Not exactly how she wanted her evening to go.

“Hey,” Katie said softly, walking around the counter to wrap Olivia into a hug. “Hey, we had a good day. She had a really good time, got to explore campus, sit in on some classes, learned how to play Mario Kart. Overall, this was a win, yeah?”

Olivia nodded, squeezing Katie close. “‘Cause of you,” she said. “I’m so grateful for you, you know that, Katie? Thank you for today.”

“I had fun too,” Katie mumbled into Olivia’s shoulder. “I’ll be back to hang out with her again. You have a cool kid.”

Olivia let out a watery laugh. “She’s pretty great, isn’t she?”

“‘Cause of you,” Katie parroted back at her, before detangling from their hug. “I always knew you’d be a great mom.”

Now Olivia was on the verge of tears for a totally different reason.

— — — — — —

Olivia perched on the edge of the bed, brushing her fingers through her daughter’s dark hair. “You gonna go to sleep at a normal hour tonight?” She teased.

“Think I’m gonna get some more reading done.”

Olivia hummed. “What are you reading?”

Jet reached over to her night table, grabbing a copy of We Have Always Lived in the Castle. “Got it from the library.”

“Shirley Jackson,” Olivia said, nodding. “She’s a good one.”

Abusive father, Olivia’s mind reminded her. Young girl murders abusive father, lives in isolation.

“We read one of her short stories in class, I wanted to see what else she’d done,” Jet explained.

“You enjoying it?”

“It’s interesting.”

Olivia glanced over at the girl’s bookshelf. Katie was right— there were some titles on there that Olivia wasn’t sure she wanted her fourteen year old reading. Her gaze zeroed in on Lolita, specifically. It might do more harm than good, in the end, reading it at this age. She’d have to ask Dr. Soren.

She had an easy segue in the conversation to bring up the bookshelf, but thought it might be better to have that conversation on a day where Olivia hadn’t just come home from wrapping up a case that hit a little too close to the subject matter. She didn’t really trust herself to hold it together right now.

“Katie called me her sister,” Jet said, breaking the silence.

Olivia blinked, turned to the girl. “What?”

Jet fidgeted with a thread in her comforter. “I saw the text she sent her friends, she said her sister was with her on campus today. And a few professors told her she had a very polite sister. And she didn’t correct them.”

Olivia tried to feel out the vibe of the statement, but it was purely a declaration of fact. Jet’s emotions were as hard to read as always. “Did that make you uncomfortable?” Olivia gently nudged.

Jet shrugged. “Not really. If I had a sister, I’d want one like Katie. I just thought…” Jet trailed off, suddenly very interested in her fidgeting.

“Thought what?”

“Thought that… you used to work with Katie’s dad, right?”

Olivia didn’t know where this was going. She didn’t think she liked it. “Yes, before he left the force.”

“Eli says his parents are divorced. So I didn’t know if Katie called me her sister because you used to be her— um—”

Her stepmother, Olivia’s mind helpfully filled in the blanks, and she nearly jumped. “Oh, no! God, no. No.”

She may have protested that a bit too rapidly.

“No,” she said again, weaker. “Nothing like that. Katie’s parents were still married when I worked with her dad, and I— I was just a family friend. I’ve always been close with her, but never that…” Olivia waved her hand vaguely, trying to clear her words like an etch-a-sketch. “Mrs. Stabler is a lovely woman, and a wonderful mother. Katie just needed a little guidance as a teenager, someone to talk to outside of her family. That’s why I’m so glad she’s here for you, in case you need someone to talk to besides me…”

“I talk to you about everything,” Jet said simply.

“Well, I’m very glad to hear that.” Olivia reached to squeeze Jet’s hand. “Just like I’m glad you two had such a nice day together.” She leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“I love you too,” Jet murmured. “Good night.”

“Sweet dreams.” Olivia stood, slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Her stepmother. Wow.

Olivia needed a drink somewhat harder than diet coke.

Chapter Text

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” was the phrase that Elliot Stabler was pretty sure would be recorded as his final words. One day, it was going to get him in a lot of trouble. More trouble than he’d already gotten himself into. Enough trouble to lead to those words being his dying declaration.

He hadn’t told Eli he was coming, which had seemed like a good idea at the time and he hadn’t told Katie he was coming because his kid couldn’t keep a secret so it had seemed like a good idea at the time and he hadn’t told Lizzie and Rich he was back because he wasn’t even sure if either of them were in the state so it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Kathy and Maureen both knew he was back in New York. Keeping secrets from Kathy and Maureen never seemed like a good idea at any time. How many decades had it taken him to learn that?

He could justify his reasoning, he could. His last assignment had been months long, no hope of wrap-up in sight, and he’d been applying to jobs in New York but the one, the one he was really waiting for, even if he hadn’t quite admitted it to himself yet— he hadn’t heard from them until that morning, when he landed at JFK. He didn’t want to get his kids’ hopes up and then have to jet back to Europe before seeing them all, didn’t want to promise he was staying this time just for the job offer to fall through. By the time he was sure he was back, permanently, in New York, to stay— it was only two hours before the ceremony.

So he didn’t tell most of them he was back. And it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

But now he was entering the auditorium of Hastings-on-Hudson Technical High School and he was really wondering if this had been a good idea at all. He wanted to see his son. He wanted to see Eli so badly it almost physically hurt, and he wanted to see his son get this award that was so deserved (he wasn’t actually sure what the award was, yet, only that he was getting one, but he was positive it was deserved).

But maybe a heads-up would’ve been smart.

He caught sight of Kathy quickly, sitting exactly where she had told him she’d be sitting, with Maureen beside her, looking every bit like a doppelganger of her mother. She looked over, maybe sensing they were being watched, and lit up, nudging her mother to get her attention.

“Dad,” Maureen breathed, standing as he approached. “It’s so good to see you.”

Elliot wrapped his eldest in a tight hug. It had been even longer since he’d last seen Maureen— sure, his kids were supposed to grow up, spread their wings, but God, he was glad to be back in New York. “You too, honey,” he murmured into her hair, pressing a kiss there. “Carl at home with the kids?” He asked, as they pulled apart.

She nodded. “Yeah, this was already turning into a circus— didn’t need to throw the boys into the mix too.”

“A circus,” Elliot repeated. “The Stablers? Never.” He turned to where Kathy was now standing, and reached to hug her as well. “Hey, Kath.”

“Glad you’re back,” she said, briefly holding on with a squeeze.

“Glad to be back.” He took the seat on the other side of her. “School treating you good?”

She sighed, raking her fingers back through her hair. “Ask me that again after I get my final grades back.”

“She’s doing great,” Maureen interjected. “She’s just too hard on herself.”

Kathy swatted Maureen playfully with her playbill. “I’m fifty five years old, General Chemistry should not be kicking my ass.”

“You’re doing better than I did in Gen Chem,” Maureen retorted, and then spotted something by the door. “Oh, here comes trouble,” she said with a growing grin, and Elliot turned to see Lizzie and Rich walking up the aisle, arguing over something in the playbill they shared. They hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Hey, Mom,” Lizzie said, briefly looking up, before looking down at the playbill again, and then doing a very funny looking double take. “Oh my God.”

“Holy shit!” Rich echoed, which would’ve normally led to Lizzie jabbing him in the arm if she wasn’t too busy propelling herself towards her father.

“You’re back!” She squealed, as he caught her in a big hug. “I missed you so much!”

“Missed you too, baby,” he said, trying to wrap her up in one arm so he could extend the other to her brother. “Missed all of you.”

“Are you here… for good?” Rich asked. “Permanently?”

“Hope so.” He’d tell them the job news tomorrow. He already felt like he was stealing enough of Eli’s thunder. “For the foreseeable future, at least.”

The kids— adults— still the kids, always the kids— settled in their seats around beside Maureen, and it felt so normal, so beautifully normal. He felt like he could breathe again for the first time in years. Just two more kids to see, and his slightly tilted world would be right on its axis again. Maybe. Hopefully.

It was nearing the final minutes when Kathleen arrived, rushing in like a hurricane, holding her big crossbody bag against her. She had probably come straight from Fordham, still in her nice blazer and slacks, phone to her ear. She gestured as she spoke, before hanging up, shoving it into her pocket, taking a moment to scan the crowd.

Elliot waited for her eyes to land on them, but she looked higher, caught sight of someone, beamed, waved. Elliot had half a mind to turn and see who she was waving to, but he felt frozen in place, studying his daughter.

When had she gotten so grown up?

He felt like he’d seen the transition in Maureen. Engagement, wedding, motherhood, it provided a timeline that made sense in his head. But with Kathleen… he felt like the last time he’d seen her she’d been a college freshman, bright eyed and curious. Obviously he had seen her since then, multiple times, many times, and even when not in person he’d seen photos.

But somehow, it was just hitting him for the first time.

And then their eyes met.

Kathleen’s face went through a rollercoaster of emotions that would have been hilarious had it not landed on an expression that clearly said, “Oh, shit.”

Not exactly the welcome he had been hoping for.

And then Kathleen was coming up the stairs, two at a time, to meet him where he was now standing. “Daddy,” she said, her voice way higher than normal. “You’re— you’re… here.”

“I am,” Elliot said, pulling her into a hug. “Missed you, bug.”

“Missed you too,” she mumbled into his shoulder, before pulling out of the hug and staring at him, still looking vaguely like she’d seen a ghost. “You’re here. In Hastings.”

“Last time I checked,” Elliot said.

“That’s… good,” Kathleen said, nodding slowly, not sounding like she actually believed that.

“Katie,” Rich said from his seat. “In case you didn’t know, you’re being like— really, really weird right now.”

“She’s gonna think I knew,” Katie mumbled, mostly under her breath, obviously just to herself. “That I knew, and didn’t warn…”

“You alright?” Elliot asked, growing worried, as Katie’s eyes darted around the auditorium. “Katie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Kathleen quickly said. “Nothing, not at all. Hi, Mom.” She leaned down to kiss Kathy’s forehead, Mo’s cheek, offer a hug to Lizzie, mess up Rich’s hair. She ended up with the seat beside Elliot.

And then she glanced over her shoulder again, still clearly looking for something.

“What is up with you?” Maureen asked, craning her neck to also look.

“You got a boyfriend I haven’t heard about?” Elliot asked, nudging her shoulder, trying to keep the concern out of his voice.

“Um,” Katie said, looking back at her dad, then her mom. “There’s something you two should probably know.”

“What should we—” Elliot started, before he looked in the direction his daughter had been glancing, up and to the top left corner of the seats.

The words died in his throat.

It was her.

“Yeah,” Kathleen said, when she realized her dad had caught sight of her little secret. “I— uh—”

“Is that Olivia?” Kathy asked, sounding just as shocked as Elliot felt. “Olivia Benson?”

“This is so much more exciting than I thought it was gonna be,” Rich muttered to Lizzie. “And the ceremony hasn’t even started.”

Elliot could not stop staring. She was just… there. Looking every bit like herself and somehow also totally different. He wasn’t entirely positive he wasn’t dreaming her, like she was some sort of mirage. Golden skin, golden hair, soft and shiny. She was reading something on her phone, looking down at her lap, glasses perched precariously at the tip of her nose. She didn’t look like a cop like this, she looked… she looked like a mother at a high school awards ceremony. In her fuzzy white sweater, dark blue jeans, she fit right in.

Elliot wasn’t sure what having a heart attack felt like but he thought he might be getting close to one. He wanted to run to her. He wanted to run out of this godforsaken school.

“Dad,” Kathleen said through gritted teeth. “If you do not stop gawking right this instant, I will slap you and it will be really embarrassing for you.”

Elliot pried his eyes away to turn back to his daughter, still wide eyed. “W– why?” He managed out, before clearing his throat. “Why is she here?”

“Did you invite her?” Maureen asked, sounding totally bewildered.

“No,” Kathleen snapped. “She’s here because her daughter got an award.”

“Daughter?” Maureen repeated in astonishment, and Elliot probably would have too, had he not choked on the word in his throat.

Kathleen crossed her arms, defensive. “Yes, daughter.”

“Since when does Olivia have a daughter?” Rich asked, and Elliot appreciated his nosy kids because he could not gather his thoughts into a coherent enough order to ask a single question, though there were many bouncing around his skull at a very rapid rate.

“She’s a good kid,” Kathleen stated. “A smart kid. Quiet. Sweet. Anything else you wanna know, you have to ask Liv yourself. I’m not a messenger pigeon.” With that, she slumped back into her chair.

“I’m so happy for her,” Lizzie murmured, ever the peacemaker. She was still looking off in Olivia’s direction. “I bet she’s a great mom.”

It was all she ever wanted, Elliot knew. He spared another glance in her direction, quick enough that Kathleen couldn’t call him out. Olivia was looking out at the stage, now.

There wasn’t a man beside her.

Which wasn’t why Elliot had looked, of course. Not at all.

“How long have you known?” He asked Kathleen, who sighed, refusing to look back at him.

“Bout two months,” she mumbled.

Well, what do you know. His kid could keep a secret.

— — — — — —

He knew which one was Olivia’s before the names were even called.

She was a tiny girl— had she skipped a grade? She must have. He was trying to do the math in his head, and if Olivia had gotten pregnant immediately after he left— could she have been pregnant when he left? No. No, he couldn’t entertain that thought, not here, not now. But the oldest her daughter could be now, realistically, was… twelve? Was that possible, for her to be in ninth grade at age twelve? Maybe Hastings started at grade eight? She must have skipped a grade. Because she had to be Olivia’s, they looked so alike. Or maybe, Olivia’s brother, he’d had kids. How old had his kids been? Had something happened to Simon? No, no, Simon had two kids. Unless Olivia had left one home with a babysitter, or with… the man who wasn’t sitting beside her.

Fuck. He was sweating.

No, because Simon’s daughter had been named Olivia. He remembered that. That was a detail that was hard to forget. And when Olivia’s daughter’s name was called, when she won the award for Excellence in Physics, they called—

“Juliet Benson!”

Juliet. Another Shakespeare name, that checked out. Except it didn’t, because would Olivia really name her kid after a girl that killed herself over a man? Or maybe— had Juliet killed herself? Or was she… poisoned, right? And Romeo had killed himself. No, they’d both killed themselves. That was the whole point. Wasn’t it? He hadn’t read Shakespeare since high school. He hadn’t even read Shakespeare in high school, much to his teachers’ annoyance.

Kathy fidgeted with her phone in her lap, like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to take a picture the way she did for all of Eli’s friends as they crossed the stage. Kathleen, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to whip out her camera app, cheering for the girl as loudly as she’d cheered for her own brother.

Elliot glanced back at Olivia, something he’d been trying very valiantly not to do, to see her absolutely beaming, applauding her girl. He wasn’t sure he’d… ever seen her smile so big. Her eyes were sparkly under the auditorium lights.

Kathleen stomped on his foot. He redirected his attention back to the stage. Back to Juliet Benson.

He was close enough to be able to tell that the poor girl’s legs were literally shaking as she crossed the stage, paused for the photo with the principal.

“She hates attention,” Kathleen murmured to him, without looking away from the stage. “She’s so shy.”

Juliet wore a black dress, leggings, converse, more eyeliner than any of his daughters had been allowed to wear at that age, though Kathleen was the only one who’d ever tried to. She had her mother’s doe eyes, dark hair that reached almost to her shoulders. She didn’t smile for the picture, her expression remained serious, her grip trembling on the plaque she held, before she shook the principal’s hand and darted back to the student seats.

The next time she was back on stage was with Eli, when the Blue Moon Robotics Team stood to be congratulated for all their victories so far. Which had been all of them, they remained undefeated. Juliet seemed less nervous now, being up in a group, hiding partially behind a tall Asian girl with a bright smile.

Elliot applauded and tried not to think too hard about the fact that his son and Olivia’s daughter had not just been in the same school, but worked together on the same team these past few months.

Kathy snapped her photos and didn’t seem to be having the same sort of crisis Elliot was. Or maybe she was better at hiding it. Of course not, why would she be having any crisis at all? Not like she had ever been as close as Elliot was to the woman who was literally their son’s Godmother. Did that make Juliet and Eli Godsiblings? Was that a thing? He really didn’t want to know. Well, he did, but not—

“Dad,” Kathleen muttered from the corner of her mouth. “If you could try not to pass out before the end of the ceremony, we’d all appreciate it.”

— — — — — —

His brain sort of quieted down for a moment when he got Eli in a crushing hug.

“You’re back for good?” Eli asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, bud,” Elliot replied. “Here to stay.”

“God, the whole gang’s here,” Eli muttered, taking in all his siblings. He moved to hug his mom next, who murmured her pride into his hair, before making his rounds with his siblings.

“Did you all know?” Eli asked, almost accusatory. “That he was back?”

“Nope,” Kathleen said pointedly, popping the ‘P.’

“I did,” Maureen said. “Guess I’m just the favorite.”

“Guess Dad was smart enough to not get his ass kicked,” Rich muttered.

Maureen crossed her arms. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Tell me about it,” Kathleen muttered. “I should really—”

She was cut off by someone calling out “Katie!” And moments later, a small form nearly crashing into her to wrap her into a hug.

Kathleen laughed, almost spinning with the force of it. “Hey, sweetheart. Missed you too.”

Okay. Kathleen had mentioned that she knew of Olivia’s daughter, she did not mention that they happened to be besties.

Juliet pulled out of the hug a little to scan over the small crowd, still holding on tight to Kathleen.

“I mentioned I have, like, a million siblings, right?” Kathleen asked, tilting her chin with two fingers to look back at her. “It’s a little overwhelming, I know. That there is Maureen…”

His heart was no longer pounding at a BPM high enough to power a racecar, but there was a different sort of ache in his chest, watching Kathleen speak to the girl so gently, introduce her to a family she should’ve known this entire time.

“...And that one’s Lizzie, she’s my favorite,” Kathleen finished. She paused a moment, then looked up at Maureen. “What, no reaction to that?”

“Why should there be? Lizzie’s my favorite too,” Maureen retorted. She offered the girl a kind smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Juliet.”

Juliet smiled back at her, weakly, and Elliot watched as Kathleen held her hand, running her thumb over her knuckles.

“Jet!” A voice called, a familiar voice, and it didn’t matter that it had been a goddamned decade, he would recognize that voice anywhere.

His heartbeat was back up to racecar levels.

“Turned around and you were gone, babe,” Olivia said, and he could even hear the smile in her voice, the real, genuine smile of her looking at her daughter.

Juliet— Jet—? Nestled back against Kathleen with an apologetic smile. “Wanted to catch Katie before she went home.”

“You think I’d leave without seeing my best girl?” Kathleen asked, mock offense in her voice. “Never.”

Olivia must have noticed them earlier, because there was no surprise in her eyes when she finally met Elliot’s gaze. Her walls had gone up. Her smile was no longer the gentle one she had for her daughter, but the one she used while undercover. The one that passed really, really well for a genuine smile except Elliot knew her and Elliot could see the hardness behind her eyes.

“Olivia,” Kathy said, desperate to break the awkward pause that had fallen between the three of them. “You look great.”

“You as well,” Olivia said, with an acknowledging tilt of her head. Her eyes did not leave Elliot’s.

“It’s good to see you,” he managed, and why did his voice sound like that, oh, God, it was hoarse and gravelly and—

“Hey, Liv!” Lizzie said happily, weaving around her father to— very bravely, in his opinion— give Olivia a hug.

Olivia softened upon seeing Lizzie, of course she did, she’d always been soft for the kids. “Elizabeth,” she murmured. “I hear you’re a teacher now. Do you love it?”

“I do,” Lizzie responded, eyes bright. “It’s wonderful.”

“Good.” Olivia squeezed her shoulder, before letting go. “Jet, sweetie,” she said, redirecting her focus to her daughter. “You remember I said I used to work with Eli and Katie’s Dad?”

“Mhm,” Jet hummed. She looked at Elliot with thinly veiled suspicion.

“This is Kathy,” Olivia gestured towards the woman, before turning back to him. “And this is Elliot.”

Jet’s expression changed in an instant, for an instant. Her eyes went slightly wide, she took half a step back, a small inhale of air. Squeezed Kathleen’s hand. It was over just as fast as it started, but Elliot knew.

This kid knew his name, she had heard about him, and whatever she’d heard, it wasn’t good.

“Kathy, Elliot, this is my daughter Jet,” Olivia introduced, voice warming on her girl’s name.

Jet was an interesting nickname for Juliet. It suited her, Elliot thought. “Congratulations, Jet,” Elliot said. “On your award— Physics, that’s pretty impressive.”

Jet stared at him, eyes still wide, before they flicked briefly to her mother, as if waiting for instruction on how to respond. She offered a pressed smile before her gaze dropped to the floor, and she let go of Katie’s hand to tuck herself into Olivia’s side. She was wearing the same outfit, the black dress, the leggings— only now she had an oversized hoodie thrown over it. A black hoodie, with white eyes printed on the chest, and distorted text that took Elliot a moment to read. Siouxsie and the Banshees. What kid still listened to Siouxsie and the Banshees, these days? Her makeup was darker, smudged, like she’d been rubbing at her eyes.

“You’re on the Robotics team, right?” Kathy asked, voice gentle. She had a way with kids. A way that apparently did not work on Jet, who seemed to still be relying on Olivia for direction. “Eli’s on the build team.”

Jet nodded, eyes still on the ground. “I, uh, code.”

It was probably Olivia’s hoodie, Elliot realized. Olivia’s from college, most likely, passed down to her daughter the same way Kathleen had acquired his Marines hoodie.

Kathy opened her mouth to continue, to try to engage this girl in any conversation, when a booming voice cut her off. “There are my rockstars!”

A young, enthusiastic, and very tall man with reddish hair approached the group with a broad smile. “Benson, Stabler,” he announced.

Elliot nearly bit through his tongue, and Olivia visibly winced at the words. And then he realized that this man was not, in fact, calling him and Olivia to attention, rather greeting their kids.

“Coach!” Eli said, leaning forwards to fist bump him.

The Coach turned to Jet. “Thumbs up work for you?” He asked, offering one, and Jet quickly gave him a thumbs up in response. “Attagirl,” he said, before turning. “Katie Stabler!” He gasped, in faux surprise. “Always a beautiful day to see you. Though I see you’ve brought the entire clan this time…”

“Don’t flirt with my sister,” Eli warned.

“I’m not gonna flirt with your sister. Not right now, anyways. Your dad could kick my ass,” the Coach said, with a wink in Kathleen’s direction. She rolled her eyes.

“Damn straight,” Elliot muttered, just loud enough for the Coach to hear him, and he was pleased when he saw his smile falter just for a second.

Katie shot him a glare.

“Captain Benson, always a pleasure,” the Coach said, returning his attention to Jet and Olivia, and it felt like an alarm bell went off in Elliot’s head. Captain? Of course she was Captain. Who else would it be, now?

Sergeant. Lieutenant. Captain.

“You and Mrs. Sun can expect an email from me in the next few days. We’re having our annual Girls Who Code day at the middle school, and I think Fighter-Jet over here is just who we need to inspire the next generation,” the Coach continued.

“I think that sounds lovely,” Olivia agreed with a smile, holding her daughter by the shoulders. “What do you think, babe?”

Jet hesitated. “Do I have to wear the pink shirt?” She eventually muttered.

The Coach laughed. “I’m sure we can make an exception. Just make sure to bring your sparkling personality, and we’ll be all set.”

Jet fought back a smile at that, but Elliot could almost see it peeking through. It was cute. She was a cute kid. It was a strange feeling, seeing Olivia, this woman who he’d known better than he’d known himself at one point, and this little girl, who he didn’t know at all, but now was Olivia’s entire world. That much was obvious, from the way Olivia spoke to her, smiled at her, held her.

And Jet looked up at Olivia like she’d hung the moon and stars in the sky.

I should’ve been there. I should’ve been there. I should’ve been there.

The Coach said his goodbyes, making his way to the next Robotics kid he could find. Eli was catching up with a friend, Lizzie, Rich and Maureen huddled together around Lizzie’s phone.

“Captain,” Elliot blurted out, without thinking. “That’s… that’s amazing.”

“Cragen wasn’t gonna stick around forever,” Olivia replied. “Someone has to run the place.”

“Right,” Elliot said. “Yes. H— How’s he doing?”

“Fine,” Olivia replied, shortly. “Are you back off to Europe after the holidays?”

Elliot blinked. Katie must have told her. “No. No, I’m…”

Fuck it.

“I’m back with the NYPD,” he said.

Kathy whipped her head towards him, shocked. “What?” He heard Maureen gasp behind him, and he couldn’t see the responses of his other children, but he imagined they were all in a similar vein.

“It’s a new development,” he continued, weaker. “I, uh— just found out this morning.”

There was a fire in Olivia’s eyes, a dangerous blaze, and he did not like that he was the one that put it there. “That’s great,” she said, through a very forced smile. “Welcome back.”

Juliet glanced up at her mother, and then leveled Elliot with one of the deadliest glares he thought he’d ever seen. Definitely her mother’s daughter. He had no idea what the hell to say next. It felt like any step he took now would be a misstep, like he’d walked to the end of the plank, and was out of beams to hold onto.

Even his kids were quiet, unfortunately, no help.

“Mama,” Juliet said suddenly, tugging on her mother’s sweater. She pulled Olivia’s phone out from the front pocket of her purse. It was buzzing. “Uncle Rafa’s calling.”

Uncle Rafa. Of course Juliet had aunts and uncles he’d never even heard of, didn’t know existed. What, did he expect Olivia to stay in a static state for over a decade? Never meet anyone new, stay a detective forever? God, what had he been thinking?

Olivia took a deep breath, wrapping a protective arm around her daughter. He knew, he knew that wasn’t the implication she was making, but the idea that he was someone she needed to protect her daughter from…

“We have to get going,” Olivia said, never losing her smile. “Congratulations, Eli.”

“Thanks,” Eli piped up behind Elliot. “Congrats to you too, Jet.”

Jet nodded quickly, nearly tugging her mother along as they turned to leave. Olivia draped her arm around Jet’s shoulders once more and answered her phone with a “Hey, Rafi, I’m at Hastings with Jet.”

He couldn’t hear whatever she said next, as far down the hallway as she was.

“You know, a heads up would’ve been nice,” Kathy said to him, crossing her arms, snapping him out of his little trance.

Elliot ran a hand over his face. “Kath, I— I literally just found out, I was gonna tell you all tomorrow…”

“Well, Olivia seems real happy about it,” Rich muttered, to which Elliot sent him a weak glare.

Eli shouldered his way past Katie to bump against his father. “Why didn’t you tell me Olivia was around? Isn’t she my Godmother?”

“It’s complicated,” Kathy snapped, before Elliot could answer. “It’s… we didn’t know she was here beforehand.”

“But why wouldn’t you keep up with my Godmother?” Eli pressed. “I mean, I assume you guys were good friends, if you decided she should be my—”

“I think it’s time for dinner,” Maureen announced loudly, effectively shutting down any more conversation. She’d gotten even better at it than Kathy since her twins became old enough to argue. “Come on, Eli, you get to pick.”

That proved to be enough distraction to start a conversation, debate, whatever amongst his kids, enough noise that Elliot didn’t have to participate, could look back over his shoulder at where the Bensons had disappeared.

He felt Kathleen’s eyes linger on him, but didn’t turn to look at her.

Chapter Text

He had done a wonderful job of avoiding SVU so far, which wasn’t super difficult, considering he thought it was in his own best interest to avoid incurring the wrath of Olivia Benson for as long as possible.

But he had always been one to tempt fate.

So when Sergeant Bell floated the idea of bringing SVU onto a case, he didn’t hesitate for nearly as long as he should have in volunteering to bring the file down to Captain Benson for review.

Fin eyed him as he walked through the door to the old bullpen. “She mentioned you were back in town.”

“Yeah, I’m with—” He gestured up. “Organized Crime Control. How’ve you been, man?”

Fin raised his eyebrows. “She’s in a meeting. Should be back any minute.”

“Great.” Elliot backed up to the door to Cragen— Olivia’s— office and leaned against it, opting to wait for her there.

The doors opened not even a minute later, but instead of Olivia, the smaller Benson pushed through. Her hair was in a messy braid down her back, eyeliner even more dramatic than the last time Elliot had seen it. Under her unbuttoned coat he could see she was wearing another band shirt— R.E.M. Another piece of clothing he would not have been surprised to find was originally from Olivia’s closet.

“Hey, babygirl,” Fin said as Jet made her way up to his desk. “Mom’s in a meeting with the Chief.”

“Oh, so she’ll be in a great mood tonight,” Jet muttered. “Is her office—” She glanced over, caught sight of Elliot, and did a double take. “What’s he doing here?” She asked Fin, almost hissed.

“Jet, right?” Elliot asked, trying to gentle his voice, before Fin could respond. “I’m Katie and Eli’s dad, we met at the—”

“I know who you are,” she snapped, crossing her arms.

Ooookay. Elliot scrambled for something, anything… “That used to be the only band your mother and I could agree on. R.E.M. When we had stakeouts or…” He gestured vaguely. “Were sent on surprise road trips.”

Jet glanced down at her shirt, then back up at him, though she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Stay away from her.”

That got the attention of both Fin and the blonde detective across from him, who looked up, surprised.

Elliot blinked. “I’m sor—?”

“I mean it.”

“Jet—” The blonde woman started, reaching forwards, but Jet stepped out of her reach.

Her shoulders were hunched, like she was more on the defense than the offense, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. “Leave my mom alone. She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Okay,” Elliot said, because he wasn’t sure exactly what was happening here but the kid seemed to be biting like a frightened dog more than biting like an angry tiger. “Hey, if your mother tells me to get the hell out, I will get out, alright?”

“Juliet,” the blonde woman said louder, standing. “Honey, why don’t you come with me to Uncle Rafa’s office?”

Jet was breathing harder now, and she glanced at Fin.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Fin promised. “You can go with Aunt Manda.”

Jet’s shoulders slumped a little, and she accepted the hand ‘Aunt Manda’ placed on her back, guiding her out of the bullpen. A few of the other officers around were giving them glances.

“What the hell was that about?” Elliot asked, partly to Fin and partly just to thin air.

“No DNA test needed, huh,” Fin said, returning to his computer. “She’s got her mother’s bite.”

Elliot was no longer leaning against the wall, now feeling much more tense, poised to bolt. There was no way Olivia would be happy to see him if her daughter was that upset about his presence in the precinct.

He got his answer a few minutes later when Olivia breezed into the bullpen with a man beside her.

“Where’s Rollins?” The man asked, before Olivia could say anything.

“Your office,” Fin replied, without looking up.

The man— who must have been ‘Uncle Rafa,’ then— scrunched his face in a combination of confusion and distaste. “I told her I was coming here.”

“I think it was more about gettin’ Jet out of here before she chased Stabler away than anything to do with paperwork,” Fin said. “Oh, Liv,” he continued, finally looking up. He pointed right at Elliot. “Stabler’s here.”

“Thank you, Fin, I might have missed that,” she replied drily. “Detective, what can I do for you?”

“You have a minute?” He asked, before he could lose his nerve and just hand her the case file and run back to OCCB.

Olivia ran her tongue over her teeth, took a long inhale, and glanced at her watch as she considered. “Sure,” she finally said, not sounding all too happy about it. “Barba, I’ll be by grab Jet from your office in a few, we’re heading out early today.”

Barba-slash-Uncle-Rafa tipped his head in acknowledgement, already halfway out the door again.

Olivia shouldered past Elliot to unlock her office door, ushering him in. “Did Jet give you a hard time?”

Elliot paused as she closed the door behind them. “She’s… she’s protective of you.”

“You can say territorial, it’s alright.” Olivia plopped into the chair behind her desk, seeming exhausted. “What did she say?”

“She just… made it clear that she’d prefer if I kept my distance.” Elliot slowly sat in a chair across from her desk, choosing his words very carefully. “Told me you weren’t— ah— interested in hearing from me.”

Olivia sighed, running a hand over her face. “Oh, Juliet…” she murmured to herself. “I’m sorry,” she directed towards Elliot. “She’s not the biggest fan of… men. As a whole.”

That only raised alarm bells in Elliot’s head, as well as a few more questions about the girl’s father. “She’s protective of you,” he repeated. “Which tells me you must be a pretty damn good mom. Doesn’t surprise me.”

Olivia responded with a pressed smile. “Why are you here?” She asked, shutting down any further conversation of her daughter.

Elliot slid the manila folder onto her desk. “Sergeant sent me. Thought OCCB could use your help on this one.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow, taking the folder with one hand and sliding reading glasses from her head to her face with the other. “And she sent her detective to run files, instead of a uni?”

“Maybe the detective volunteered.”

Olivia didn’t respond, just continued to flip through the papers inside the folder, pointedly not looking up.

“Olivia,” he said quietly, and then waited.

And she made him wait. Until she finished skimming the papers, at least, and ran out of an excuse to avoid eye contact any further. “What.”

“I think we should talk.”

“I’m busy. I have to take Jet to a doctor’s appointment in—” She glanced at her watch again. “Soon.”

“I didn’t mean now. Over coffee, sometime. Or— is Woo Hop still around?”

Olivia stared at him for a moment, gaze hard. “Ten years,” she said. “No, eleven. Eleven years you’re gone, and then you come back, and you think you’re entitled to my time.”

“A simple ‘no’ would suffice,” Elliot muttered, because he never really knew when to leave well enough alone.

Olivia took a deep breath, and then let out a noisy sigh. “I just can’t imagine what you could possibly say that would make me any less pissed off at you than I’ve been for the past decade.”

“Look, Liv—”

“Olivia.” Olivia crossed her arms. “And you’ll be grateful I don’t insist on Captain Benson.”

She was provoking him, seemingly intentionally, and he was going to try very hard not to rise to the bait but he also wasn’t gonna make any promises. “Alright, Captain. I want to apologize, the best I can. I want to explain, the best I can. And if you’re still pissed off at me afterwards—” He put his hands up in a motion of surrender. “Which you probably will be, understandably, then at least we can figure out where to go from there.”

“Very bold of you to assume that we will be going anywhere.”

“Didn’t say we had to go together.”

Olivia blinked at that, like he had actually managed to surprise her. She took off her glasses, tucked them back into her hair. She was silent for a long moment, before saying, “Woo Hop is still around.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Might even still have your card on file.” She started shoving papers back into their folder. “Tell Sergeant Bell I’ll be up to see her sometime in the next few days.”

“Can do, Captain.” She rolled her eyes at his remark. He became a little more serious as he stood to leave. “Is she okay?”

“Sorry?”

“Jet. You said you were taking her to the doctor’s. Just a check-up, or…?” If Olivia was really doing this on her own— which from the lack of ring, and some prodding at Katie, it sounded like she was— then having a sick child on top of everything else sounded like an immense amount of additional pressure.

She paused for a moment, like she was debating between telling him it was none of his goddamn business, which she would have every right to, because it wasn’t, or just giving him a break.

She sighed again, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. “I’m taking her to see a cardiologist. We don’t— we don’t know yet.”

The cardiologist. That sounded like whatever was going on was pretty serious. “Good luck. I hope she feels better.”

Olivia smiled a tired smile. “Me too.”

Elliot took his dismissal, opening the door to leave. “I’ll see you around, Captain Benson,” He said, and then closed the door with a click behind him.

All things considered, that could’ve gone so much worse.

— — — — — —

“I hated him.”

Olivia slid into the driver’s seat, pressing two fingers to her temple in an attempt to beg the Tylenol she’d taken fifteen minutes ago to hurry up. “I’m not taking you back there. We’ll do the electrocardiogram, then I’ll take you somewhere else.”

“How is he even qualified?” Jet grumbled, fighting with her seatbelt. “Is it because I’m a girl? I bet it’s because I’m a girl.”

“Babe, some doctors are just trapped in the last century,” Olivia said. “You’ll unfortunately find that a lot in the field.”

“Do I have to do the echocardiogram too?” Jet asked, looking up at her mother, pleadingly. “I really don’t…”

“We’re gonna start with the electrocardiogram,” Olivia said. “And then we’ll take it from there. I’ll take you somewhere else, and if they want the echocardiogram, we’ll figure it out. But if you end up having to get it done, I will be in the room with you the entire time. I promise. I don’t want you stressing about this.”

“Because it’s all just anxiety, anyways,” Jet muttered sardonically, crossing her arms.

“Honey, we both know this is beyond anxiety. Just because the doctor said—”

“I told him I don’t drink coffee anymore three times. And he still kept telling me the palpitations would go away if I stopped drinking coffee…”

“I know, baby, I was there. And that’s why I’m taking you to someone else. I’d like to find a doctor that will take this seriously.”

Olivia was quietly seething that she’d taken off from work early to bring her daughter to the doctor for a serious issue just for the man to brush it off as teenage anxiety. She could have fought with him on it, and very nearly did, but in the end she would much rather find a doctor that took their concerns seriously outright instead of one that had to be begged to even listen.

Jet turned on the radio, already set to channel 33. The voice of Debbie Harry didn’t do much to calm Olivia’s nerves.

“Thinly veiled medical misogyny aside,” Olivia said. “You have a good day?”

“It was fine. I had a Japanese test that was kind of hard.” Jet shrugged. “Other than that it was normal.”

Olivia hummed her response, and they were both quiet for a moment.

“Heard you ran into Katie’s dad in the precinct today.”

There was a beat, before Jet said, “briefly.”

“Heard you weren’t too happy to see him,” Olivia continued, slowly, leadingly.

“You told me you worked with Katie’s dad. Why didn’t you tell me Katie’s dad is Elliot?”

Olivia blinked, startled at the question. “I… I didn’t think that would mean anything to you. I don’t remember ever mentioning Elliot to you.”

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Jet shrugged again. “It was a while ago,” she mumbled.

“Yeah? What did I tell you?”

Jet stared right out the window. “I don’t know. Uncle Fin talked about him once, said he was a pain in the ass.”

“Uncle Fin thinks everybody’s a pain in the ass. He called Sonny a pain in the ass yesterday.”

“I don’t know, okay?” Jet replied, slightly more aggressively than before. “You don’t act all weird when you see Sonny the way you do when you see Elliot. It’s different.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes you do. You go into cop-mode. And not like— not like when you’re being all gentle with victims. Like when you’re interrogating.”

They were quiet again.

“Did I… scare you?” Olivia asked hesitantly.

“No. I’d never be scared of you.”

“Okay.” They were close to home, now. Almost to the parking garage. “It’s been ten years since I’d last heard from Elliot, so I was just a bit taken by surprise to see him at your school, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Jet said, and didn’t sound like she really believed her.

Olivia sighed as she pulled into her spot. “And babe, you really can’t chase him out of the bullpen. He’s a cop too, we need to work together sometimes, that’s just how it is.”

“Okay,” Jet repeated, and then looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Olivia said softly, when neither of them moved to leave the car. “Jet, sweetheart, you don’t have to protect me. That’s not your job, alright? And you definitely don’t need to protect me from Elliot.”

Jet stayed quiet.

“Is there something about him that bothers you?” Olivia pressed a little. Elliot was a man, he was big, he was tall— it was possible he reminded Jet of someone from her life before Olivia had been a part of it.

But Jet only shook her head.

“I mean, he’s Katie’s dad, and she turned out alright,” Olivia added, mostly in an attempt to lighten the conversation a little.

“Because you and I are shining examples of how daughters are always reflective of their fathers,” Jet muttered.

Okay, maybe Olivia had walked right into that one.

“Touché,” she said, and unbuckled her seatbelt. “C’mon, I’ll make spaghetti. We can talk about this a little more later, but right now, I’m hungry.”

— — — — — —

The family dinners were a little awkward, at first.

The problem wasn’t sitting next to his ex-wife. That was strangely one of the easier parts. He wasn’t sure what it said about his and Kathy’s three decades of marriage that the transition felt weirdly normal to both of them, but at least there was little animosity there. At least— little visible animosity. They were both too tired for animosity, these days.

But no, it was having all his children in one place. Maureen and Katie had been out of the house by the time Eli was old enough to sit at the table. But now there were his five children, one son in law, two grandsons, and ex-wife— and it wasn’t even Thanksgiving.

The point was to give Eli more time with his siblings, since he had missed out on so much of it. And for Elliot to catch up on his kids’ lives, which he was grateful for the opportunity, but still…

It was weird.

What was especially weird was their conversation topic of choice, because a curious and well-meaning but woefully oblivious Lizzie had asked Eli about going to school with Juliet Benson.

“She’s fine,” Eli said, with a shrug. “She’s really smart. I know Hastings is hard to get into, and all, but she’s like— even smarter than that. I think she’s…” Eli turned to his sister. “Uh— Lizzie, what’s the polite way to say it?”

“To say what?” Lizzie asked.

“Y’know, like— like the kids you work with.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Disabled?”

“No, Liz, I know the word disabled, I meant—”

“Meant what?” Lizzie asked, obviously enjoying watching him squirm. “You’re saying she’s autistic?”

“Yes, but I was trying to be—” He groaned.

“On the spectrum,” Maureen supplied.

“Thank you, Mo, yes, that’s what I was getting at,” Eli said, pointing at Maureen. “I think she’s on the spectrum, or something.”

“Why do you think that?” Maureen asked.

Elliot glanced at Kathy, expecting her to make some sort of comment shutting down this line of conversation, some remark about it being rude to speculate about this sort of thing. But Kathy just poked at her salad, pointedly not looking up, and Elliot almost had to smile because he recognized exactly what she was doing. It was the same way she got away with claiming she never participated in her sisters’ gossip. She never shut it down, but she never actively engaged.

Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.

Eli looked over at Lizzie warily. “Go on,” Lizzie prompted. “I wanna hear this.”

“You go to a genius school, half the kids there are gonna be autistic,” Rich said through a mouthful of potato.

“Richard,” Maureen and Kathy said warningly, almost in unison.

“It’s just— she barely talks, and I don’t mean like… just quiet, like, sometimes she can’t talk, and she barely makes eye contact with anyone, and she doesn’t really smile or— or show any emotion, really, and she doesn’t let anybody touch her, even when Coach Aubrey is just giving a fist bump or something,” Eli listed off.

“She does all of those things,” Katie snapped suddenly, after having been quiet for most of the conversation, looking very peeved. “You watched her hug me in front of everyone here.”

“Yeah, but you have a whole degree in working with special ed kids, I just thought—”

“Jet smiles, talks, and definitely has emotions. She’s a good kid who’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t deserve to be the subject of dinner table gossip,” Katie continued, growing further frustrated. “She was just really overwhelmed the night of the ceremony. So if anyone at your school is giving her any shit—”

“Language,” Maureen cut in, as her little children were, while not at the table, definitely within earshot. “Nobody meant any harm, Katie, we were just curious.”

“Sorry, who is this kid?” Carl cut in. “Because I’m… lost.”

“Dad’s police partner when we were kids,” Maureen explained, “Her daughter goes to school with Eli. We just found out she exists.”

Carl’s mouth made a little ‘O’ shape, and he went back to his dinner, obviously not aware of what a dramatic revelation this had been for the family as a whole.

“Fine, then, since you know her so well, Kate,” Lizzie said. “I still wanna know what she’s like.”

Katie sighed, glanced up at Elliot, back down at her food. “She’s a lot like her mom, wants to be a cop when she grows up.”

Elliot had noticed Jet’s similarities to Olivia, but he could honestly say he hadn’t really expected that second part. He couldn’t help but wonder how Olivia felt about her daughter wanting to follow in her footsteps, wanting to engage in such a dangerous profession.

“She loves old horror movies, sci-fi, video games, outer space. She makes electronic art, says she’ll either study computer science or astrophysics or aerospace engineering in college.” Katie softened a little, looking back down at her plate. “Absolutely idolizes Olivia, and loves her more than anything. They’re really very sweet.”

“How is she?” Kathy asked, almost startling Elliot with her break from silence. “Olivia, I mean. Is she doing okay?”

Katie looked up, meeting her mother’s eyes, and they had a silent conversation that made Katie’s eyes harden a little. It was Maureen’s turn to avoid looking at both her mother or sister.

Elliot had no idea what to do with that.

“She’s doing well,” Katie said, tone curt.

“Uncle Eli!” Kieran’s little voice shouted from the living room, breaking the tension. “I need your help with the— with the legos, please!”

“On it!” Eli called back, swooping out of his chair. Kathy stood and disappeared into the kitchen, and they heard the coffee machine start a moment later.

“What’s the Organized Crime Bureau like?” Rich asked Elliot, effectively ending all talk of the Bensons. “Met anybody from the Mafia, yet?”

Elliot tore his gaze away from Katie and huffed a laugh. “Yeah, nothing that exciting.”

— — — — — —

Jet had a row of miniature retro arcade games on her desk, next to her computer monitor. Fin had helped her establish her little collection over the years. Pac-Man, Galaga, Tetris, some more Olivia didn’t know the names of.

Jet was holding Tetris now, curled up in the corner of her bed, seemingly incredibly focused on the game.

But Olivia knew she saw her in the doorway.

She didn’t ask her to put the game down, or turn it off. Olivia knew her daughter, knew her well. Knew that if they were gonna talk about anything serious, Jet wouldn’t be able to make eye contact the whole time, would become jittery if her hands weren’t busy. The arcade games were a blessing because they didn’t force her to think as much as coding would, they just provided her with something to do with her hands.

“Are you mad at me?”

Olivia took a step into the room, and then another, until she could perch on the edge of the girl’s bed. Jet didn’t look up from her game when she asked, didn’t look up from her game when Olivia sat. “Of course not, sweetheart. Why would I be mad at you?”

“For telling Elliot to stay away from you.”

“I… wish we had discussed this together before that happened, but I’m certainly not mad at you.” Olivia pushed herself up on the bed, so she could lean against the wall, her back against a poster of the Eagle Nebula. “I’m a little worried about what caused you to have such a strong reaction.”

No response, except for the little beeps of Tetris blocks clicking into place.

“Did you read something about him online?”

Jet’s head snapped up at that. “Should I have?”

“No. But every cop is in the news at some point, and I didn’t know if when you Googled me in the past…”

“I told you I wouldn’t do that again.”

“I know.”

“So I didn’t.”

“I believe you.”

“I didn’t read anything about him online.” Jet looked down at the screen again, where her brief distraction had caused the blocks to pile up in an inconvenient pattern. “I don’t know. Maybe something just ticked me off. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Olivia reiterated, then reached out to lay a hand on her calf. “Would it bother you if I got lunch with him sometime?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Lunch?” Jet repeated, and jammed a button on her game a bit too aggressively.

“To catch up. On whatever we’ve missed these past ten years.” Olivia knew she didn’t have to ask her daughter for permission to go out, but she also knew Jet was a special case, and was very, very careful about how men were introduced into her life in any capacity. If something about Elliot was freaking her daughter out, she wanted to show the girl that she heard her, was taking her concern seriously.

“You can get lunch with whoever you want,” Jet said.

“I know. But if there’s something that’s bothering you, I’d like to address it.”

“I don’t know,” Jet repeated, frustrated, then immediately shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound— I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Olivia said softly. “You want me to drop it for now?”

“I don’t mind if you get lunch with him,” Jet responded. “It’s fine. It’s alright. Hell, get dinner, I’ll hang out with Katie, we’ll have a great time speculating about what you two have to say to each other.”

Maybe that wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe asking Katie to spend some time with Jet while Elliot and Olivia had their… conversation, would do the kid some good.

Katie’s name reminded Olivia of another conversation she’d been meaning to have for quite some time now. She glanced over at Jet’s bookshelf. “What are you reading, right now?” Olivia asked.

“Project Hail Mary. One of the books Alex recommended.”

Olivia hummed her response, scanning over the titles on the shelves. “You read American Psycho?”

“No. I’ve been… I thought about it, but I’ve been a little nervous to.”

Olivia nodded slowly. “Why’d you buy it?”

Jet took a deep breath. “Thought it might help me… understand.”

“Understand?”

“Why some people…” She jammed another button on her game. “You know.”

“Is that why you have Lolita, too?”

“Yeah. I already read that one, a few times.”

A few times?

“Those books, Jet… can you look at me, for a minute?” This was one conversation Olivia didn’t want Tetris in the way for.

Jet ended her game, set the toy to the side.

“Honey, I’ve been doing my job for a long, long time. And there are a lot of reasons why people do bad things, and the more you try to understand why… it’s— it’s not something a sane, healthy person can ever really grasp. Not without many, many years of studying, at least.”

“Like Katie?”

“Yeah, like Katie, but I don’t think even she would read American Psycho.” Olivia paused, tried to figure out how to formulate the rest of her thought. “Those books aren’t nonfiction, and they weren’t written to educate. They were written with the audience in mind, not the subject. The authors made certain decisions in the stories to elicit reactions from the audience, not necessarily to portray a completely accurate image of the abuse. Does that make sense?”

God, she sounded like one of her mother’s lectures.

Jet nodded slowly.

“I just… I don’t know if I want you reading American Psycho. That book was meant for adults, and while you’re very mature for your age…” Olivia reached to cup the back of Jet’s head, brush her fingers through the braid that was beginning to fall out of its confines. “I want you to enjoy being a kid for as long as possible,” she finished in a murmur.

Jet bit her lip. It was a bit too late for that. It had been, for a long time. And as much as Olivia was trying to give her baby at least a little bit of her childhood back— there were some parts of it that were irreparable.

“Okay,” Jet said quietly. “I won’t— I’m not gonna read it.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said softly, and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t think I’m old enough to read it either, for the record.”

Jet smiled at that, a weak smile, but at least it was something.

“Is there anything you want to talk about that you read in Lolita?” Olivia asked gently, trying to gauge the minute changes in the girl’s expression.

But Jet just shook her head, her eyes falling down to her lap.

“Alright. That’s okay,” Olivia said, dropping that one. There were some things she wouldn’t press Jet to discuss outside of therapy. “But I am here if you want to talk about it. The book, or… or if you’re having any sort of thoughts about the topics in these books.”

“I was just curious,” Jet said softly.

“And that’s okay. I’d never get mad at you for being curious, alright?” Olivia said, pulling the girl closer for a hug. “But when you’re curious about this sort of thing, remember you’re living with someone who’s done this job for a long time. You can ask me anything, even if… even if you’re worried it might upset me, I still want you to ask. It’s what I’m here for.”

Jet nodded, clutching onto Olivia’s sweater.

They stayed like that for a while, until Olivia moved to stand, but Jet held on.

“You okay?” Olivia asked.

“Can you stay in here? For a little bit?” Jet looked up at Olivia with big eyes, and Olivia could see the anxiety creeping in.

“Of course,” Olivia responded automatically, sitting back down, wrapping her arms around her daughter, pulling them both to lie down.

Jet took a shaky breath, burying her face into Olivia’s shoulder. Olivia rubbed her back soothingly, and didn’t ask what was wrong. If Jet knew what was wrong, she’d tell her. Sometimes the anxiety was just an amalgamation of stuff, a combination of seeing Elliot, the shitty doctor’s experience, thinking about Lolita again… any number of things could have led to Jet curling against Olivia, holding her close.

“You want me to read to you?” Olivia asked after a couple of minutes. “I can pick up where you left off in Project Hail Mary.”

“Can we read one of your books?” Jet turned her face out of her shoulder to ask.

“One of mine? Sure,” Olivia agreed. Any book that had first been introduced to Jet by Olivia was one of ‘her’ books now. “You want Nancy Drew, Little Women, Little House…”

“Little Women,” Jet mumbled.

Olivia acknowledged the request with a kiss to her forehead. “Just let me get changed, I’ll be right there.”

As she left the room, she crouched to take American Psycho from the shelf. She hesitated a moment, before sliding Lolita off as well.

By the time she returned to Jet’s bedroom, the girl had also changed into her pajamas, and was holding her stuffed dragon in her lap. Olivia climbed in the bed beside her, Jet wiggling close to the wall to make room for both of them, before curling back into her mother’s side.

Olivia opened Little Women to where they’d last left off, and read in a low, soft voice until Jet’s eyes were closed and her breathing had evened out.

She pressed another kiss to her daughter’s forehead, before carefully standing as not to disturb her, leaving the room with the door slightly opened.

There was an outlet outside the door to Olivia’s bedroom, where a nightlight shaped like a rocketship was plugged in. She hadn’t used it in a long time, since Jet was a little girl, and would get frightened and confused searching for her mom’s room in the dark after a nightmare or flashback.

She flicked it on for the first time in years.

Just in case.

Chapter Text

Okay, fine, it hadn’t been his smartest move. But it had been really, really funny. Not to the cops, but to a lot of people on the internet, so that had to count for something.

Unfortunately, though, the cops didn’t really care what the people on the internet thought, so he found himself handcuffed to a desk in the middle of some NYPD office on a random Tuesday afternoon after school. It wasn’t the desk they usually sat him at (handcuffless), because apparently Bell and Stabler had decided to loan him out for the day. And while all of the detectives were in a meeting, the handcuff had been deemed a satisfactory way of ensuring he didn’t run away to… wherever they thought he would go. Come on, he was fifteen, with not a lot of money, and they knew his address. What did they really think was going to happen?

At least it was only one hand. Both wrists would have been incredibly uncomfortable.

The handcuff wasn’t even the worst of his problems. The worst of his problems at this given moment was the sheer boredom. Even when they didn’t have anything for him to do up in OCCB, at least he could antagonize one of the seemingly nameless uniformed officers. Or Stabler. That was always fun.

This bullpen was devoid of life, or anything interesting to do.

He used the hand chained to the desk to propel the spinny chair to swivel back and forth, letting his mind wander. He wondered if he could fall asleep here. He wasn’t all that tired, but hey, it was something to do.

Until the doors to the bullpen swung open, and a girl pushed right through them, darting for the office at the front of the room.

Malachi sat up quickly, watching her as she knocked on the door, then tried the handle, and then let out a huff of frustration. She must have been around his age, maybe a little younger. Her backpack had a keychain, a big blue circle clipped onto the handle. Hastings-on-Hudson Technical High School Blue Moon Robotics. Oh, he’d heard of them. Fourteen, then, he'd guess— unless she was a very young looking fifteen— and a private school girl to boot.

She turned around to survey the room, and he could see the exact moment she noticed him, because her— admittedly very pretty— doe eyes blinked in confusion.

“Hey,” he said, waving with the hand that wasn’t chained to the desk. “What’s up?”

She just stared at him.

“I didn’t murder anyone,” he said, because he was handcuffed in a police precinct, probably better to clarify off the bat. “Or anything like that.”

“This isn’t the homicide bureau,” the girl finally spoke. She had a cute alt look going on, black overalls with a stripey shirt underneath, converse, two loose braids, blurry eyeliner. Would make a nice Hot Topic advert, he thought. Like the one promo image a teenager would choose to show their conservative mother to prove that Hot Topic wasn’t actually the Devil’s playground, look, Mom, they make school appropriate stuff too!

“Good,” Malachi said. “Because I didn’t murder anyone.”

She raised her eyebrows. “This is the sex crimes bureau.”

Shit. Malachi’s eyes widened. “I— uh— I didn’t do that either!” He panickedly added. “I am not a sex offender.”

Sounds like something a sex offender would say, his brain supplied, unhelpfully.

“I’m— helping out,” he continued, desperate for any information to prove to this cute girl that he was not, in fact, a sex offender. “With some of the tech-y stuff.”

The girl cocked her head. “I wasn’t aware the NYPD handcuffed their employees to the table,” she said.

“Well, I’m also a detained criminal,” Malachi added. “Not for— not for sex stuff, though.”

Smooth. Way to go, Adam, his brain responded once more. He thought it was somewhat unfair of his brain to criticize considering it wasn’t being very helpful at all at this moment in time.

“What did you do?”

“Sorry?” Malachi snapped out of his thoughts to see the girl take a step closer, studying him curiously. “Oh, you mean— to end up handcuffed to a desk?”

She just stared at him.

“Right. Yeah. I, uh— I hacked some jackass politician’s website, rerouted the donations to… well. To a service that delivered useless shit to his door.” It had sounded much funnier online, but now he was saying the words aloud to this very pretty girl, and he kind of felt like an idiot. “They said in place of community service, I could help out with some of the less classified investigations…”

Her eyes went a little wide. “The Jones-Harvey Hack,” she breathed. “You’re Malachi?”

There we go. That was a win. Name recognition was always a win. “At your service,” he said, attempting to spread his hands in a welcoming gesture even though he could only really move one of them. “Sorry, how— how did you know that? As far as I know, the media never released my name.”

“Yeah, because they said it was a ploy for attention,” the girl said, crossing her arms.

Ouch. “Well, it caught yours,” he fired back.

She blinked, startled, before regaining herself. “Everyone in the hacking world noticed it. Your trademarks aren’t exactly…” She wiggled her fingers for emphasis. “Subtle.”

“You’re a member of the hacking world?” He asked, amused. Who called it that? “Anybody I’d know?”

She didn’t answer.

“Alright, Lydia Deetz, be like that. You’ve asked your questions, now I ask mine.”

She glanced pointedly at his handcuff. “You don’t look to be in any position to be calling the shots,” she said. Which was— well, it was fair enough. He wasn’t so easily dissuaded, though.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, and he would’ve crossed his arms too if he could move them both. “Because you’re allegedly a hacker, but last I heard, the NYPD doesn’t employ twelve year olds—”

Her jaw dropped in offense. “Twelve?”

“—So unless you’re on some junior internship…” He trailed off, remembering how she’d made a beeline for the captain’s office. “Hang on. You’re a cop’s kid, aren’t you?”

“I am not twelve.”

“Ooh, that’s good,” Malachi said, nodding. “We’ve got Wednesday Addams over here, and her daddy’s a cop. The jokes write themselves.”

Tough crowd.

“Are you ever gonna tell me your name?” He asked. “Because I’m sure I can think of a few more, but it’d be easier if you just—”

“No.”

“Got it, Marceline.” He grinned, leaned back in his chair. “Y’know, they never figured out how I did it. The Jones-Harvey Hack.”

She pursed her lips. Studied him, more intensely.

“Don’t you wanna know?”

“I don’t care.” She stood, shoved the chair in. started to walk back to the office.

“I think you do,” he called after her. “I think it’s eating at you, isn’t it? How did I do it? Virus, worm, trojan…”

She didn’t turn around to face him. Took out her phone, made herself look busy. Her braids were held together with mismatched rubber bands. One purple, one black.

“That’s okay,” he continued. “Jealousy is a very healthy emotion. It motivates us to grow, to learn from those who have achieved great heights…”

She typed a little more aggressively on her phone. He smiled. “...Heights that you can only dream of.”

She shoved her phone into her pocket and whipped around, rapidly approached the desk. “It was a trojan, wasn’t it? Tell me I’m right, it was a trojan.”

Malachi sighed, offering an overly sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry, I have to invoke my Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination. Wouldn’t want you running the news back to dear old daddy, would we?”

The girl closed her eyes in frustration, breathed in hard through her nose, slid back into the chair across from him. “I would know if it was a worm,” she muttered, without opening her eyes. “You’re shit at those. And a virus—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Malachi said, waving a hand in dismissal. He was not shit at worms, he was just— stronger in other areas. “Hang on, there. If you’re part of the so-called hacker world, you must have seen the Anthill Contest.”

“I did, yes.”

“And you saw me place—”

“Second.” Her eyes opened, big and piercing. “Because I placed first.”

Malachi blinked, eyes wide. “Holy shit,” he breathed, and then quickly tried to fix his expression from one of complete awe to a shit-eating grin, which was far more on brand for him. “You’re the one that showed up out of nowhere. RosemarysBaby, right? Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “Didn’t realize I was in the company of an artist.”

“And I suppose I’m in the company of a comedian?”

“Try not to smile about it. You might have an allergic reaction or something.”

“Court jester,” the girl amended.

“Y’know what I think, Rosie?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I think, if I wasn’t a detained criminal handcuffed to this desk,” Malachi leaned in a little bit, still grinning. “I think you’d be into me.”

“I thought I was twelve,” she responded drily. “Maybe there’s a reason they locked you up in sex crimes.”

He ignored her. “Or are the handcuffs a thing for you?”

Her eyes went a little wider at that. Cute.

He lifted his cuffed hand to jingle the chain a little. “Cop’s daughter, you like a bad boy, a bit of a rebel…”

“You look like you cry when you see a spider.”

Malachi opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly, a look of pure fear flashed across his new friend— Rosie’s— eyes, and a moment later a man’s voice shouted “Hey!” from somewhere behind him.

Rosie was up and out of her seat in an instant. “Mom, I was just—”

“Juliet, come here, now,” a woman’s voice demanded.

Mom. That was interesting. Daddy wasn’t a cop, then. And Juliet? Pretty name, it suited her. More than Rosie, anyways.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The man’s voice continued, and Detective Stabler walked around the desk to pull out Malachi’s chair a little, jostle him a little.

“See you around, Rosie!” Malachi drawled loudly over his shoulder, just to further piss off the detective beside him.

He couldn’t see her anymore, but he could hear the indignation in her voice as she responded, “I told you not to call me—”

“Juliet Benson.” Mama Bear wasn’t fucking around, it seemed.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing at—” Detective Stabler continued, moving to block his line of sight, even though he couldn’t really see anything all that exciting anyways. “—but if you come anywhere near that girl again—”

“If I come near her?” Malachi protested, with offense. “I’m the one handcuffed to a desk! She came up to me, where the hell am I supposed to go with—” He jiggled the handcuff chain again, for emphasis. “Really, what did you want me to do?”

“Back off,” Stabler all but growled.

Malachi rolled his eyes. “Tell me, my friend, why is she so scared of you, huh? Because we were getting along just fine until you opened the door and the fear of God ignited in her soul. What’s that about?”

Stabler looked like Malachi— or, well, someone much stronger than Malachi admittedly was— had slapped him across his face. He recovered quickly, shook his head. “If you know what’s good for you, you will leave her alone. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Malachi bit out.

— — — — — —

Olivia tried to temper the anxiety bubbling in her stomach before it left her mouth sounding like anger, but in the end, it didn’t really work. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” Jet blurted out. Olivia wasn’t sure if the girl even knew what, exactly, she was apologizing for.

“He is a criminal,” Olivia snapped. “When you see nobody in the office except a guy handcuffed to a desk, that’s normally a sign—”

“I didn’t realize,” Jet said. “I just— I went in to go to your office, and I didn’t notice him, and then… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“He said he was just a hacker, he seemed harmless—”

“Plenty of people seem harmless, Juliet, you know this—!”

“I felt safer with him than your friend who burst into the room yelling!”

Olivia felt like she had just been slapped across the face, and she must have looked it, too, because Jet blanched. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I— I’m sorry, Mama—”

“Okay, okay, reset.” Olivia closed her eyes and waved her hands like she was clearing the words that had just been spoken. “We both need a reset.”

Eleven years, and as angry as she was at Elliot, she had absolutely no doubt in her mind that he would protect her daughter with his life, if it came down to it. But this man who she had known for so long— he was a stranger to Jet. A complete stranger. A large man with a loud voice.

“We’re going to talk about what you just said, later,” Olivia said quietly. “I’m not angry at you for saying it, but we do need to talk about it. Not now, though.”

“Okay,” Jet whispered, before adding another, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Olivia ran her hands over her face. “What are you even doing here? You have Robotics today, you should still be at the school…”

“Coach Aubrey is sick, it got canceled. I texted you.”

Olivia took her phone out of her pocket and groaned. “I was in a meeting.”

“With the Organized Crime Bureau?” Jet glanced back over her shoulder, at where Elliot was probably giving that hacker kid— Andrew? Adam? Probably Adam— One hell of a talking to.

“Yes,” Olivia said. “Why did that boy call you Rosie?”

Jet froze, glancing away, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. “Um…”

“Juliet,” Olivia said. “You need to be honest with me. Why is that boy calling you Rosie?”

“‘Cause of my screen name,” Jet admitted.

“Screen name?”

“What I go by online. Rosemary’s Baby.”

Olivia blinked a few times, reaching to press her fingers into her temples. There was so, so much to unpack here. “You call yourself Rosemary’s Baby online.”

“...Yes?”

“Why do you call yourself Rosemary’s Baby?” Probably not the most pressing issue, but for some reason, the only question Olivia could manage to get out.

Jet looked wholly embarrassed, glancing down at her feet. “Because my dad was the Devil?” She mumbled.

Olivia couldn’t exactly argue with that. “You’re not—” She moved her fingers from her temples so she could press the heels of her palms into her eyes. “You’re not even old enough to watch Rosemary’s Baby.”

“I didn’t watch it. I read it.”

“Right. Yes. Silly me.” Olivia nodded. “And does Adam know your real name?”

“Adam?” Jet asked confused, before her eyes went a little wide. “Malachi’s real name is Adam?”

The kid called himself Malachi? Olivia would laugh if her head didn’t hurt so damn bad. “Does Malachi know your real name?.”

“He didn’t until you yelled it in the middle of the bullpen.”

Olivia paused. Shit. She had done that, hadn’t she. Emotion had sort of overrun logic there. “When did you start hanging out with cybercriminals online?” She redirected the conversation.

Jet looked pained. “Mama—”

“Juliet.”

“It wasn’t— I didn’t know. All the contests I did were legal, we didn’t actually hack into anything real, the firewalls were all made up for the competition. I didn’t realize anything was wrong until I read about the Jones-Harvey Hack, and recognized Mala— Adam’s signature.”

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. “And where’d you read about this hack? In your subscription to Cybercrime Weekly?”

“Um,” Jet said. “Reddit, actually.”

Olivia nodded, a few times, too many times, but her head was pounding and dear God she needed to sit down. “Right. My favorite social media platform. Are you Rosemary’s Baby on there too?”

“I don’t have an account, it’s just the first thing that came up when I googled the hack.”

Olivia took a deep breath. “Do you realize how dangerous this—” she gestured vaguely, hoping the extent of all of Jet’s extracurriculars was implied. “All is? You’ve been participating in underground hacking competitions, against— against grown adults, who are particularly skilled in breaking into other people’s computers. You are a fourteen year old girl.”

Olivia opened her eyes to see Jet had gone rather pale. “Well?”

“No,” Jet said softly. “I didn’t— I didn’t realize it was dangerous. I didn’t think about it like that.”

Olivia believed her, surprisingly enough. Jet may have had trust issues in real life, but in the girl’s mind, hacking could save the world. Of course she’d assume the other hackers she met online would share her for justice! mindset. She seemed to feel safer online than in any physical location. “Then why didn’t you tell me about these… contests?”

“I…” Jet’s eyes flicked up to her, then back down again. “I thought you’d think I was… ungrateful, I guess.”

Olivia blinked, startled. She hadn’t really expected this turn in the conversation. She sat on the edge of the table. “Ungrateful?” She asked softly. “Babe, what do you mean?”

“You made sure I go to a really good school,” Jet said, and she looked mostly normal but there was a little waver in her voice that Olivia knew meant she was close to tears. “You come to my Robotics competitions, and stuff, you’ve let me do bootcamps, you’ve supported all of it, and I still went looking for more. I just wanted— I just wanted a challenge, and the contests… I never kept the money, I always donated it, I just…”

She had been winning money? Christ, Olivia was not feeling like a great mom right now, because how had she not noticed this? First the age-inappropriate books on her bookshelf, now underground hacking contests, where her daughter had collected prize money…

“Are you angry at me?” Jet asked, still looking at the floor.

“No,” Olivia replied on instinct, as she always did, whenever Jet asked. Which was fairly often. Which was why Olivia always said no. But really, now that she had calmed down, she realized she hadn’t even been angry, she had been— well, something close to panic had taken over when she’d opened the bullpen door to see her little girl talking with a guy handcuffed to a desk. “I was scared, Jet.”

“I’m sorry,” Jet said again.

“I know,” Olivia replied. “I know, honey. I’m not angry.”

“Okay,” she said, voice small.

Olivia sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I have to— I have to get back to work, alright? I’m not mad at you, and we will talk more about this later, but I have to... Can you hang out at Uncle Rafa or Sonny’s office until Katie or I come by to pick you up?”

“Mhm,” Jet hummed, shouldering her backpack. She still wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Think you can make it there without stopping to chat with any drug dealers or gang members on the street?” Olivia asked drily, but with a smile.

That elicited a grin, at least. A small one. “I’ll do my best.”

Olivia reached forward, brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I love you, baby. I just always wanna keep you safe, you know that?”

Jet nodded quickly. “I know. I love you too.” She leaned in so that Olivia could press a kiss to her forehead.

Olivia followed her out of the interrogation room and watched Jet go, up until she got to the elevators.

Then she turned back to the bullpen, channeling all of her true anger, putting the Captain Benson persona back on, to deal with the real problem at hand.

— — — — — —

Detective Stabler had seated himself at a random desk, drumming his fingers on his knee, apparently waiting for his lady-friend to return. Malachi couldn't see the doors, handcuffed as he was to facing the office, but he heard when they opened; heard when heeled boots walked in. The woman— Rosie-slash-Juliet’s mother—? Crouched down beside Malachi’s chair. She was smiling, but the smile was kind of terrifying, because the pure rage in her eyes was very, very evident.

“Adam, right?” She asked, through her teeth.

Now did not seem like the time to insist on the Malachi thing. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m Captain Benson. I’m the Commanding Officer of the Manhattan Sex Crimes Unit. And that girl you were just… speaking with,” she gestured out the door, where Juliet had left. “That girl is my daughter.”

He nodded in understanding, which seemed like the safest option.

“Now, I have been a cop for a very, very long time,” she said. “I have taken out cults and gangs. I have used deadly force. I have arrested men much bigger and stronger than you are. So I hope you’re taking me very seriously when I say—” She leaned in a little closer. “Leave my daughter alone. If you touch her, if you say something to her, if you so much as look at her wrong— I will make you wish we charged you as an adult and locked you up in Rykers. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Malachi managed out, voice both higher and hoarser than he would’ve liked it to be.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Captain Benson clapped the top of the table, pushed herself to stand. “Sergeant Bell should be here in a couple minutes, and then we’ll get to work.”

Detective Stabler looked all too smug as he stood to follow Captain Benson out. Asshole.

Chapter Text

A billion years ago (or at least what felt like it), when Kathleen was a freshman at Hudson, one of the very first classes she’d taken was Developmental Psychology. She still hadn’t known what she would major in— sure, she knew she was interested in psychology, but she didn’t want to be known as the “Bipolar girl who studies Bipolar Disorder” forever. Eventually she got over it, when Lizzie asked her a very good question— “Why would you rather let the neurotypicals be the only ones to study something that directly impacts you?” But that was besides the point, because the point was, she had taken Developmental Psychology, under the impression that even if she wasn’t a psychology major, the class would help her to be a better sister, a better aunt, and maybe one day, a better mother. (Though she was starting to get iffy on that point.)

During the course, she had of course learned all about Bowlby’s attachment styles, or how a baby’s relationship with their parents impacted their relationships for the rest of their life. She had once taken a multiple choice exam made up completely of case studies, where the behaviors of fictional children were described and she had to select which attachment style best fit their behaviors. Nowadays, her research focused mainly on romantic relationships, but it all went back to the parenting, didn’t it?

Katie knew that Fordham would ask her to teach a summer class again, and while she normally got stuck with Clinical Psych, she thought if they asked her to teach Developmental Psych, she would design a similar case study test. And when it came time to create an example of a child with a Disorganized Attachment Style, all she’d have to do was describe Jet Benson and her day-to-day behaviors.

At first glance, to any outside observer, Jet would appear totally avoidant. Katie hated to admit when her brothers had a point, but Eli had a point— the girl rarely smiled, hated being touched. She was very independent for a fourteen year old. But once she was near Olivia, things changed. She clung to her mother, fawned at times, always seemed desperate for her approval, desperate to make her proud, desperate not to let her down. And Olivia handled it well, from what Katie saw at least, with endless reassurances and patience. That didn’t really surprise her. Olivia was good at that sort of thing.

Katie could hear them talking now, by the door.

“Can I ask for something?” Jet said quietly, and maybe Katie shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but she slowed her removal of takeout from plastic bags anyways.

“Of course.”

“Can you— can you text me when you’re on your way home?”

“I can do that.” Olivia didn’t sound all that confused by the request. “You remember where Woo Hop is?”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Are you taking a taxi, or…”

“I’m going to take one there, then Elliot’s gonna drive us back, so he can pick up Katie.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?” Olivia’s voice was softer than Katie had ever heard it. “Honey, if something about this is making you anxious, I’d like to know.”

“No. I mean— I mean yes, I’m okay; no, I’m not anxious.”

“If your heart rate—”

“It’s normal. I’m fine, Mama, really…”

“You gonna let me finish?” Katie could hear the smile in Olivia’s voice as she asked. “If your heart rate spikes after dinner, write that down. I want you to start keeping track…”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

Katie stepped out of the kitchen a little, just enough to see Jet wrap herself around Olivia in a tight hug, and Olivia press a kiss to the top of her head. They stayed there for a long moment, before Olivia glanced up, met Katie’s eyes. She patted Jet on the back twice. “Alright, go help Katie with dinner.”

Jet nodded, darted right past Katie into the kitchen.

Katie approached Olivia, lowered her voice. “She okay? She’s usually not so…”

“Clingy?”

“Yeah.”

“I know. I don’t…” Olivia sighed, rubbed a finger over her mouth. “I don’t know. Something’s been bothering her, and I can’t… I don’t know if it’s about your father, for some reason, or if it’s something else…”

“You want me to try to…”

Olivia shook her head. “If she comes to you, that’s fine, but don’t push. I don’t want her to think you’re— I don’t know, on ‘my side’ or something.”

“I’m a psychologist. I’m on everybody’s side.”

Olivia smiled at that, reaching into her purse to produce an envelope. “I know you said—”

“No.” Katie was very firm about this. She would not take Olivia’s money. She owed Olivia far too much to ever take her money. For everything she did for her as a teenager, for bringing Eli safely into her life, for everything Katie wasn’t there for, should have been there for, during the past decade. There was no dollar amount that could ever pay back everything Olivia had given her. “No money. I’m not babysitting, and Jet would be mortified if she found out you were…”

“Kate,” Olivia groaned. “You’re hanging out with a kid half your age— younger, even— so I can go…”

“Don’t make me sound old. You’re the one hanging out with my dad so I don’t have to sit through our awkward biweekly phone call tonight where he tries really hard to find out if I have a boyfriend without outright asking me if I have a boyfriend.” Katie crossed her arms. “Looks like we’re both helping each other out.”

“Yeah, but he’s paying for dinner,” Olivia muttered.

“And you’re paying for mine.”

“Look, you’re a student, I know you could use—”

“Olivia.” Katie shook her head. “I could go home and call my little brother who’s too cool for his big sister, beg him to play a game with me before I drown in my own statistics, or I could hang out here with your kid, who actually thinks I’m cool, not have to look at my data for a few hours, and get my ass whooped in Starcraft. I think I like this deal.”

Olivia tapped the envelope a few times against her purse, considering.

“Your birthday’s coming up, right? If you give me that money I will spend the entirety of it on a birthday gift.” Katie grinned, having backed her into a corner. “Come on, Liv. Just go enjoy your da— dinner.” Katie caught herself, but not soon enough, as Olivia’s eyes went a little wide. “Dinner date,” Katie amended quickly. “I know this isn’t—”

“It absolutely is not. And Jet will freak out if she hears you call it—”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. Mo and I used to babysit for the neighbors on their date nights, so it sorta just slipped—”

“It’s fine. Really, it’s—” Olivia looked down, then up at the ceiling, probably willing away the blush that had just spread over her chest and up her neck. For a not-date, she was still dressed very nicely, in a soft sweater that looked like it cost more money than Katie currently had in her checking account (though as a grad student, the bar was in Hell), and jeans that fit her incredibly well. Good luck, Dad, Katie thought to herself, and swallowed her snort of laughter. “What’s the opposite of a date?”

“Uh,” Katie said. “You yelling at my dad for being a dumbass prick in between bites of lo mein?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said, nodding quickly, too many times. “That’s what— that’s what this is.”

“Good. He needs to hear it.”

Olivia gave her a tired smile, one Katie associated so closely with the Captain now, the way her mouth flattened out for just a moment, as she reached to squeeze Katie’s shoulder. “You’re an angel.”

“I’d tell you to have fun, but…”

Olivia’s smile turned wry. “Yeah, I don’t know…”

“I hope dinner’s nice,” Katie said instead. “If he says something stupid, let me know, and me and my sisters will…”

“Appreciate the support.” Olivia leaned a little to call into the kitchen. “Goodbye, Jet!”

Jet popped her head out a second later. “Bye, Mama,” she said, paused, and then bolted to the door for another quick hug. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Olivia said again. “Have fun, ladies.”

Katie observed Jet carefully as Olivia left the apartment, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her. She couldn’t really place the emotion across her face. Somewhere between wary and anxious and thoughtful and devastated.

“Hey,” Katie said softly, trying not to startle her out of her thoughts. Didn’t work. Jet jumped, as if she’d forgot Kate was behind her, turned, face now wiped of expression. Factory reset. “Come on, lovey, let’s have some empanadas. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

— — — — — —

Olivia really didn’t know what she had expected.

It was Elliot. It was just Elliot. He was still Elliot. Except he wasn’t her— not her Elliot, he had never been her Elliot, and she really couldn’t afford to think that way right now— he wasn’t the Elliot she remembered. She knew that. It had been over ten years. Over ten years of pain and laughter and love and tears. Nobody was the same after ten years. Elliot wasn’t the same after ten years. He couldn’t be.

But in a way, he was. Despite everything, he was still Elliot.

He had the same Woo Hop order, at least. Apparently the years couldn’t change that. So did Olivia, though. She almost changed it, almost tried something new, just so she wouldn’t have to see the little flicker of a smile around the corners of his mouth when he realized that despite everything, she was still Olivia.

Nothing changes except what has to, Cragen had said to her, once upon a time.

She supposed her Woo Hop order didn’t have to change. Not today, at least. Maybe next time. Just to keep the bastard across from her on his toes. He looked far too pleased with himself. She had been curious about the Hong Shao Rou anyways.

“I don’t know where to start,” she said. And it was the truth. Eleven goddamn years, and she had no idea where the hell they were supposed to start.

The ghost of the smile that had graced his mouth fell away. Elliot looked down at the table, and then back up at her. “I can try to explain,” he said. “Or if you want to give me the third degree, that’s okay too. You’ve— ah— you’ve earned that.”

Damn straight, she’d earned that.

They were both silent for a moment, and it felt like ages. Like seconds. Like eleven years, like the whole night, like a minute and thirty seconds.

“Who did I have?” She finally asked. “Who did I have, Elliot?”

He looked at her funny, confused by the question.

“My whole life…” Olivia covered her face with her hands, groaned. She should’ve planned for this. Should’ve concocted something intelligent to say, something meaningful, something to ensure he understood the full extent of her pain and anger. Or she should’ve just let him start, until he inevitably said something stupid, said some bullshit that triggered her tirade.

Instead, she’d avoided thinking about this conversation altogether. Even when she knew it was coming up, inevitable, even when she’d gotten a date, a time— she’d spent so long fantasizing about this conversation that she’d ignored the fact that it was going to be a reality. And for all her fantasizing… she couldn’t think of what she had ever thought to say.

“My whole life, people leave,” Olivia finally managed out. “The one constant in my life was that there was no constant in my life. And then— and then there was you.” She gestured sardonically towards him. “You stayed. And you kept staying. Through Gitano, Computer Crimes, Oregon, all of it— you stayed. For some fucking reason. Suddenly, I knew— I finally got to experience what it was like to be able to rely on someone. And people kept leaving, because that’s what people do, but at least… at least I had someone to turn to when everybody else left. Eventually, I stopped… I stopped wondering when you were gonna leave, and just accepted that for once, someone was here to stay.” She felt angry tears burning at the backs of her eyes, which was really fucking embarrassing at the moment, so she blinked hard in an attempt to force them back. “You were the most important— the single most important person in my life. And you just…” She gestured again, a little whoosh near her head. “Disappeared.”

Her voice cracked on that last word, and she had to clear her throat.

“So who did I have, Elliot? Once you were gone, without a word, without a goodbye— who the fuck did I have to turn to?”

At least he looked devastated, to his credit, mouth moving like he was fumbling for words, eyes wide and right on her.

She could interrogate him. She could go point by point through every detail of his leaving, piece it together like the timeline of a crime. But she wasn’t sure her voice was strong enough to handle much more. It was already hoarse, watery. And she didn’t feel like sobbing in the middle of Woo Hop tonight. Even though it would serve him right.

“So, I guess,” Olivia continued, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “The only question I really have is… why? Why did you leave like that? Did you blame me for Jenna Fox, the way you blamed me for Gitan—”

“No.” His answer was so fast, it cut her off, and he shook his head. “No. I never once blamed you. I don’t blame you for Gitano, either.”

“She was pointing her gun at me,” Olivia reminded him. “Straight at me. If she had pointed it at anyone else, would you have…”

“I don’t know.” Elliot rubbed at his jaw, harder than he necessarily had to. “I don’t know what I would’ve— But I didn’t blame you for Jenna Fox. Never.”

“Then why?” Olivia pushed. “I mean, I understand all the reasons you could’ve left, but without a word, Elliot, I called—”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. I saw your calls. I’m sorry.”

Olivia decided she had said her piece, and resolved to sit back in her chair. The rest was up to him, now.

“After the shooting,” he started slowly. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but somewhere far off. “They had to— you know. Procedure. Investigate. They told me not to contact anyone from the squad while they… so I didn’t. I was still… I think I was in shock, anyways, I couldn’t come to terms with— I barely remember those few days. All I remember were the nightmares.”

The waiter arrived at that very inopportune moment, sliding dishes on the table. Olivia murmured her thanks, and didn’t touch the food. Elliot stared down at his plate like it might have the answers. Glutton for disappointment, Olivia thought to herself.

“And then they called me in. I was cleared, but this was— you know, a theme in my file. I think IAB was really sick of seeing my name. So they told me I… they told me they were conducting a full investigation. My jacket, and yours. Any little… any discrepancies, any hints of going off-book, any suggestions that you may have ever covered for me, and we were both done.” He picked up a chopstick just to drag it through the sauce on his plate. “No more chances. For either of us.”

Olivia swallowed, her throat dry. She picked up her water, put it down, picked it up again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have let me go?” Elliot finally looked at her. “If you thought I was— if you thought it was because of you and your jacket, would you have let me go?”

“Of course not,” Olivia snapped, not really caring if that played right into the point he was trying to make.

“Doesn’t matter,” Elliot said, looking back down, brow furrowed. “The moment I heard your voice, I wouldn’t’ve been able to leave.”

Olivia took a shaky inhale and finally, quickly sipped her water. She didn’t really want to know what he meant by that.

“So I put in my papers,” Elliot continued. “And I… I didn’t know what came next. But I kept having those nightmares.” He was rubbing at his jaw again, a nervous habit that was making his skin swell red. “She was a kid. She was Lizzie’s age. She was a lot like Lizzie, actually. Jenna, I mean. If she’d lived in Queens… I don’t know, they might have been friends. They both did— they both did the school musicals. Jenna was a Girl Scout. She played flute in the school band, taught dance classes to little kids. She was committed to Boston University in the next fall to study Psychology and French. She had her prom, graduation, grad parties, orientation— all of that coming up, just around the corner. She was just a baby.”

Eleven years, and the pain in his eyes, his voice, was still clear as if the shooting had happened yesterday.

“I just kept… I read about her on her school’s website, the school newspaper, the Girl Scouts bulletins, her church’s statement. I killed a little girl, somebody else’s Lizzie, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t cope, Olivia. I drank. I was trying to forget about it, but I couldn’t stop digging into this kid’s life— I got obsessive. And I drank. It wasn’t a conscious decision not to call you, I just… I was disgusted with myself, and I kept putting it off for when I got better. Didn’t want you to see me like that, I guess.”

“I could’ve helped you,” Olivia said, barely over a whisper. “El, I would’ve— I would’ve helped you, you know that.”

He shook his head, smiled a sad smile. “That was the problem.”

Olivia closed her mouth.

“You’re the fixer. You fix things, you help people, you make things better. But I wasn’t— Liv, you couldn’t help me, not this time.” He shook his head again.

He was calling her Liv, but she had just called him El, so maybe she’d let it slide.

“It was… bad. It was really bad.” He sighed, a deep sigh. “I couldn’t be helped, because I didn’t want help. You wouldn’t have been able to fix anything. I would’ve dragged you down with me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I promise, I do. I…” He looked down again. “Your food’s gonna get cold.”

That was probably the very least of Olivia’s concerns, but she humored him anyways, twirled some noodles onto her chopstick.

“I almost didn’t come back from that,” he said carefully, and alarm bells were ringing in Olivia’s head but she didn’t press him because she didn’t know if she could really handle knowing what, exactly, that meant. “But it was… well, you know Kathy. Doesn’t take no for an answer. I know everyone was telling her to take Eli and leave. Her sisters. Her mother. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if even Maureen was on that other end of that phone call once or twice. And she— she really could have. Maybe she should have. I don’t think I’d be able to blame her if she did.”

Sometimes Olivia was of the opinion that Katherine Jane Stabler deserved a Nobel fucking prize for the amount she’d put up with since the age of seventeen.

“She didn’t, though. She refused to let Eli grow up without a father present in his life. Told me she didn’t sacrifice her best years for me just for me to give up now. Forced me to get professional help.” He glanced up at Olivia, allowed a little smile at that. “Not in as many words, but— same idea. I didn’t really get much say in the matter.”

“I know you’re divorced now,” Olivia said, and jabbed her chopstick towards him to emphasize her point. “But you better get that woman a damn good anniversary gift every year for the rest of your life. You hear me, Stabler?”

His smile grew. “I hear you.”

“Good.” Olivia felt a little better to eat now, a little more settled. “How’d you end up in Europe?”

“Eventually got a job in private security. Started in Virginia, moved us to London, settled in Rome.” His smile faded a little, and he finally began to eat as well. “It was… kept me busy. Bored, but busy. Kept me out of Kath’s way, let her have her own life. Paid well.”

And you still didn’t call, Olivia wanted to say, but didn’t.

He must have read her mind, because he looked back up at her. “I thought…” he started, slowly again, careful again. “I thought that— the right thing to do I thought was let you go, let Kathy go. I felt like I was standing in the way of… of the lives you deserved.”

Olivia wasn’t sure how she felt being grouped with his then-wife. She stayed quiet about it, and opted rather to eat a piece of broccoli.

“I wasn’t as bad as… my issues weren’t as bad as they were at first, but I figured it was still best for everyone if I disappeared for a little bit, started taking deeper missions. Stayed out of the way. You’d have a new partner, promotions, you’d be able to do your job without IAB breathing down your neck, waiting for one of us to slip up. Kathy would be able to build the life she wanted, finally get her degree, travel, find someone who was around more often. But it…” He was avoiding Olivia’s eyes again. “My kids only get one dad. Eli was still young… the grown ones too, though. They only get one. And I could let you and Kath go find what you deserved, but they— they didn’t have that same chance. It was on me to be what they deserved. Even if that meant—” He scrunched up his face. “You know how I always felt about shrinks.”

Olivia couldn’t help her smile at that. “Yeah? How long have you been seeing him?”

Elliot hesitated a moment, and she swore she saw his ears going red as he admitted to it. “Saw a guy that worked mainly with combat veterans when I was down in Virginia. Bounced around a bit in London, found a lady that was a former U.S. army psychologist in Italy. She referred me to someone here, now that I’m back. Don’t know if I like her very much yet.”

“Did you really like any of them when you started?”

“Nope.”

“And…” Olivia trailed off, twirling some more noodles onto her chopsticks without making any move to eat them. “You try A.A.?”

Elliot looked further embarrassed, pointedly staring at the table and refusing to meet her eyes. His voice dropped quieter, sounded pained, maybe ashamed. “I hated it. I tried to… it was part of the conditions Kathy set, so I went, but…”

“Hey,” Olivia said, matching his soft tone, but gentler. “You tried. I’m honestly surprised you even stuck with the therapy.”

He shrugged. Picked up a piece of chicken with his chopsticks, examined it. “One on one’s not as bad. Feels more like getting a cavity filled by a dentist in training than getting a tooth pulled without any novocaine.”

“Fair enough.” Olivia cut her egg roll in half, like she was at all fooling herself pretending she wouldn’t eat the whole thing. “And now you’re back.”

“I’m back,” he echoed. “I debated about calling you, I… I thought you probably didn’t want to see me very much. I was planning on waiting a little, making sure I wouldn’t have to fly back to… But I landed in JFK, and I saw that email from the NYPD, and, well…”

“Figured I’d find out soon enough.”

“Was hoping to get to you before the news did,” he said with a nod.

“Well,” Olivia said. “You certainly made good time there.”

“Happened a little faster than I thought,” he agreed.

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Olivia,” he finally said, reached out, rested one of his hands over the one she left on the table.

She stared at it, as he turned over her hand, ran a thumb over her palm. She could easily jerk away, she knew. Maybe she should’ve.

She didn’t.

“Liv,” he repeated, and ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes.

She allowed him that much.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I— I don’t know if it was the right choice. Maybe things would’ve been better if I ever called, maybe they would’ve been worse. I have no idea. But… but that doesn’t really matter, does it, because right choice or not, it hurt you.” He paused, hesitated. “I hurt you,” he said, and it sounded like the words pained him to say. “And I’m sorry. I don’t know how to fix that, yet, I’ve never been— I’ve never been as good at putting shit back together as I am at breaking shit apart. I’ve never been as good at picking up the pieces as you are. But I want to. I want to fix this. I want to try. I’ll figure out a way, if you— if you allow me that. If you want that too.”

Please want that too, his eyes screamed, those big blue eyes looking at her with hope that was guarded, sure, but poorly guarded, because the hope and fear and pleas were flooding from those shiny eyes.

She didn’t really know what to do with that.

On one hand, this whole… reunion, she supposed, had gone better than a good 85% of the scenarios she had dreamed up over the years. There wasn’t any anger, any blame. Elliot Stabler was in therapy, which was so strange to Olivia that she hadn’t actually even worked that into any of her fantasies, but lord knows it gave reality a few bonus points. He hadn’t… he hadn’t forgotten her, she hadn’t meant nothing to him, in the end. She had factored into his decisions, decisions made with good intentions, no matter how misguided.

Her chest ached with it all. For eleven years a little piece of her had been missing, left a void somewhere near her heart that pulsed and ached and sometimes threatened to grow, threatened to consume her. She was thinking, all of a sudden, of the movie she and Jet had watched on the girl’s birthday. The NeverEnding Story, where the villain was The Nothing, the emptiness that swallowed worlds whole, dissolved realities.

She could feel that pit in her chest now, beating in time with her heart, smaller, but ever present. She could fill it, now, with the piece that had once fit there so neatly, with the piece that had given her courage and trust and faith.

Semper Fidelis. What a fucking joke.

This was ten goddamn years too late. That piece wouldn’t fit anymore.

The emptiness in her chest had grown, and it had shrank, and it had grown and shrank again, and her heart had expanded when she’d found her daughter, her heart had expanded and nearly overtaken that space— so the void had grown jagged edges, to account for its diminishing size. To make sure she never forgot about it. Olivia didn’t have to think as much about what her life was missing, not anymore, not with how much she had gained, so that hole grew smaller and smaller, but when she did remember— well, that was when the sharp edges of her loss scratched against her heart.

She tried not to let it scar. There was only so much she could do.

And the piece that could fill this emptiness, the piece that sat across from her now, waiting, eyes open, eyes clear— He had changed too. He was still Elliot (despite everything, everything, everything, he was still Elliot) but he had battled some demons and softened some edges while others grew tougher still, like the callouses on his rough hands that held hers so gently. He wasn’t pushing her. He wasn’t demanding anything of her, he wasn’t here to claim his rightful spot in her life like the possessive bastard might have done, once upon a time.

He was still Elliot. But he took up a different amount of space, a different sort of space— his edges were broken and jagged in some places and soft and flexible in others and he wouldn’t fit, anymore, she could try to shove that piece of her chest back where it belonged but the spacing would be all awkward and there would be gaps and there would be resistance and maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe a part of her, a part she didn’t like to acknowledge, but a part of her nonetheless— maybe a part of her had grown used to that empty space in her chest. Maybe she’d learned to live with it. Maybe she wouldn’t know what to do without it.

Nothing changes, except what has to.

Maybe she would miss it.

Despite, despite, despite.

Logic, Olivia. Facts. Reason. Patterns. Patterns, history. You know how the story goes, because you know how it’s already gone.

Sure, he’d been in pain, but so had she. Maybe he couldn’t stand hearing her voice, whatever that meant— but technology had long ago birthed a wonderful invention known as the email. And prior to email, people had written these things to each other she was pretty sure were called letters. He had her address. He’d sent her that little badge, after all, Semper Fidelis. The little badge that was sitting in an evidence box, somewhere, on the butt of a gun that had cracked into Olivia’s skull, had knocked her out in her apartment, in the trunk of a car, in a dirty old beach house. And suddenly she could taste vodka, in the back of her throat, she could taste duct tape, in her mouth, she could taste the way she’d cried for him to come save her, in her drugged up state, where that had somehow seemed like a viable possibility. Where had he been then? Virginia, London, Rome, staying out of her way, something she’d never asked him to do, something she’d gotten no say in. Had he seen the news? If he had, he would’ve brought it up, right? He had to have seen the news, but there was no mention in his little story of why he hadn’t come home to her, after she was drugged, beaten, tortured, after Lewis had done things to her so unspeakable even the media hadn’t reported on them.

Semper Fidelis. Despite everything, semper fi.

Olivia pulled her hand away from his, acting as if she was only pulling away so she could reach to tie her hair back, they both knew the truth (they both knew the truth), broke eye contact, looked to the side, looked at a golden lucky cat statue, perpetually welcoming them in. “Okay,” she said softly.

“Okay?” Elliot repeated.

“Okay,” she confirmed. “I— you’re sorry, you’re here now, you’re doing better. Okay. That’s good. That’s fine.”

“Okay,” Elliot said, again, what else was there to say, really. “Liv, you—”

“Olivia,” she corrected again. “We’re not friends. Not right now.”

He was quiet, and she didn’t look at him, didn’t want to see the look across his face.

“Olivia,” he eventually said. “Are you alright?”

“Am I—”

“Your pulse jumped.”

Of course he was taking her goddamn pulse, he was such a fucking cop. Couldn’t just hold her hand like a normal person, always had to— “I needed you.”

She blurted it out before she thought about the repercussions of saying it.

He let out a shaky exhale. “Olivia—”

“I needed you,” she repeated, voice thick with the angry tears she had been forcing down this entire time, they had to come out eventually, didn’t they? It was here and now, or at home where her daughter might see, and neither option felt particularly inviting. “You don’t get it, Elliot, I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

“Something happened,” he stated, eyes darting all over her, like she was a case file. Scanning. Searching. “Something really bad.”

“Eleven fucking years, you really thought nothing happened?” She looked up at him then, eyes fiery. “Yes, Elliot, something happened. A lot of things happened. I’m a cop, for God’s sake, I see the worst of humanity every damn day, of course things happened. And I don’t have— I don’t have a wife to force me to get me help when I need it. Cragen left, Munch left, so when bad things happened it was up to me to make the decisions, it was up to me to deal with the fallout, to survive the fallout. I— I spent years telling you I didn’t need you to protect me, to shield me, but then one day, I did. One day, I fucking needed you, and you weren’t there. Now you’re sorry, you’re back, and I’m— Jesus, Elliot, of course I wanted you to come back, of course I wanted the apology, of course I want you to fix this, but there’s— you caused so much more damage than you realize.” She pressed the heels of her palms below her eyes, now, then to her temples, and looked everywhere except at the man across from her. “There’s some shit that I don’t know if… sometimes things break that can’t be fixed. Sometimes things don’t just break, they burn.”

Keys, wire hangers, knives on the frying pan.

“And you can’t… it’s impossible to reconstruct something that’s only ashes.”

Burnt hair. Burnt flesh. Vodka, drugs, gunshots. Ain’t we got fun?

She needed to breathe. She needed to swallow back whatever was rising in her throat— bile, tears, a scream of pure rage, who knew— and breathe. Breathe. Breathe—

“Hey. Hey.” Elliot was around the side of the table, crouched beside her, when had he gotten there? “Stay with me, Olivia. You’re safe. Stay with me, deep breath…”

“I’m fine,” Olivia snapped, voiceless as her voice scratched in her throat. “I’m fine. Sit down.”

Lo mein, dim orange lights, a sticky table in the back corner of a little hidden away restaurant. Olivia picked up her chopstick, scraped it through soy sauce, let the salt burn her tongue. She focused on the sound of Elliot’s chair scraping the ground as he sat back in his seat. Picked up her water to wash away the salt.

“Can I have…” she didn’t finish her question, reaching to grab Elliot’s coke— Pepsi? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. The carbonation washed away the taste of vodka. That’s all that mattered.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.” Olivia took another deep breath, to demonstrate her point, and then slid the drink back to Elliot. “It’s been— it’s been a long fucking week.”

It was only Tuesday, but she’d worked all weekend, so that hardly mattered.

“What happened, back then?” He asked, voice low, voice almost panicked, almost, but he was shoving it down, shoving it away. Trying to remain calm. For her, probably. After that little display. God, she needed some sleep. “Olivia, what—”

“I’m not ready to talk about this with you,” she managed, and shook her head. “Not here, and not now. I can’t… not now. Not until I’ve had a few hours of sleep. And not until I’m sure you won’t run away again, or— or fall back into whatever hell Kathy had to drag you out of.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” Olivia blinked a few times, rapidly, until she was sure her eyes were dry enough to stare him down without risking a tear dripping out. “Prove it.”

He met her gaze, held it, and he still had that same pain in his blue eyes from when he spoke about Jenna, but he didn’t flinch away from her hard glare. “I will,” he agreed.

Steady. Constant. Semper Fidelis.

Olivia let out a shaky breath, leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes. Breathed in deep again.

“You don’t have to—” He started.

She blinked her eyes open fast, fast enough to startle him into stuttering his sentence.

“You don’t have to give me the details now,” he restarted. “But, is this— does this have something to do with why Juliet isn’t… all too fond of me?”

Olivia sighed, tension draining slightly from her shoulders. “I don’t know why Jet doesn’t like you. I don’t know if Jet even knows why she doesn’t like you.”

Elliot was still giving her a weird look, with wide eyes, anxious, she realized. Beyond anxious. He looked scared. He was gripping his soda cup a little too hard, knuckles whitening.

“Spit it out,” she said. “I’d rather you just ask than make up horrible stories in your head.”

“You just said you didn’t want to—”

“Elliot.”

Elliot opened his mouth, closed it, blinked a few times. “Kathleen says she’s a lot like you. Jet, I mean. And…” He was choosing his words carefully, diplomatically. “Something bad happened, and now you have a daughter, who you say is wary of most men…” He trailed off, looking at her like he was urging her to put it together so he wouldn’t have to say it.

Olivia, though, was already mentally exhausted both from the day and from the rest of this conversation. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”

“Olivia,” he said softly, too softly, almost taking on that gentle tone he used to use with victims and little children. “Liv, did— did Jet’s father… assault you?”

It took her brain a moment to catch up with his words, and she nearly yelped her “No!”

The couple at the next table glanced over, and Olivia quieted, running a hand through her hair.

She shook her head rapidly, dropping her voice. “No, no, God— Elliot, Jet’s adopted. I adopted her. How would I— how would I have a fourteen year old daughter in eleven years, that doesn’t make any sense…”

Elliot closed his eyes, let out a breath. “Thought she was younger. I thought— never mind what I thought.”

“She goes to school with your sixteen year old son—”

“Could’ve skipped a grade, she’s around the age…”

Olivia grabbed her water, took a long sip, hope it covered her flushed face, swallowed way too much and tried not to choke on it. “She’s fourteen. I adopted her seven years ago.”

“Okay. Okay.” Elliot nodded a few times, maybe still trying to calm himself down. “Alright.”

A beat, as they both worked silently to regain composure.

“Will you…” Elliot trailed off, looked away, like he knew he was asking for something he shouldn’t be asking for. “Will you tell me a little about her? About Jet?”

Olivia’s heart rate was evening out, and at hearing her daughter’s name, spoken carefully in Elliot’s voice, like she was something precious— this felt like the easiest question she’d been asked all night.

She smiled. A small smile, but a real one, this time. “Yeah, I can tell you about Jet.”

Chapter Text

“What are you looking at?”

Jet froze, like she’d been caught out, glancing at Katie before her eyes darted back to where they’d been peeking somewhere over her shoulder. Katie turned, but there was nothing in the living room. Sofa, blankets, armchair, the blank screen of the television. “Jet?”

Jet let out a huff of a sigh, dropped her empanada onto the wrapper in front of her. “Do I…” She hesitated, still staring into the room. “Do I really look like I’m twelve?”

Katie realized that the girl had been staring at the blank television screen, looking at her own reflection. And truthfully, Jet did appear younger than fourteen. But Katie had a feeling that wasn’t exactly the answer she wanted to hear. “Who told you that you look like you’re twelve?”

Jet’s eyes dropped down to her empanada. “Some boy.”

“A boy?” Katie repeated with a grin. That was pulling pigtails if she’d ever heard it. “Tell me about this boy.”

Jet’s nose scrunched in confusion as she looked back up at Katie. “Why are you saying it like that?”

The goal had been to tease her a little, to draw out her words in a way that said I have a feeling that this boy may be more than just ‘some boy.’ You know, as big sisters do.

Jet didn’t seem to get the message. This felt like another point in favor of Eli’s little theory.

“I’m just surprised you care about what some boy would think,” Katie elaborated.

“I don’t care what he thinks. I want to know what you think, so I can make sure that the general consensus isn’t that I look like I’m twelve.”

“You don’t care about him having any interest in you at all?”

Jet studied her for a second, before her eyes went wide, and she finally caught onto what Katie was implying. “No! No. Yuck.” She shook her head rapidly. “I don’t— absolutely not. My mom would kill me.”

“She doesn’t want you thinking about boys just yet?”

“Not criminals, no.”

Katie blinked. Plot twist. “You were talking to a criminal?”

“Some teenage hacker who was dumb enough to get caught,” Jet muttered, very invested in her empanada once more.

“Forget about the criminal thinking you were twelve, you shouldn’t be talking to criminals at all.”

“He’s harmless.”

“What did he hack? Did he steal money, or…”

“No. I mean— technically, he… rerouted money.”

“You lost me.”

“He hacked a politician’s website and fucked with the donations.”

Katie tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “Which politician?”

“Robert Jones and Erin Harvey.”

Katie could not help the undignified squawk of laughter that she emitted, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Okay, okay, I take it back. I like this kid.”

Jet couldn’t suppress her little grin either. “Jones and Harvey have done a lot for the NYPD,” she said diplomatically.

Katie snorted. “Yeah, at the expense of the queer and disabled.” She studied Jet for another moment. “So, not this boy, then, but there’s not… any other guys or gals who’ve caught your interest?” She could afford to be a little nosy, as was her God-given right if she was informally adopting Jet as a little sister. Like she didn’t already have enough.

Jet’s eyes went a little wide. “Um— I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Katie pressed, voice softer.

“I don’t know how to tell,” Jet clarified, cheeks pink, eyes everywhere except the woman across from her. “I don’t… I don’t have many friends. I don’t know how to tell the difference.”

“That’s always the fun part, isn’t it,” Katie mused.

“It doesn’t matter, anyways,” Jet continued, dangerously close to rambling in her embarrassment. “Even if I— they’re not interested back, I know that for sure. So it doesn’t matter, not really.”

“Of course it matters. Your feelings always matter.”

“My mom said she was glad you were around so I could talk to you about stuff I didn’t want to go to her about. This is— this is exactly what she meant, isn’t it?” Jet said, pulling flakes off her empanada to avoid making eye contact. “Not like I can ask my mom how to tell the difference. She doesn’t even date.”

That both surprised and didn’t surprise Katie. On one hand, she could imagine Olivia didn’t bring new men home with her young, traumatized daughter in the apartment. On the other hand, Olivia was a gorgeous, accomplished, intelligent woman whom she doubted had any lack of interested suitors.

And it’s not like Dad was around to scare them off for the past ten years, Katie’s brain supplied.

She shook her head to clear it of that can of worms.

“I think the difference,” Katie said carefully. She wanted to avoid any talk of physical attraction, considering Jet’s age, her still unclear history, her mother’s job. “I think the real difference is that… when you love someone platonically, you hope that they’ll find someone worthy of them to share the rest of their life with. When you love someone romantically, you hope that they’ll choose to share the rest of their life with you.”

Jet was unblinking. She pulled a knee up onto the chair, rested her chin on it. “What if you’d be happy for them either way?”

Katie smiled. “Then you’re a good person, Jet.”

Jet didn’t look all that convinced. Katie thought it might be time for a subject change. “I just got asked on a date,” she said. “At least, I think. His intentions weren’t exactly clear. Can you keep a secret?”

Of course Jet could keep a secret. Still felt right to ask, in the spirit of girl-talk.

Jet nodded, hesitant but interested. Katie pulled her phone out of her pocket, opened her messages, slid it across the table. “Should I let your Coach Aubrey take me to dinner?”

Jet’s expression broke into a wide grin, as she picked up the phone with one hand and used the jacket sleeve on the other to cover her smile. “Oh my God.”

“He seems sweet,” Katie said. “I mean, my brother’s gonna kill me, but, all things considered…”

“Is he paying?” Jet asked, sliding the phone back.

“He better be.”

Jet nodded again, more enthusiastically. “You should go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like Coach Aubrey. He’s really good.”

“Y’know what he does outside of coaching?” Katie asked. She figured she’d find out over dinner, but still, seemed like a good idea to go in prepared.

“Um,” Jet said, eyebrows furrowing. “I think he might be a nurse? I don’t know. He always yells at the build team for roughhousing, because he says he won’t deal with blood while his scrubs are at home.”

Katie hummed in acknowledgement. “My sister’s a nurse.”

“The older one?”

“Yeah.” Katie glanced over at Jet’s half eaten, half picked apart empanada. “You done with dinner? Wanna play a game or something?”

— — — — — —

Tell me about Jet.

“What do you want to know?” Olivia asked. She didn’t know, really, where to start. She could talk about Jet for hours, if given the chance.

“Everything,” Elliot said, but smiled when he could sense her overwhelm, probably understanding the urge to just ramble on about her child forever. “From the beginning. How’d you two… find each other?”

Olivia’s smile faded a little. “That’s not the nicest story.”

Elliot tapped his chopstick on the edge of her plate. “But it’s yours. And it seems like you’ve made it nice since then.”

“When’d you start sounding wise?” Olivia complained, swatting him away with her own chopstick. “It’s weird.”

“Rome has that affect on people. Don’t worry, it won’t last, I can feel the New York seeping back into my bloodstream as we speak…”

“Thank God.” At least she was smiling again, for the moment. That wouldn’t last. It never did, while remembering the beginning. “It was— Um, it was from a case.”

— — — — — —

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous for a raid,” Fin says, blunt. He’d walked into her office, swung the door closed behind him, and now he stood there, arms crossed, studying her.

Olivia doesn’t look up from her work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re on edge. Everyone can tell. Even Carisi noticed.”

Olivia brings her bottom lip between her teeth, holds it, lets go. “This has the potential to go so badly. Astronomically badly, Fin, it’s— children’s lives are on the line. A lot of children.”

“Hey.” Fin steps closer to her desk, plants his hands on it. “We’ve done it before.”

“Never on this scale.”

“You got a good team.”

“I’m going in.”

Fin blinks, but his startled expression only lasts a moment before he’s back to neutral. “Liv, I dunno—”

“You don’t know what?” Olivia snaps, finally looking up, gaze hard. “You don’t know what, Fin? If it’s too soon, too dangerous, I’m the CO so I should just hang back and—”

“Yeah,” Fin says, which is a bold choice. “All of the above, actually.”

“I’m not sending you all in there alone. This was my call, and if it goes— if everything goes wrong, I will be the first to bear the consequences.”

“So you’re a martyr, that’s what—”

“I’m your superior officer,” Olivia corrects, a card she doesn’t often like to pull, and from the look on Fin’s face, he’s really not buying it. “And I’m going in.”

— — — — — —

“It was… Elliot, we’d never seen anything like it. I mean, what, fifteen years on SVU at that point, right? And nothing…” She shook her head. “There was this big, old apartment complex. It was supposed to be under renovation, but there were— tons of men, in and out. Dozens of women and children held inside. Major human trafficking hotspot. Right under our noses, the entire time.”

An old case crept back into her memory, one she often tried to forget, or at least block out, and she pushed her lo mein away. “Do you remember… years and years ago. Abraham Ophion, the religio—”

“Yeah,” Elliot said immediately. “That one was… hard to forget.”

Olivia nodded. “That’s what I was afraid would happen. We’d barge in, and… and they’d just wipe out everyone inside. There wasn’t just personal risk, this time, it was… we planned it out so carefully, but the more time we took to plan, the more victims they could traffick to international buyers, so we had to move fast.”

She could almost feel her heart rate pick up, her breathing quicken, the absolute speed in which cops infiltrated the building, the gunshots, clearing it room, by room, by room.

— — — — — —

It’s the fifth floor, tucked away in the corner, where Olivia finds what was once upon a time a studio apartment. Now it’s just a studio, used to record footage that makes even seasoned SVU detectives’ stomachs churn.

It looks like a little girl’s bedroom, and it makes Olivia nauseous, the innocent pink walls and lacy canopy over the bed. There’s no wardrobe, nowhere for a perp to hide except…

She pulls the comforter off the bed, crouches to the ground.

A pair of large, dark eyes blinks back at her.

“Hey,” Olivia murmurs, immediately tucking her gun aside. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe, estas segura…”

The gunshots and shouting have mostly quieted downstairs, Olivia knows the medics are being allowed on scene. She doesn’t have to rush anymore, now that the rest of the building is cleared.

Her radio buzzes. Fin’s voice crackles loudly through the room. It sounds as frantic as Fin can get, which isn’t very frantic, but it’s enough for Olivia to realize she’s been radio silent for a bit too long. “Liv! Liv, you copy?”

The girl flinches at the man’s voice, curls further in on herself.

Olivia grabs her radio, tries to keep her voice low. “I got a little girl, fifth floor, apartment 516. I don’t see any injuries.”

She doesn’t wait for Fin’s reply, tucking the radio back away.

“I’m Olivia,” she says softly, to the little girl whose face is now hidden in her knees. The child’s dark hair is so long it touches the floor where she sits. She’s shivering, wearing a white spring dress that’s not at all weather appropriate for the cold outside.

Olivia doesn’t want to think too hard about why.

“I’m a police officer,” Olivia continues. “Soy policía. I’m here to help you. Quiero ayudar.”

The girl doesn’t budge.

“Okay,” Olivia says, even quieter, barely above a whisper. “Alright, sweetheart. I’m going to pick you up, okay? I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

The girl doesn’t respond, doesn’t acknowledge Olivia’s words— but she also doesn’t resist as Olivia gently, carefully reaches under the bed, gathers her in her arms.

“You’re okay,” Olivia reassures her. She wishes she knew her name, that she could offer her that bit of comfort, the way she could during missing children cases. So she just repeats herself, her little mantra, over and over again. “You’re safe, sweetheart. Estas segura.”

As she starts to carry the child out of the room, out of the building, out of a life that must have been Hell on Earth, the girl wraps her arms around Olivia’s neck, buries her face into the crook of her shoulder. Lets out a shuddery breath.

Olivia pauses just to hold her for a moment, to whisper reassurances and hug her close. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you, you’re safe. I won’t let them hurt you again, sweet girl.”

— — — — — —

“Then we found out…” Olivia swallowed, forcing back the ever present tears. God, they really had to get all the emotionally taxing shit in one conversation, didn’t they? “We found out that the FBI, NCMEC— they’d been looking for this girl for years. They called her Julia Doe.”

She couldn’t meet Elliot’s eyes, because she knew she’d find a look of devastation there, and she wasn’t sure she could see that without breaking into tears herself at the memory.

“El, there are— We wipe out as many as we find, but it’s like a hydra. Once we take down one video, or photo, or— or something, it’s like three more pop up, all over the goddamn internet. There are… there are thousands.”

Olivia paused to press her fingers into her closed eyes, take a deep breath. “I sat with her in the hospital every day, every free hour I got. She started to trust me, and one day, I just… she was mine. I was hers. There was no other way for her story to go, from there. I don’t know how I knew, I just… I took her into my arms and I felt the way I imagine you felt when you’d held Maureen or Eli for the first time.”

She had, actually, thought about Elliot in that moment. Maybe not that exact moment, with all thoughts preoccupied with the girl in front of her, but just after that, she’d remembered the gentle, practiced way he’d held Eli, the pictures of him cradling the twins and his older girls.

She had wondered what it would be like to have him there through the adoption process, to have him fighting on her side. She had wondered if Juliet would have warmed up to him the way she eventually warmed to Fin and Barba. She had even entertained the notion that Juliet might favor him, because children always seemed to. Elliot exuded safety. He was a father. That’s just how he was. He was strong, and safe, and semper fidelis.

But that was seven years ago. It semed like he’d missed his chance with her.

The thought shouldn’t have bothered Olivia as much as it did.

“We thought that, uh— we thought that she may have some severe impairments, considering education was never the top priority of…” She gestured vaguely. “She didn’t speak, for the longest time, and when she eventually did, it was only to me. Only one or two words at a time. And then sometimes in her sleep, during nightmares.”

— — — — — —

“Liv, she’s gonna need help,” Rafael tells her, like she doesn’t already know that. She’s stirring some pastina on the stove, her latest purchase that Carisi had recommended when she’d mentioned Juliet’s clear reluctance to eat. “When she eventually goes to school, she’s gonna need— she’ll need support. And you have to think about the future— the future future, I mean. This level of trauma, it’s possible she’ll need special care forever.”

“She is not appearing in court,” Olivia says, firm but quiet as to not alert Juliet that anything’s wrong. The girl is bundled up on the sofa, watching Wall-E once again. She likes the space ones, Olivia had realized, anything with space ships and stars and robots was a win. “I know the progress she’s made isn’t obvious, but it’s there, and I absolutely will not let you undo it by—”

“Olivia,” Barba cuts her off, leveling her with an unimpressed look. “I am not asking your traumatized seven year old child to appear in court.”

His choice of words isn’t lost on her. ‘Your child.’ Even now, as she works to make it official— the words still hit her, hard. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at, then.”

“Violence Against Women Act, section 22.59. It is mandatory for convicted sexual abusers to pay restitution to their victims.”

“Her father is dead, most of the men who were in that apartment complex are dead or broke. We’re not gonna get…”

“Liv, how much footage of Julia Doe is out there?”

“Too much. So— so much, Rafa, it makes me sick…”

“Accessing, downloading, sharing that footage is a crime. Anyone who does so…”

Olivia’s eyes widen in realization. “You’re saying that they’re guilty of sexual abuse.”

Rafael dips his head in confirmation. “And will have to pay restitution.”

Olivia swallows hard. “Raf, I— I understand what you’re getting at, but you realize how this looks, right? Like— like she’s getting paid for the videos, like it’s…”

“It’s not compensation for sex work, Olivia, it’s damages. The abusers can’t undo the harm they did, so they should be held responsible for financing her recovery from it.”

“I understand that. Of course I understand that. I’m just worried that when she’s old enough to understand… And there’s no way in hell I’ll make her deal with collecting this money for the rest of her life, every single time a video is accessed. She doesn’t need this held over her…”

Rafael shakes his head. “Look. The way the law is worded, each offender must compensate the victim for all damages. We have a backlog of Julia Doe downloads, a backlog of arrests. We either go after them one by one until the amount the court decides is met, or…”

“Or.”

“Or we find the wealthiest one and take him for all he’s worth. He can chase down the rest of the offenders if he wants, but it becomes his problem, not ours. Not hers.”

Olivia still hesitates, staring down at the swirling pasta in the pot. “And her whole life is funded by what’s essentially blood money.”

“And she can afford the best help possible,” Rafael counters. “She can afford the best counseling, she can afford a school that’s able to work with her specific academic and emotional needs. Because no matter— no matter where the doctor decides she’s at academically, she will need special attention. That’s not cheap, Liv.”

Olivia glances over at her little girl, half asleep now, her dragon cradled close to her chest.

She looks so small.

“What do you need me to do?” Olivia asks, throat dry.

“You’ll need a lawyer.” Rafael smiles. “When’s the last time you heard from Alexandra Cabot?”

— — — — — —

“It wasn’t easy, of course it wasn’t easy. She had no idea how to… how to be a kid. She didn’t know what it was like to be someone’s daughter.” Olivia rolled her chopstick on the table, just for something to do with her hands. “But she was advanced. Academically, I mean. Really, really advanced. We still don’t know how, exactly… but she’s always been brilliant.” She started to smile again as the chopstick rolled to a stop against her hand. “Always been fascinated by the stars, the planets… knows everything there is to know about outer space. She’s a natural with computers, technology in general…” She sighed. “Wants to be a cop, though. Couldn’t settle for NASA researcher or rocket scientist or anything like that, no, had to go for the badge and the gun.”

“She adores you, it’s only natural,” Elliot murmured.

“That’s what Katie said.”

“Katie’s a smart kid, you should listen to her.”

“I’m just—” Olivia let out another puff of air and finally looked back up at him, and he was gazing at her with a soft, sappy expression on his face that made her want to look away just as fast. “God, it’s a dangerous job, and she deserves a safe life. I’m worried she just thinks she wants it out of a feeling of guilt, or obligation…”

Elliot opened his mouth to say something, caught himself, and visibly reconsidered.

“Yes?” Olivia prompted.

He shook his head. “She’s just— she’s still a kid. Plenty of time to change her mind.”

That wasn’t what he had been about to say, but Olivia let it slide. This time. “I suppose.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“I can see why she’s not fond of men,” Elliot eventually said, quietly.

“If you’re planning on sticking around,” Olivia said, “You’re gonna have to take things slowly with her. At her pace. I can’t— I do encourage her, where possible, but I’m not going to push her where she’s not willing to go. And being Katie’s dad won’t get you any bonus points. It takes her a while to trust someone, a long while— once she does, she’s loyal to a fault. That happened with Katie. Quicker, probably because Katie’s a young woman, but— she gets attached, once she trusts someone. It’s going to take her some time, and if she does warm up to you, you better not break that trust.”

“I understand.” He nodded a few times. “Where did… do you call her Jet ‘cause of the space thing, or…”

“Her general aesthetic?” Olivia finished for him, with a smile. “I’m not actually sure. Fin was the first one to call her that, and it sorta stuck. I figured it was the only way he could think to shorten her name without…” They all avoided nicknames for Juliet that involved the word Jewel, for obvious reasons. Anything to keep the girl away from being the Jewel, anything to keep her away from being Julia Doe. “I don’t know exactly when it started, it’s just who she is now.”

— — — — — —

“Can you tell me about your dad?”

Katie’s thumb paused over the button of her controller. They had been playing in mostly silence for a while, as she got the feeling Jet was a bit worn out from the day. The question seemed out of left field. She remembered what Liv had told her about Jet’s anxiety— I don’t know if it’s about your father, for some reason, or if it’s something else… “What do you want to know?”

Jet shrugged.

“Well,” Katie said slowly. “He’s… I love him very much,” she decided to lead with. “And I know he loves me and my siblings more than anything. He’s very protective. That’s why he became a cop, y’know, to… to protect people. And why he stuck with SVU so long, I think, because he wanted to protect children. That and— that and he really liked being partners with your mother.”

She glanced over, but Jet’s expression hadn’t changed. She hadn’t even looked away from the TV. “He liked her?” Jet asked.

That phrasing could imply any number of things. “He…” Katie trailed off. “He was still married to my mom, back then. But your mom and my dad had a very special relationship, yeah.”

She could’ve sworn she saw Jet flinch, just barely, at that.

“He cares about you, y’know,” Katie said softly, all attention off of the game and onto the girl next to her.

Jet hit a button to pause Terraria, with quite a bit of aggression, and turned towards her. “What does that mean?”

“He cares a lot about children, and he cares a lot about your mom, of course he’d care about your mother’s child,” Katie elaborated. “And that’s you. I have no doubt he’d do anything to keep you safe.”

Jet stared at her for a moment, eyes big. “I don’t want that,” she eventually said. “I don’t— I don’t want him to do that.”

Katie studied her carefully, the way one hand clutched tight to her controller, the other picking at a loose thread in the pocket of her overalls. “You want me to tell him to back off a little?”

Jet shook her head, and the tension left her grip, as she sank back into the sofa. “That’d just make Mama’s life difficult,” she mumbled, looking back at the TV, but not resuming the game. “I already did a good enough job of that.”

Another vague statement with multiple interpretations. “Hey, he can be… he can be intense, when you first meet him. Your mom’s used to it, but it’s okay if you’re not, yet.”

“I just wish he’d leave her alone.”

Katie stayed quiet, equal parts an interrogation and a therapeutic technique, to see if she’d elaborate. What Katie hadn’t considered, though, was that Jet was perfectly fine with silence. Even preferred it, maybe.

“What do you mean?” Katie eventually asked.

Jet’s gazed trailed from the TV to the window. “We were fine without him.”

Katie’s first reaction was to think Jet was worried about being replaced, about losing time with her mother as Olivia spent more time with Dad. It would make sense, especially tonight, as Olivia spent her precious few hours of evening at some Chinese restaurant by the precinct. But something about that theory didn’t really add up. Jet had seemed unnerved by her father from the moment she met him at Hastings, and at that point, Olivia had expressed no interest in pursuing any sort of relationship with him.

“He was always good to you?” Jet suddenly asked.

“Always,” Katie replied immediately. She and her father had their differences, had their fights, but she knew what Jet was asking. She had a feeling that Jet’s father hadn’t always been good to her. Maybe he’d never been good to her. “My dad has always been good to me and my siblings, and he’s always been good to my mom. Sometimes he wasn’t around as much, he had to work a lot, and we’d— we’d miss him, of course, but he always treated us right. And he made sure everyone else in our lives did too.”

“Why did he leave?”

There was a long, complicated answer to this question— one with details even Katie didn’t know. And some of the details she did know didn’t seem all that fourteen-year-old appropriate. “Jet, working SVU, it’s… it’s really, really tough. And I know your mom’s been doing it for a long time, but that’s… she’s a special lady. Not everybody can do what she does.” Katie hesitated, trying to phrase this right. “My dad saw a lot of really horrible, tragic things as a police officer, and he got very badly hurt more than once. It was— it was weighing on him pretty hard for a long time.” She debated for a moment on whether to mention the shooting, maybe not her father’s role in it, but the fact that there had been one. But she thought that finding out that there had been a shooting inside the precinct might cause the girl more anxiety than necessary. “His last case was really brutal, and he needed some time away from that world to protect his own mental health.”

“Okay,” Jet said, and Katie could almost visibly see the walls going back up.

“He… he’s not just a cop. He likes sports,” Katie continued, because maybe she just needed to humanize him a little. “Hockey, mainly. But baseball too. He’s Catholic. And he actually believes in it, which is… you know, you don’t really meet all that many people anymore who really, actually believe it all. Especially after working such a scary job for so long. But he does. He’s… great at grilling, decent at cooking, absolutely terrible at baking. He tried, once, on Mother’s Day. Didn’t try again after that. He’s a really good artist, which I only found out recently.” Katie had been helping him unpack his life into his new apartment— something she’d insisted on doing not because she was fucking lonely but because she was a good daughter, damn it— when she’d come across the little sketchbook, filled with sketches of buildings from all across Europe. Drawn with detailed precision. What had Liv said when she found out Eli wanted to be an architect? Makes sense.

Huh. She wondered if there was more to that one than she’d originally thought.

And then in the back of the book, there were figures, not buildings, but people— He’d snatched it from her before she got much of a look, though.

“My mom does watercolors,” Jet offered.

Katie looked over at her, a bit surprised. “Yeah?” Of course Olivia had to have some sort of hobby, she was human outside of being Mom-and-Captain, but Katie could honestly say she hadn’t been expecting that one.

Jet nodded. “Not as much, anymore. But… she did, for a while. They’re really pretty.”

“You have one on your wall,” Katie remembered.

Jet nodded again. “The Heart Nebula. She gave it to me on Valentine’s Day.”

And then Jet unpaused Terraria, so Katie assumed that conversation had ended.

— — — — — —

“Do you have access to Kathleen’s student loans?”

Elliot blinked. “Do I…”

Olivia looked at him expectantly, as the question, she thought, was rather straightforward.

“Kath and I had access to her undergrad financials, I’m not sure if we… Her undergrad is paid off, I know that, but since she had to go and get two Master’s Degrees…” He shook his head. “I think so, because I co-signed on one.”

“Two?” Olivia asked, amused.

“She realized she didn’t want to be a social worker a little too late in the game,” he elaborated. “Switched to… I don’t know, exactly, counseling? Psychiatry…?”

“Psychiatry requires med school.”

“Not that, then. What was the question?”

Olivia smiled, pulling out the envelope from her purse and passing it to him. Elliot opened it, and looked inside to see a wad of cash.

“Sorry, I left my supply at home,” he deadpanned.

“Ha ha,” Olivia responded drily. “She wouldn’t take it, even though she’s watched Jet for me multiple times now. Can you put it towards her loans?”

Elliot looked at her warily. “Am I getting myself in the middle of you two…?”

“No,” Olivia said. “You’re getting yourself on my side, which is a very smart thing to do.”

Was she taking advantage of his guilt, a little? Maybe. Sue her. If he was going to up and leave her for a decade she would reserve the right to use it against him whenever she damn well pleased. Plus, she was helping to pay his daughter’s student loan, so this felt like a win-win.

The waiter came around with boxes for her leftover food, and Elliot stuck the envelope into his inside coat pocket, so she figured that settled that. She tilted her lo mein into the container, and Elliot picked his uneaten egg roll up with chopsticks and dropped it into her plate.

She had to resist the urge to smile. Some things never changed.

Elliot grabbed a handful of fortune cookies as they left, passing Olivia two and pocketing one, presumably for Katie. Olivia slid one into her pocket for Jet.

They exited the restaurant into the cool night air, opting to walk back to the precinct where Elliot was parked, seeing as it wasn’t freezing and the walk wasn’t too long.

“What’s yours?” Elliot asked after a moment.

“Hm?”

“Your fortune.”

“Oh.” Olivia popped open the plastic bag, and cracked the cookie in half. “You will meet a handsome stranger.”

Elliot’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“No,” Olivia said. “But it was funny that you thought so.”

He just rolled his eyes.

“It says…” Olivia squinted. “God, I need my readers.” She held it a bit further away. “Something you lost will soon turn up.”

They were both quiet at that.

“What about yours?” Olivia hedged, after a moment, after swallowing the second half of the cookie.

Elliot opened his own, trying to gently break the cookie but only succeeding in crumbling half of it. “Shit.”

“That feels like bad luck,” Olivia said. “Obliterating the fortune before you even get to it.”

Elliot didn’t respond.

“Elliot?”

“I think my fortune cookie is threatening me,” he finally said. “I think— I can’t really figure out any other way to read this.”

Olivia took the slip of paper from him, holding it away and squinting once more.

Enjoy yourself while you can.

Olivia let out a snort of laughter. “Good luck, Stabler. Try to savor the half a cookie you didn’t completely demolish.”

— — — — — —

In the end, Olivia told Elliot he should probably wait in the car. He agreed, and she knew he understood on some level that it was better for Jet to think of their apartment as a completely separated location from the precinct, one where she had full control over who was on the premises.

Katie was already shrugging on her coat when she unlocked the door, probably having received a text from her father that he was there. Goodbyes were exchanged, Katie departed, and Jet practically melted into Olivia’s arms.

“Hey,” Olivia murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “You have a good time?”

“Mhm.”

Olivia swayed them, gently, for a moment.

“Did you and Elliot have a nice time?” Jet asked, hesitant.

Olivia blinked in surprise. “I… we— yeah. We had a lot to talk about, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jet mumbled, muffled by her sweater.

Olivia dug in her pocket to produce the cookie. “Got you a cookie.”

“Thanks.” Jet took it and split it open.

“Good one?” Olivia nudged.

“Love is for the lucky and the brave,” Jet read.

“I like that,” Olivia said, as the girl put the cookie into her mouth and leaned to rest against her mother again. “I like that a lot.”

— — — — — —

Katie slid into her seat and shut the car door. “Hey. How’d it go?”

Elliot took a deep breath. “Good as it could have. Want a cookie?”

“Always.” Katie popped open the bag. “Did you know Olivia does watercolors?”

“I did not,” Elliot said, glancing over at her. “That new?”

Katie shrugged. “Might be. I don’t know.” She cracked open her cookie, sliding out the slip of paper. “A handsome stranger is in your future. Nice, I could use one of those.”

“Ha ha,” Elliot said. He waited for her to tell him the actual quote.

And then he did a double take. “Wait, does it actually—”

“Do you not believe me?” Katie showed him the slip of paper, which did, indeed, predict a handsome stranger in her future.

Elliot let out a noisy sigh, and started the car.

Chapter Text

“That’s not going to work.”

“Jesus Christ!” Malachi nearly leapt out of his skin, having been so absorbed in his work he hadn’t realized someone was standing directly behind him. He whirled around to find Rosie-slash-Juliet, observing his computer screen with her arms crossed. “Do you just sneak around? You’re like Ruth Gordon standing there with the Tannis root.”

She blinked.

“Rosemary’s Baby?” Malachi attempted. “You know, the film you named yourself after…?”

“I’ve never seen the film. I read the book.”

“‘S not from the movie,” one of the detectives called, the one called Fin who always stood half a step behind the Captain, daring anyone to contradict her. “That’s a line from Gilmore Girls.”

Thanks, man, Malachi thought to himself, rather bitterly. He had assumed he could get away with his impressive lack of knowledge regarding horror films by utilizing the one lucky tidbit he’d acquired, make the pretty girl think he had a little bit of culture. Alas.

Juliet raised an eyebrow, letting her gaze swoop over Malachi with thinly veiled judgement. “You watch Gilmore Girls?”

“I feel like—” Malachi gestured dramatically between himself and Fin. “Out of all the people here who've seen Gilmore Girls, you’re surprised about the wrong one.”

Juliet just continued to stare at him, expression unwavering.

Malachi sighed. “Fine, yes. I prefer wholesome mother-daughter bonding to demonic possession. I also know how to crochet, let my niece paint my nails sometimes, and my lockscreen is a picture of my kitten. Would you like any more blows to my masculinity, or will that suffice?”

“That’ll suffice,” Juliet said.

Her hair was down, today, falling around her shoulders, and it looked like it may have been straightened at some point in the near past but was now somewhere between wavy and curly, soft and fluffy and glittering with droplets from the icy rain outside. Malachi had to consciously resist the urge to reach out and touch it, which would be a really fucking weird thing to do, so he practiced immense self restraint by turning back to his computer and dropping his hands on the keyboard. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you. If your mom sees, she’ll— I don’t know. She’ll castrate me, or something.”

“Mama knows you won’t try shit with Fin and Rollins out here,” Juliet said.

“Damn straight,” the blonde cop sitting across from Fin, who (using deductive reasoning) must have been Rollins, muttered.

“I am in a police precinct,” Malachi stated. “It would be patently unwise for me to try shit at all.”

“Because it was your demonstration of deep wisdom that landed you here in the first place,” Juliet bit back.

Malachi sighed a long suffering sigh and turned towards her again. “Y’know, Miss Mary Mack, I don’t appreciate the hostility.”

“Miss Mary Mack?” She repeated. “Is that another Gilmore Girls reference?”

“You don’t know Miss Mary Mack?” Rollins asked in disbelief, leaning away from her computer to look at Juliet. “God, I’ve gotta sit you down with Jesse for a few hours…”

“Have you participated in pop culture at any point at all in the past twenty years?” Malachi asked. “You know, Miss Mary Mack, all dressed in black—” He gestured up and down at Juliet’s outfit, as she was wearing a high-collared black dress with silver buttons down— well, at least the front of it. Her coat covered her back, so he hardly knew what was going on there. “With silver buttons down her back? It’s a clapping game.”

“Another hit against your masculinity,” Fin muttered.

“Hey! I’m a good uncle, if my niece wants to play clapping games, I’m gonna—” Malachi shook his head. “You know what? Forget it. Are you ever gonna give me anything to work with, Rosie, or do I need to have another brainstorming session? Because I can keep going…” Sure, he knew her name was Juliet, from her mother yelling it rather loudly directly behind him that one time. Still. He wanted to hear her say it.

She hesitated for a long, drawn out moment before sighing. “Jet.”

“Jet,” he repeated, with a small element of surprise. “Suits you.”

“Better than Juliet,” she muttered.

“I don’t know,” Malachi said. “I think Juliet’s one of the luckier names you could’ve had.”

Jet’s face scrunched in confusion.

“I mean, with the nickname Jet?” He continued, because he was fully incapable of shutting his mouth even when he was very aware that he should. “You could’ve been saddled with Jettison, Jettifer, Jettevieve—”

“I am going to kill you,” Jet interrupted. “And it is going to hurt.”

Malachi paused. “Did you just threaten to murder me in a room full of cops?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Fin said. Rollins just shrugged faux apologetically.

“Well, Jet,” Malachi said, just barely cutting himself off from calling her Jettifer, because he did somewhat value his life. “You don’t even know what I’m trying to do, so how do you know it won’t work?”

“What are you trying to do?” She asked, with interest that she had seemingly tried (but failed) to hide.

He looked back at his screen, confused by her confusion. It was a very simple query. “It’s just— it’s a basic SQL—”

“I know that. What are you looking for?”

“Matching GPS coordinates.” He scanned over his screen, searching for any syntax errors. Select, case, from… “Come on, you’re like— you’re a genius, I know you don’t need me to mansplain how SQL works.”

“Try mansplaining anything to me, see how that turns out for you,” Jet said drily. She took a step closer to the computer, leaning practically over his shoulder. She put a finger on the tracking pad, highlighted a word. “Your query won’t work because you spelled ‘Distinct’ wrong.”

She deleted the letters— that did, unfortunately, spell ‘Dinstinct’— retyped it correctly, and then walked away without another word, disappearing into her mother’s office.

“Oh,” Malachi said.

He must have stared after her retreating form for a moment too long, because he was startled out of his daze by Fin clearing his throat and growling, “Off limits.”

“Copy that,” Malachi muttered, and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

Chapter Text

Her mother was hunched over her desk, head propped up on one hand that threaded through her hair and tugged. Her NYPD branded pen was pressed against her lips, and she was dangerously close to chewing the end of it, a habit she had broken multiple times only to subconsciously fall right back into it again later.

She didn’t look up as Jet entered. “You got the CCT—”

“No.”

Olivia startled, glancing between the paper in front of her and the door as she processed what, exactly, was happening. “Oh, I’m sorry baby, I thought you were Amanda for a moment.”

“Aunt Manda doesn’t seem to have it either, for the record,” Jet said, and slid into a chair across from the desk. “How long are you keeping Matthew Broderick around?”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Bueller?”

“I was going for War Games, but sure, Bueller works.”

“We get him when OCCB has nothing for him to do, as we happen to be the two most chronically understaffed divisions of this entire city.” Olivia took off her reading glasses, perched them on top of her head, rubbed at her eyes. “Homicide, Major Cases, Narcotics— they all got their own computer whizzes. We barely have a full squad, forget about tech support…”

Jet didn’t respond.

They’d had this conversation already. A few times, actually. And she still didn’t understand— they had a fifteen year old delinquent working for them, now, and her mother still couldn’t trust her—?

“Jet.” Olivia had fixed her with an unimpressed stare.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“We’ve talked about this…”

“I can do everything he’s doing out there,” Jet interrupted, gesturing at the door. “More, even. I could help make it go so much faster, if you would just—”

“No.” Olivia’s voice was firm, her opinion on the matter final. “Sweetheart, I don’t doubt your abilities, I know you can do everything he’s doing, and I also don’t doubt that you can do more. But this is an ugly part of the world—”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“—And it’s not about you. It’s about me. I can’t keep you as far away from my work as I’d like to, but I’m not ready for you to get any closer.” Olivia sighed, looked at her with a soft expression. “One day, if you decide to join the force, you’ll do brilliant things. There’s no need to rush.”

Jet wasn’t winning this argument. She knew that. She never had, and probably never would, because maybe Captain Benson was stubborn as hell but Jet’s Mama was about a hundred times moreso.

“You still seeing Claire tonight?” Olivia asked, glancing back down at her paper. She had to work, but she wasn’t going to work until Jet left, and she wasn’t going to tell Jet to leave. Jet knew that. Jet knew her.

“Yeah,” Jet said. “She said she needs a favor. Didn’t tell me what, though.”

“Intriguing. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Olivia instructed.

“The bar is so low—”

“Alright, alright…” Olivia waved off her teasing. “Just be smart.”

“I’m always smart.” Jet’s eyes scanned over the pile of paperwork on the desk. “Are you gonna be late?”

Olivia sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. You want me to bring dinner over here…?”

“I’m alright, babe, thank you.”

Jet stood, braced her hands on the desk, leaned forward to press a kiss to her mom’s cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Have fun, be safe.”

— — — — — —

Jet was not fond of the expression “lit up the room.” As someone who frequently listened to True Crime podcasts— a habit her mother was not a fan of, but to her credit, didn’t actively discourage— she knew the phrase was almost always used to describe dead girls. It was the easiest way to say something that sounded exceedingly kind about someone you knew absolutely nothing about.

However.

Claire Sun might have been the embodiment of her own name. Bright Sun. If there was anyone who had ever actually ‘lit up a room,’ it was Claire. The golden glow of the tea shop lights illuminated her now, almost haloing her where she sat, poring over her phone.

Jet hesitated in the doorway, swallowing down her heartbeat.

“‘Scuse me,” someone said, shouldering past her, jostling the neon purple sign that read Tea-riffic Treats! and Jet realized that a doorway was not the best place to hesitate and jolted out of her little trance. She stepped further into the shop, and Claire looked up, and as soon as she noticed Jet’s entry, she beamed.

“Hey!” Claire called, and waved her over. “Got you a drink.”

Jet slid into the seat across from her and accepted the cup. Brown sugar milk tea, one of her go-tos. “Thanks. You okay?”

“Am I okay?” Claire’s smile didn’t waver, even as her voice hinted at confusion.

“You said you needed a favor.”

“Oh! Yes. I’m fine.” Claire nodded a few times. “More than fine.”

She still smiled, Claire always smiled, but it changed a little, grew a bit shy, and the corners of her eyes crinkled with it as her gaze dropped. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Jet took a deep breath, because she had somewhat forgotten she could inhale until that very moment.

“So, you know how… you know how my mom likes to track my every move?”

“Yeah.”

“And how she sometimes asks me to take pictures with you to prove I’m with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Even though I’ve never done anything wrong, ever, in my life?”

“…Yes?”

Claire caught her glossed bottom lip between her teeth and Jet quickly became very interested in stabbing the bright blue straw through the top of her tea and looking anywhere except the girl across from her.

“I might— ah, I might be trying that, tomorrow. Doing something wrong. Not— not wrong, exactly, just…”

“Against the tyrant’s rules?”

Claire winced. “Something like that.”

“And you want me to cover for you?”

Claire nodded again, rapidly. “I’ve planned it all out. So I found out exactly where we’re going—”

“Claire.”

Claire paused, and they stared at each other moment, as the girl mentally backtracked through their conversation. “Oh.”

“Start from the beginning.”

Claire’s smile grew impossibly bigger, and she leaned in, and reached across the table, catching Jet’s hands in her own. Another thing about Claire: she understood Jet’s boundaries— or at least, respected them— and was always careful about how she touched her. Though it helped that Jet’s physical boundaries were already a little more lax with her in particular.

Claire’s voice dropped low, her eyes sparkly. “I— um… I think I’m going on a date.”

Jet was used to her heart rate spiking, due to some unknown cause that had her Mama dragging her to doctors and cardiologists around the city. It happened often enough that she could’ve very easily blamed this mystery medical issue for her suddenly dramatically increased pulse.

But that would have been a lie.

“Oh?” She managed.

Claire seemed unaware of the internal crisis happening within the girl across from her. “D’you remember how Eli… we were talking, after band…”

“Eli Stabler,” Jet said, echoed, trying to process this on abruptly limited brain function. “Eli Stabler asked you out?”

It must be genetic. There must have been some inheritable gene that caused male Stablers to go after every important woman in her life. Or did they have it out for her? Was Elliot coaching his son, or something? This girl, this one in particular, make her life as difficult as possible to distract her from me wiggling my way back into her mother’s world.

“He asked me to hang out,” Claire quickly clarified. “But, you know…” She shrugged, and blushed prettily, and Jet felt a little nauseous.

“That’s great,” Jet said, and it sounded wholly unconvincing, even for her. Fortunately, Claire seemed too caught up in her own little fantasy world to notice.

“We’re just gonna get boba, and then go down to the Highline,” Claire continued. “Nothing, like— nothing super…”

“Yeah.”

“So can we…?”

“Sure. Yeah.” Jet nodded, quickly, too quickly. “‘Course.”

“You are the best,” Claire squealed, squeezing Jet’s hands again. “I owe you—”

“No you don’t,” Jet cut her off. She was not a fan of transactional favors. “Just— you bought me tea. We’re fine. We’re even. If we’re gonna go to the Highline, we should get going—”

It wouldn’t be a long walk at all, but suddenly, the dimly lit boba shop felt suffocatingly small. Jet attempted to stand, fast, maybe too fast, because then her heart rate was up and her vision was spotty and a moment later she was held up only by Claire’s arms.

“Woah!” Claire said as she caught her. “Sit. Sit down. Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine,” Jet mumbled, because she had not, in fact, eaten. “I’m fine, just got up too fast…”

“Stay there,” Claire instructed, pointing as she backed up, with the tone of voice she reserved for being the Bossy Big Sister to her little siblings. “Don’t move.”

Jet wasn’t about to argue with a pretty girl who could also be a little scary when she wanted.

Claire returned a few minutes later with a bottle of water and a bubble waffle. “We’re not walking anywhere until you finish these.”

And Jet wasn’t about to argue with a pretty girl who could also be a little scary when she wanted.

— — — — — —

They were wandering around Hudson Yards now, having made their pitstop at the Highline, Jet content to follow wherever Claire led. Claire who was now on the phone with her mother, speaking rapidfire Cantonese and pausing only to roll her eyes on occasion. Jet was pretty sure that at this point they weren’t walking anywhere in particular, Claire was just moving Fast and with Purpose to expel some of the tension that inherently came with talking to her mother.

“Guess it’s my lucky day,” Claire announced as she hit the hang up button with some aggression. “I now have two dates lined up.”

Jet snorted. “Lemme guess, he’s gonna be a doctor.”

“Finance,” Claire gritted out. “She wants me to get a dress for this thing on Friday at the Whitney. It’s a benefit gala, or something. I don’t know. My dad’s gonna be there, so my dad’s friend will be too, and his son, so…”

“My mom’s going to that,” Jet said. “I think she’s giving some speech on behalf of the NYPD.” Olivia hated giving speeches, hated the attention… but she was also the Darling of the NYPD. No matter how controversial the police force, no matter how ugly the media portrayals— it was difficult to hate Captain Benson. She was the badass hero who locked up rapists, rescued missing children… She was the damsel in distress who saved herself from the monster and then sacrificed herself to save his later victims.

So 1PP was never shy about using Olivia Benson for PR. And it drove her absolutely insane.

“Are you coming too?” Claire asked, sounding all too hopeful.

“Uh,” Jet said.

She hadn’t really been planning on it. Olivia had no problem with Jet skipping these events, somewhat encouraged it, even, considering Olivia didn’t really want to be there either. And because Olivia did everything possible to shield Jet from the press.

Captain Benson pictured here with the poor little orphan girl she rescued from the trenches.

Jet did not like to be photographed or videotaped, for reasons she found both obvious and understandable. She was becoming more comfortable with her mother keeping photos of them together— she at least knew her reasoning behind capturing the moments, and she knew her mother had very little online presence and was incredibly careful with Jet’s image.

The press did not extend the same courtesy.

So Olivia was very careful to keep Jet out of the spotlight, to keep her history private— but journalists could be some nosy fuckers. And Jet’s story was incredible, heart wrenching, moving… and her personal least favorite adjective, inspirational.

God, Jet hated being called inspirational. She felt like it implied she had a choice, that she had put in an outstanding amount of effort or possessed some special quality into being where she was now. When in reality, she had two choices: survive or die.

Love is for the lucky and the brave.

And Jet had been lucky, that was all. She wasn’t special, she wasn’t any more important than any of the other children in that dirty old apartment complex. She’d just been… lucky. Lucky that Captain Benson had been the one to find her, the one to carry her out of that building, the one to care for her.

The point was, in the end, Jet was not interested in being media fodder, no matter how they spun it. She was not some uplifting underdog story, she was not a prop to enhance her mother’s image and thus the public perception of the NYPD. She was not a pretty jewel to be ogled. She hadn’t been for seven years, and she never, ever would be again.

“You should come,” Claire said softly, and Jet realized she’d been quiet for a moment too long. “It’ll be nice. And maybe you can steal me away, for a bit.”

Sure, the thought of flashing cameras and posed speeches was making her stomach a little nauseous, her chest a little tight.

But Claire was looking at her with big, pretty eyes and God she couldn’t say no to this girl. Couldn’t say no to the idea of stealing her away, for a bit.

“Okay.”

— — — — — —

Jet had a very careful relationship with her clothing. She didn’t wear pretty things. She wore her mother’s old band merch, she wore thrifted dresses and overalls. And when her mom insisted on buying her something new (which she did more than Jet would’ve liked, as Olivia was under the opinion that Jet deserved nice things, her own things), Jet tried to request items that were plain, dark, comfortable, practical. Warm sweaters and her beloved combat boots, for instance.

This dress was none of the above.

It wasn’t plain or dark, it probably wasn’t all that comfortable, and it certainly wasn’t practical. It was pretty.

It was shimmery, a lush, metallic emerald color, though the pleats in the skirt almost appeared blue or purple where they caught in the light. The skirt looked swishy, the bodice a sweetheart top but with dark mesh traveling up to her neck, still enough coverage that she wouldn’t feel exposed.

She ran the fabric between her fingers, the cool texture very inviting, and inadvertently discovered that it had pockets.

Shit. She was done for.

“Ooh,” Claire breathed, and Jet startled as she realized the girl had reappeared behind her, back from the dressing room with two choices draped over her arm. Jet could already guess— one that Claire liked, and one that her mother would approve of. “Jet, that would look so pretty on you.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Jet didn’t do pretty. She’d been forced into cute, frilly dresses for her entire childhood, under the implication that she was just something to admire, a decoration, a jewel.

Wouldn’t wearing something so attractive mean she was begging for the attention the press would inevitably turn on her?

“You should try it on,” Claire suggested.

“No,” Jet snapped, quickly, too quickly. “I don’t—”

“You don’t do dressing rooms, sorry, I forgot.” Claire held up her hands placatingly. “You don’t have to try it on here, anyways. There’s a refund policy, you could always take it home and if you don’t vibe with it you could just…”

It wasn’t the worst idea.

She didn’t have to wear it out of the apartment. She could put it on and see what she might look like as a normal girl, one who went to homecoming and prom and was a bridesmaid in her cousin’s wedding, or something. She could wear it for her mother, who would be delighted to see her daughter doing normal daughter things like shopping for overpriced clothes.

Claire was already reaching for the price tag. “Not too expensive.”

Jet glanced over and nearly winced at what Claire considered ‘not too expensive,’ but it wasn’t like she didn’t have the money. Most of her royalties— Mama hated when she called them that, but what Mama didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her— were put into a fund for education, therapy, et cetera. But Olivia put a small portion of each payment right into Jet’s bank account, to use on whatever she pleased. Normally Jet found herself pleased by computer parts and eyeliner; but she could make an exception.

“Okay,” Jet said, nodding slowly. “Alright. Maybe I will.”

Claire clapped, delighted. “Send me a picture as soon as you try it on.”

Jet nodded again, wordlessly.

— — — — — —

Jet was perched on the counter with Indian takeout and a carton of Ben and Jerry’s by the time Olivia got home. She’d connected her phone to the Bluetooth speaker her mom kept near the fridge, throwing her Spotify liked playlist on a general shuffle. She turned the volume down as she heard the door open, her mother hanging up her coat on the door and immediately making her way into the kitchen.

“Hey, babe,” Olivia said as she entered. “You and Claire have a good time?”

Jet tilted her head up to accept the kiss her mother planted on her cheek. “Yeah. I have more samosas if you want.”

“Mmm,” Olivia hummed. “I ate.”

She looked away when she said it, which was a tell tale sign that she was not being completely truthful.

“Dinner, or a granola bar?” Jet asked, even though she really had no leg to stand on. And then Olivia gave her a look that reminded her she was legless, anyways. Jet sighed. “Do you want some ice cream, then? It’s the brownie one you like.”

Olivia hesitated, and she clearly did, but she shook her head. “If I start, I won’t be able to stop,” she joked.

Jet didn’t laugh.

Olivia went to the cabinet instead, reaching for a bottle from the top shelf and a glass from the bottom, and poured herself a glass of wine. “Who sings this?”

Jet glanced at the speaker. “The Neighborhood.”

Olivia hummed around the rim of her glass, as she swallowed most of it in one gulp. “It’s cute.”

There was a joke in there somewhere, a joke to be made about her mother enjoying the song Sweater Weather. But she didn’t bother commenting, because she knew Olivia wouldn’t understand it, but she also wouldn’t let it go until Jet explained, and it would probably become a whole thing.

“Rough case?” Jet asked instead, eyeing the wine bottle as Olivia started to pour herself some more.

Olivia paused, considering, seeming to recognize the link between Jet’s question and the bottle in her hand. She carefully placed the wine back in the cabinet, closing the door with a click. “Not an easy one.”

Jet tried to read her mother’s expression, but it was very intentionally blanked, very intentionally neutralized. “Was it a kid?”

“Sweetheart,” Olivia said, closing her eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about it.” She leaned against the counter and took another, slower drink from her wine glass.

She’d been tired, lately. More than tired. Exhausted. And of course her job was intense, tiring, exhausting, but this was more noticeable, her fatigue was more obvious than it usually was. Ever since she’d started working on that OCCB case. No surprise there.

But it wasn’t the case, Jet suspected. It was the man that had dragged her into it.

Jet just didn’t get it. She didn’t understand. Her mother worked with the worst of humanity on a daily basis— she knew Olivia must know, on some level, had to, by now, the truth that Jet was so inherently aware of— Bad men don't change. Bad men don’t change, even when you want them to, even when you beg them to, even when you deserve it more than anyone in the whole wide world.

And Olivia did deserve it, more than anyone else in the world, she deserved someone who would love and protect her and that was why Jet kind of wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her a little and make her see that she had so many better options. Options like Alex Cabot— Jet was more than a little confused on the nature of their relationship, but Olivia and Alex had a history rivaled only by that of Olivia and Fin’s and it was obvious that Alex liked her— liked her, doted on her a little, was always readily available whenever Olivia called. Which wasn’t often, but… enough. And Alex had a way of seeing through the Captain’s bullshit, calling her out in a way nobody else could get away with, dragging her away from work to care for herself, prioritize herself. Jet appreciated that. Alex had been the one to convince her to attempt ice skating, of all things— bought her tickets to Broadway shows for Christmas and took her to gallery openings on her birthday.

Both women were suspiciously vague on Alex’s job title, though, so there may have been some conflict there.

And then there was Uncle Rafa, too. Uncle Rafa who was allowed into her Mama’s office when nobody else was, who danced with her in the kitchen to Latin music when they were both a little tipsy— not that it mattered much, Olivia’s dancing while tipsy was probably on par with her dancing while sober— who celebrated holidays with them, most years. At least when Lucia was down in Florida. For a while Jet had assumed it was their working relationship that got in the way, but when Rafa left for a while, for reasons Olivia had never really explained to her… still nothing occurred.

Look, okay, maybe Olivia’s relationships weren’t all perfect. But at least Alex Cabot and Uncle Rafa had never left her mother crying from horrible dreams in the middle of the night— at least, not to Jet’s knowledge— and for that, they absolutely ranked higher than Elliot Stabler in terms of Jet’s favor.

“I got a dress,” Jet blurted out.

Olivia blinked, setting her glass down. “You and Claire go thrifting?”

Jet shook her head. “A— a nice dress. Bloomingdale’s.”

“Claire got you to go to Bloomingdale’s?”

“For her,” Jet emphasized. “I wasn’t even really thinking about— I just found it. And I know you have that speech coming up, the Whitney thing…”

“You wanna come?” Olivia nudged, gentle.

Jet shrugged.

Olivia cocked her head, studying her for a moment. “You wanna show me the dress?” She suggested instead. She sounded hopeful, like Jet had known she would be, so she just bit her tongue and nodded her head and turned to disappear into her room.

Jet turned the mirror on her dresser to face down on instinct. She’d never bothered to get a full length. If she needed one, she just used the one in her mother’s bedroom. The dress was still resting on her bed as she’d left it, and she was relieved when it slid on easily and fit nicely. She didn’t bother picking up the mirror to look, just ran her fingers through her hair a few times to try— and somewhat fail— to tame the frizzy waves that had formed, before turning to go back to the kitchen.

Olivia was zoned out, staring somewhere off into the distance, half finished wine glass back in her hands. Jet crept into the room quietly, attempting to not startle her. Fortunately, Olivia’s eyes flicked back to her a moment later, and her face broke into a smile. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathed, setting her glass down once more. “You look beautiful.”

Jet hugged her arms around her waist, feeling a little exposed and also a little chilly. “It’s not too much?”

“Absolutely not.” Olivia reached out, hovering a hand over Jet’s shoulder to wait for her silent approval before resting it there with a squeeze. “Looks like it was made for you.”

Her mom was gazing at her with a soft look, borderline tear-y, because for a decorated police captain Olivia did cry quite a bit outside of work. Most movies, any TV advertisement for a children’s hospital or dog shelter, and any time she was proud of Jet. Which was most times, for a variety of reasons, including, apparently, wearing clothing.

“It has pockets,” Jet announced, wanting some of the attention off her and more of the attention on the dress.

“Well, then, it’s perfect, isn’t it,” Olivia said, nodding. “You are aware that it isn’t black, right?”

“Ha ha,” Jet said drily, and then leaned forward so she was rested fully against her mother. Olivia wrapped her arms around her, rubbed her back.

They were quiet for a minute, the exhaustion of the day seeming to catch up to Olivia.

“You should get some sleep,” Jet eventually mumbled into her shoulder.

Olivia just smiled, amused by her daughter’s attempt at parenting her. “I’ll get some sleep soon.” She pulled back a little so she could press a kiss to Jet’s forehead. “You should try to get some sleep too.”

“All attempts are futile,” Jet grumbled.

“I know, baby.” Olivia sighed, picked up the glass of wine just to swallow the last of it and place the cup in the sink. She ran a hand through her hair. “But try?”

Of course Jet would try. Her mom could ask her to try to build a time machine and she’d give it a decent fucking shot. Didn’t mean she’d succeed, just like how promising her mom she’d try to sleep meant she’d stare at her ceiling until she eventually gave up at three in the morning and picked up Amityville Horror or Neuromancer or something. Or she could finally install the Sims supernatural expansion packs Amanda and Sonny had gotten her for Christmas. She had options. A thrilling night ahead, indeed.

“Does it twirl?” Olivia suddenly asked.

Jet snapped out of her thoughts. “Hm?”

“The dress. If you spin, does it…” Olivia circled her finger in the air. “Y’know.”

“Oh,” Jet said, and promptly spun around in a circle. The skirt of the dress flared up around her.

“Really is perfect,” Olivia said, and Jet still felt a little exposed, a little out of place, but it was worth it. It was worth it because Olivia was smiling now, and Jet had caused that, and that was really all she wanted, in the end. She wanted her mother to smile more. She wanted her mother to be happy.

She didn’t really care who tried to get in the way. Jet would protect her mother’s joy.

Chapter Text

Olivia adjusted the collar of her dress uniform for the umpteenth time.

She had been staring at her reflection in the mirror long enough that it looked distorted, like the freaky mother from that one claymation movie that Jet insisted she liked and didn’t scare her at all even though she would only watch it bundled up against Olivia’s side and half hidden under the blankets.

She brought her hands up to her face, tried to wipe a smudge of mascara away from the corner of her eye. Every single one of her features just seemed… disproportionate.

Olivia did not frequently experience body dysmorphia. At least— not in the way most people spoke of it. After Lewis, sure, she’d sometimes look down at her body in the shower and get a weird wave of cognitive dissonance— That’s not my skin, it’s not, it can’t be. But she’d grown into her skin, with the help of copious amounts of therapy. She learned to recognize herself how she was. She’d gained weight over the years— hadn’t everyone—? And especially after Lewis, but she took care of herself, had no issues with her curves. She knew she was an attractive woman. In fact, she’d had to be hyper-aware of her image plenty of times for work. She used it to her advantage, more often than not.

So why did she suddenly feel like she was looking at herself through a carnival mirror? Warped and bloated, a regular Picasso.

Coraline. That was the movie with the weird mom. She felt like she should’ve remembered that.

“You ready, babe?” Olivia called, deciding it was officially time to give up on her appearance and get the two of them out the door. “We gotta leave in—“ She grabbed her phone to check the time, swiping away two emails and a CBS News alert. “Ten minutes, latest.”

No response.

“Jet?” Olivia called again. She dropped her phone on her dresser, pushing out of her bedroom. “You hear me?”

Still nothing.

Olivia sighed, because her daughter had probably put her headphones on to do something on the computer that would only take five minutes, Mama, I promise, before getting completely wrapped up in her work and distracted from the fact that a half hour had passed.

“Jet,” Olivia repeated, knocking on her door. “Can I come in?”

Still no response.

Olivia bit her lip, considering for a moment. “I’m coming in,” she said, loud and clear enough to be heard through headphones, not wanting to surprise her. She still pressed the door open slowly, giving Jet plenty of time to realize what was happening.

But Jet wasn’t at her desk.

“Honey?” Olivia said softly, finding her daughter half-dressed, sitting on the floor. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jet mumbled, which was obviously not true considering she was shirtless and had her face buried in her hands. But it also didn’t sound like she was really truly conscious of what she was saying, mostly responding on autopilot.

The pretty green dress she had bought with Claire earlier that week was laid out in front of her.

Olivia picked it up, folding it into a square. She lied it on the bed, out of her daughter’s sight. “Juliet,” she said, crouching beside her, keeping her voice low. “My love, can you look at me?”

Jet didn’t move.

“I need you to let go of your face,” Olivia murmured, realizing that Jet’s nails were digging into her skin. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Nothing. Olivia doubted Jet even heard her.

“I can’t let you hurt yourself,” Olivia continued. “So I’m going to take your hands now, and move them away from your face.”

Olivia reached to grasp Juliet’s hands in her own, tugging them away with little resistance. There was mascara and eyeliner streaked down her cheeks.

Jet blinked a few times, eyes refocusing.

Olivia leaned back so she was sitting on her heels, and cupped her daughter’s face. “You with me?”

Jet hummed in affirmation, reaching for her.

“Okay,” Olivia murmured, accepting the hug. “Alright. You’re okay.”

“I can’t wear the dress,” Jet mumbled into Olivia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Don’t apologize,” Olivia whispered, and pressed a kiss into her hair. “If you want to stay home, you can get in your pajamas right now. Hell, I’ll call and tell them I have food poisoning, or something…”

Jet shook her head emphatically.

“Okay,” Olivia replied. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m going.” Jet pulled away, shook her head again. “I— I’m fine, I just froze… I got overwhelmed for a minute. I’m fine now.”

“Seemed longer than a minute,” Olivia murmured, gently taking her shoulder to keep her from recoiling entirely. “Baby, you’re crying.”

Jet’s brows furrowed. “I am?” She mumbled, mostly to herself. Her fingers traced under her eye. “Oh.”

That happened, sometimes. A disconnect between Jet and her body. Olivia understood what that was like. Maybe better than anyone. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweet girl. We can take it from there.”

Olivia stood, reached out a hand in an offer to help Jet stand, but Jet just looked up at her. “I…” She trailed off, shivering. Olivia wondered if she could even feel it, if she even realized she was still undressed. “I think I need to stay down here a little longer,” Jet eventually finished.

“Alright. You do that.” Olivia took the constellation printed blanket from the end of her bed— a souvenir found at a Target during a trip upstate once upon a time— and draped it around the girl’s pale shoulders. “Your heart okay?”

Jet bit her lip and brought a hand to her chest, holding it there for a few moments. “I think so.”

Olivia brushed her fingers through Jet’s hair and slipped out of the bedroom, stopping in the bathroom to retrieve makeup wipes before returning to her daughter. “Here we are.” Olivia dropped rather ungracefully to the ground across from her. “Close your eyes, baby.”

“I can do it myself,” Jet mumbled in protest, even as she obliged and let her eyes fall shut.

Olivia ignored the comment and folded up a wipe to use the corner to collect the flaked makeup beneath her eyes. “Are you really sure you want to go? You have nothing to prove to anyone, sweet girl.”

“I want to prove it to myself,” Jet murmured. “I just— just pushed myself a little too far.”

Olivia balled up the makeup wipe. “Just breathe a little longer, I’ll find you something to wear.”

If Olivia had her way, she wouldn’t be bringing Jet at all. Not to this media circus. But she wasn’t going to prevent her daughter from making the choice, from making the effort.

She couldn’t keep her locked away in the tower forever.

Olivia picked the black dress Jet had worn to her awards ceremony out of the closet, laying it on the bed. She picked up the green dress beside it to tuck away, and as it unfolded, she caught sight of the tag sewn into the back.

Emerald A-Line, the tag read. And in smaller print, below the dress’s name, Be the Jewel in the Crowd.

— — — — — —

He was heavily considering his options.

On one hand, he knew Jet would be absolutely less than thrilled to see him. And she did appear to be handling herself, admirably well, at this point.

On the other hand, of all the reporters Elliot had had the misfortune of encountering over the years, none had ever irked him so badly as Nico Bly. And there was the rat bastard, leaned against the drink table, engaging— trapping— Jet in a conversation she did not seem all too happy to be a part of.

Bly had to know who Jet was. Even if he didn’t— it was at least clear that the girl was a minor, with no parental supervision in sight. The point was, Bly should be leaving her the hell alone.

Jet took a step back, but Nico took a step forward.

“Eli,” Elliot muttered to his son beside him, who was thoroughly absorbed in his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

“Uh-huh,” Eli replied, hardly listening.

Elliot stood, and really hoped this would go better than he thought it probably would.

“Post or Ledger?” Jet was asking as Elliot approached. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, shoulders hunched in. Making herself a smaller target, protecting her vital organs— Elliot wondered if she was ever consciously aware that was what she was doing.

Nico smiled the most artificial smile Elliot thought he’d ever seen. “What do you mean?”

“Are you with the Post, or the Ledger?” Jet snapped. “Because you’re clearly not from the New York Times.”

“Hudson Herald,” Elliot announced, coming up behind her.

Jet startled, red punch sloshing out of the top of the shiny paper cup she held tightly in her right hand. He wanted to put a hand on her shoulder, instinctively a protective gesture, but he thought she’d probably elbow him in the stomach, so he refrained.

“Detective Stabler,” Nico greeted, and his smile soured. “I was just getting acquainted with Miss Juliet.”

“Funny, I thought Captain Benson made herself pretty clear when she told you reporters to stay the hell away from her kid.”

Nico did a terrible job of feigning surprise, eyebrows raised, mouth opened in a little ‘oh’ shape. “Juliet Benson? My apologies, I was unaware…”

“So you just make a habit of chatting up little girls at these things?” Elliot pressed, and he could’ve gotten more aggressive, he wanted to get more aggressive, wanted to send a message to all the other nosy bastards there that this girl was Off Limits, but he retained a modicum of self restraint. Because Jet was even more tense than she’d been moments ago, practically ready to leap out of her skin, and he did not want to be the one to set her off.

He thought that might make Liv a little peeved at him.

All the contrived friendliness in Nico’s features dissipated with Elliot’s implication, his mouth forming a thin line. “I’m sure I’ll be writing about you again soon, Detective,” he said in lieu of goodbye, the underlying meaning of his words clear. You’ll be in trouble again soon enough, and it’ll be nobody’s fault but your own.

Nico turned and disappeared into the crowd. Elliot opened his mouth, hoping to ask Jet some variation of Are you alright – How long was he bothering you – Do you need me to threaten anyone at the Herald, but she beat him to the punch as she whirled around and glared at him.

“I am not a little girl,” she— well, snarled was the first word that came to Elliot’s mind, the kid reminding him more and more of a cornered animal each time he saw her.

Okay, maybe that had been a bit of a poor choice of words. They got the point across to Nico, which was the intent, but he had a feeling Jet wouldn’t be too happy about it from the moment it left his mouth. And he had been correct, because she was now glowering at him like he had kicked a puppy, or something.

Glowering at him like he’d abandoned her mother for a decade and then showed up out of the blue to threaten the peaceful little oasis the two of them occupied.

Fair enough.

And it was fine. It was fine, alright? He understood. He had fathered five teenagers, survived five angsty phases— survived four, was in the process of surviving the fifth— he was used to his kids hating his guts.

Not that— not that he considered Jet his kid, of course not. That would be ridiculous. He had only met her a few months ago and since then, in their minimal interactions, she had made it very clear that he was to stay the fuck away. But she was a fatherless kid, and she was a kid who had obviously had a shit start to life, so she was a vulnerable kid. She was a kid in Elliot’s orbit. She was Olivia’s kid. So maybe Elliot had absolutely no realistic claim to her, none at all, but he did feel a sense of responsibility over her. More than responsibility, more like— it was more like a duty, if he had to label it, because if the military and the NYPD had taught him anything it was the importance of ‘duty.’ He had a duty to protect Jet, to ensure the world was kinder to her now than it had been all those years ago.

That made her a little bit ‘his,’ he thought. In a roundabout way. Right?

“Give him a break, sweetheart,” a woman was saying, and he realized that he’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed her approach. “Everyone seems little when you get to be as ancient as grandpa over here.”

“Alex,” Jet breathed, everything about her posture relaxing in relief, eyes lighting up.

“Cabot,” Elliot said, in moderate surprise. When the hell was the last time he’d seen Alex Cabot?

“What are you doing here?” Jet asked, shoving her drink onto the nearest table to wrap her arms around the other woman. “Thought you were still in Europe.”

“I got back on Wednesday, heard about…” Alex gestured vaguely around them, before draping her arms over the girl. “What can I say, I’m a fan of the arts.” She dropped a kiss to the top of Jet’s head. “And a fan of your mother, wasn’t going to miss the chance to hear her speak. Did she tell you I’m taking the two of you out tomorrow?”

Jet shook her head.

“Typical.” Alex glanced back up at Elliot. “Hey, Stabler. Been a minute.”

Understatement.

“I see you’ve already met the Mini-Liv,” Alex joked, squeezing Jet’s shoulders.

There was something looser about this Alex, something freer, something… wilder than Elliot remembered. That was the only word he could think to describe it. She hadn’t just let her hair down— beneath her more open behavior she seemed defensive, hyper-alert.

He supposed assuming a fake identity and looking over your shoulder for how-many years could do that to a person.

“Where are we going tomorrow?” Jet asked, tugging on the sleeve of Alex’s dress a little.

“I’m taking you and your mama to the Botanical Gardens for her birthday,” Alex said, returning her full attention to the girl. “There’s a Chihuly exhibit I know she’ll love.”

“What’s Chihuly?” Jet asked.

Elliot was grateful the genius kid didn’t know, because it made him feel a little better for also not knowing.

“Chihuly’s an artist. Does blown-glass stuff. You’ll like him.” Alex considered. “Or, your mother will like him, and we’ll pretend to be just as excited as she is, because we love her. How’s that?”

Jet nodded rapidly in agreement, seeming a little in awe of the woman beside her.

“You see the silver purse over there?” Alex cocked her head a little as she pointed to a purse on a chair. “That’s where I’m sitting, if you want to join me.”

“Yeah,” Jet said, still nodding.

“Go eat some dinner, lovey, I’ll be over in a minute.” Alex gently shooed Jet away, in the direction of the table, and the girl seemed happy to oblige. They both watched her weave between the throngs of people to claim her seat.

“How’ve you been?” Elliot asked, and then they were wrapping each other in a hug and he hadn’t realized just how many people he’d missed for so many years. Everything seemed so much simpler, in hindsight. Chinese food and case files, two detectives and an ADA with bedtimes close to dawn.

Alex let out a sigh. “Busy,” she said with a tired smile. “What are you up to?”

“Back with the NYPD.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You still with…?”

“Oh, God, no. Went private ages ago. Mostly…” She wiggled her fingers vaguely. “Mostly Family Law, some pro bono stuff.”

The way she said it made Elliot think there was more to the story, but now did not seem like the time nor the place.

“I actually…” Alex trailed off, and Elliot glanced in the direction she was gazing to find her eyes were planted firmly on Jet. “I didn’t handle the adoption itself, but I was pretty involved with Jet’s case for a while.”

“That why she looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky?” Elliot asked with a grin.

Alex smiled and shrugged. “She does not look at you like that,” she replied, blunt.

“I’ve noticed.”

“Any particular reason why, or…?”

“Because I sometimes exist within ten feet of her mother?”

Alex let out a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll do it. She’s a little protective.”

“Noticed that too.”

Alex softened a bit as she studied him. “You’ll weasel your way into her heart eventually. You have a way of it.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It’s much easier to be fond of you after not seeing you for over a decade.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “There she is.”

Alex’s grin grew to match his as she patted his bicep twice before slipping past him to join Jet at her table. Elliot took that as his cue to return to his own, as well.

​​Elliot slid into the seat beside his son. “Ever heard of a guy called Chihuly?”

“The artist?” Eli asked, looking up from his phone, confused.

“Yeah.”

Eli shrugged, studying him suspiciously. “In one of my design classes, yeah. Why?”

“Just curious,” Elliot responded. “He any good?”

It was a stupid question, and he knew it, but… it was an attempt.

“I guess?” Eli said, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Who was that lady? The one you were just hugging.”

“Her name’s Alex, we used to work together.”

Eli looked at him with an unreadable expression. “You used to work with a lot of women, huh.”

Elliot’s eyebrows shot up. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Eli shrugged again, looking down at his food.

“No, hey,” Elliot said, reaching over to tap the table in front of him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He repeated.

“You never told me the partner from your stories was my Godmother,” Eli said, and it wasn’t really an answer, but it was something.

Elliot paused, because he had no idea what in this conversation he should be addressing first. “Liv was usually the only woman on the squad,” he started. “We had a few… uh… transfers—” Not a great time for him to suddenly remember the existence of one Dani Beck. “—But usually Liv was the only female cop. Alex was our prosecutor, that was more of a mixed bag.”

“Okay,” Eli said, not sounding like he cared at all. He had pulled his phone back out.

Elliot could’ve pressed the issue, but he was still attempting to be on his best behavior. He could spend all the time he wanted deciphering the implications of his son’s words when they got back to the apartment.

“Here,” Eli suddenly said, shoving his phone in his father’s direction.

Elliot picked it up, squinting. It was a photo of an yellow, curly… thing. “What the hell is that?”

“Chihuly,” Eli said, spearing an hors d'oeuvre on his dish. “One of his sculptures in some rich asshole’s garden.”

“Language.” Elliot looked back down at the photo. The sculpture looked like an exploding Doctor Seuss tree. Or a tangled up octopus. Or something.

Was that really what Olivia was into now? Weird abstract art? At least— well, she had been raised by a literature professor. She’d always been a bit… was there a nicer way to say snobby? He didn’t think so. Olivia had always appreciated fine art and expensive alcohol and niche plays that tried to pass off their limited sets as an artistic choice and not a budget one.

Damn it, Cabot was right. Liv would be all over the Chihuly thing.

— — — — — —

“Are you gonna finish that?” Claire asked breathlessly, sliding into the empty seat beside Jet, the one Alex had just vacated. Her lavender dress, the one Jet knew her mother would approve of, fluttered around her. “‘Cause I haven’t—”

“Have at it,” Jet said, shoving her plate towards her.

“Oh, bless you,” Claire said, immediately grabbing Jet’s fork and trying to quickly shovel the half eaten hors d'oeuvres into her mouth without being terribly obvious about it. She glanced over at her friend. “Aw, you didn’t wear the pretty dress.”

Jet’s throat felt dry. “It didn’t fit,” she lied.

Claire stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “Maybe you can exchange it for a new size,” she mused, and then popped a shrimp into her mouth.

“Hey,” a male voice announced, and Jet looked up to see Eli had approached the table behind them.

Claire tilted her head towards Jet. “That side,” she said through a mouthful of food before swallowing. “I am not giving my mother any more ammo tonight.”

Eli raised his eyebrows, amused, but obeyed as he dropped down in the seat on the other side of Jet, where her mother had been sitting. “Didn’t get the chance to eat?” He asked Claire, who was swallowing down food like a woman starved.

“It’s unladylike,” Jet said in a sardonic tone, mimicking the words of the somewhat appearance obsessed Mrs. Sun.

Eli’s nose scrunched. “It’s unladylike to eat food at an event where food is being served?”

“Now you’re getting it,” Jet replied.

Claire just groaned out a half sob, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to finish her bite. “It’s pointless, anyways. He’s gay.”

Jet snorted. “The guy your mom tried to…”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you know?” Eli asked, craning his neck to see where Frank-the-Finance-Major stood near his designer-suited father. “He tell you?”

“I just talked to him for like, thirty seconds, and it was very obvious,” Claire said. “Besides, he lost my mom’s favor too. He’s not a finance major, he’s a business administration major at a state school.”

“May as well throw his entire future away now,” Jet deadpanned.

“I have to get back,” Claire said, pushing the dish away with reluctance. “She thinks I’m just fixing my makeup.”

“Godspeed,” Eli said, with a mock salute, and they grinned at each other over Jet who resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Claire’s heels clacked loudly against the marble floor as she departed, a large, practiced smile painted across her face as she rejoined her parent’s little group.

Jet let her gaze wander from the Suns to where her mother stood, tall and crisp and beautiful in her dress blues. Alex and Elliot were both in her circle as well, both holding skinny glasses, along with a handful of other cops. One of them, an older man, was talking, gesturing broadly with his hands, as the others laughed politely along.

“I like it about as much as you do,” Eli muttered.

“Claire doesn’t give a shit about the guys her mom pushes at her,” Jet murmured, only half paying attention to him as her eyes stayed on her mother’s conversation.

“Not Claire,” Eli said, shaking his head. “I know Claire isn’t interested in those guys, I meant…”

That caught Jet’s attention, and she turned towards him, confused. “You’re not…”

Eli tilted his head in the direction of their parents. “I like it about as much as you do,” he repeated.

Well. That was interesting.

“Oh,” Jet said. She tried to think of the best way to worm some more information out of him. “Really?”

Eli shrugged. “He divorced my mom, dropped off the face of the Earth for some undercover shit, and then showed up again just to hang around all these women he used to work with. Of course I don’t like it.”

Eli sounded more hurt than anything, and Jet wondered how much of his annoyance was really due to that whole dropped off the face of the Earth part. “Did he make you come tonight?”

“Nah. It was either this or dinner with Aunt Debbie, so I chose the lesser of two evils. At least the food here is edible.”

Jet turned back to observe the group again. It had split apart, and was now just her mother, Alex and Elliot trio-ed together. Her mother must have felt Jet’s eyes on her, because she suddenly looked up, catching her gaze.

Olivia smiled, corners of her eyes crinkling.

“My mom’s not a homewrecker,” Jet said to Eli, voice even and calm but very firm. “Is not, and never has been.”

“I didn’t think she was,” Eli quickly clarified. “Just think my dad’s a fucking mess.”

Jet wasn’t about to argue with that.

Olivia nudged Elliot, quirking her head in the direction of their kids, and Elliot looked over at them, his grin growing to match Olivia’s as he saw them sitting together.

“Oh, God,” Eli groaned, as he realized what they were smiling at.

“Bye,” Jet said shortly, immediately standing and brushing her dress off. She didn’t spare her mother another glance as she left the table in a random direction. She would go find Claire, and absolutely not give Elliot and Olivia the damn satisfaction.

— — — — — —

“Careful,” Elliot said, smile only growing as he watched the pained expressions cross their children’s faces. “They might die of embarrassment due to our mere existence.”

“Teenagers,” Olivia murmured, amused. “Gotta love them.”

Elliot wanted a moment alone with her. He wanted to praise her speech, which had charmed the audience, because he could tell she’d been nervous leading up to it. He wanted to tell her she looked beautiful in a Captain’s uniform, he wanted to ask her about the new awards she’d accumulated, pinned across her chest and down her shoulder.

Unfortunately, the sheer persistence of Alex Cabot did prevent this a little.

Not that Alex was responsible for all the obstacles, really. All sorts of people had been approaching Olivia since she’d finished her speech, some in uniform, some in fancy dress, all singing her praises. So, it wasn’t really Alex’s fault, but she was an easy target right now. She got Olivia all day tomorrow, she only had to share with Chihuly. She couldn’t give him a minute or two?

“I’m gonna go catch her,” Olivia decided about her daughter, placing her champagne down on a random table that was only conveniently nearby. “Before she gets roped into any of Wendy’s matchmaking schemes.”

And with that, his chance was gone.

“Wendy?” Elliot repeated, even though Olivia had already left.

“Wendy Sun. Claire’s mother, Claire being Jet’s best friend,” Alex explained. “Wendy likes to try to set up Jet with anyone she deems not good enough for her own daughter.”

“Ah.” Elliot felt a pang of annoyance that Alex knew more about Jet’s friends than he did, even though it was really nobody’s fault but his own. “I’m sure she loves that.”

They both watched Olivia make her way through the crowd, place her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. The impossibly-thin woman that must have been Wendy Sun didn’t look all too happy by the Captain’s appearance. Claire did, though. Elliot recognized Claire. He thought she might have been friends with Eli, too.

“He only has one eye,” Alex said, out of the blue.

Elliot blinked. “Huh?”

“Dale Chihuly,” Alex said, as if it was obvious, and took a sip of her champagne. “Only has one eye.”

“Oh,” Elliot said. “What happened to the other one?”

“Lost it in an accident. After…” She gestured towards her face, clearly suppressing a smile. “After glass got in it.”

There was a beat, as Elliot processed that.

“Wasn’t he a glass artist?”

“Yep,” Alex said, no longer trying to suppress the grin. “Isn’t that awful?”

Elliot stared at her. “Has anyone told you lately that you’re a strange woman, Cabot?”

“Maybe so,” Alex said, and finished her drink, placing the empty glass next to Olivia’s. “But I’m the strange woman who’s gonna end up in bed with a Captain tonight.” With a teasing wink, Alex was off, striding with purpose towards the Bensons, leaving Elliot staring after her, mouth still fumbling for words.

The sparkling water was not gonna fucking cut it.

— — — — — —

It wasn’t exactly how Olivia saw her night going, but she wasn’t about to complain. Jet had quickly excused herself to her bedroom, the moment they’d walked in the door, to play a new game I just got, with my headphones on, so text me if you need me because I won’t hear you call, they’re super noise cancelling. It was an innocent enough assertion, so Olivia did not want to dwell too long on why she’d made that announcement as soon as she’d realized Alex would be staying over.

Olivia didn’t have time to dwell in general, anyway. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, she was very eager to get out of her stiff outfit, and Alex was all too willing to help. With a few kisses thrown in.

Look.

Olivia knew that sleeping with a prosecutor-turned-vigilante was maybe not the smartest move in her position. But damn it, she was only human. She was a woman with needs, and not very many opportunities to sate them. She didn’t bring men home, not with her daughter there, and she had close to no interest in going out anymore. Not with sticky bars and pounding music that only triggered her tinnitus and the men were never worth it in the end, anyways, so this… arrangement, is what she’d call it, benefited everybody involved. There was a history, they both already knew what the other one liked. There was no awkward morning after, no explanation needed of the scars that dotted their skin. It was convenient.

Better than convenient, sometimes.

But nothing gold could stay, of course, because Olivia was half out of her uniform and Alex was mostly out of her dress and Olivia’s lips were pressed against the crook of Alex’s neck when the blonde gasped out, “Now feels like a good time to tell you that I’m technically married.”

Olivia froze. Out of all the things she expected Alex to say…

“You’re married?”

“Technically.”

Olivia pulled away from her neck so they were face to face. “How can you be technically married? You’re either married, or you’re not.”

Alex hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “Legally, I am married.”

“To who?”

Alex cleared her throat. “Well…”

Olivia raised her eyebrows, channeling her Captain look.

Alex sighed. “Langan.”

Olivia looked at her in disbelief, eyes huge. “Why?”

“Come on, Liv, you know I’ve been madly in love with Trevor Langan from the moment we met,” Alex said drily, before leaning in to try to plant a kiss to her cheek.

Olivia caught her with a hand to her chest, unimpressed. “Why,” she repeated, blunt.

“‘Cause he’s the only man that’s taller than me when I wear heels?” Alex attempted again.

“Alexandra Lisette Cabot,” Olivia said, in the tone of voice she would have reserved for when Jet got in trouble, if Jet ever actually got into trouble. “Or should I say Mrs. Langan.”

From the look across Alex’s face, she should absolutely not.

Olivia put a hand to her forehead, squeezed her eyes shut. “Did you get married for spousal privilege?”

“You are such a fucking cop,” Alex grumbled. “I never should’ve brought it up.”

“You’re married.”

“He doesn’t actually give a shit about who I sleep with.”

“Right,” Olivia said, nodding. “He, meaning, your husband.”

Alex shrugged. “If he knew I was here, he’d probably be more impressed, than anything…” And with that, Alex reached around her own back, beginning to unclasp her bra.

“Alex.” Olivia ran her hands down the woman’s arms, leaning back. “I’m not gonna sleep with you.”

“What, can’t handle a little torrid affair?” Alex rolled her eyes. “No wonder Stabler got the divorce, in the en—”

“To be honest,” Olivia cut her off. “Honestly, honey, I’m not entirely convinced you’re not having some sort of manic episode right now.”

For maybe the first time that night, Alex closed her mouth.

“So maybe we just lie down, try for some sleep—”

“Are you implying that I’m incapable of consent right now?” Alex asked, voice much icier than it was a moment ago.

“No. I’m implying that you’re incredibly wired and it’s making me nervous,” Olivia said, blunt. It was true. Alex’s heightened heart rate (maybe sneakily taken when Olivia’s lips had been pressed against her throat), her fast speaking— it reminded Olivia of a high. And she already knew it was a bad idea for her to become physically vulnerable when her brain was already connecting the patterns.

Alex wilted a little. “I’m just anxious,” she admitted. “And pretty jet lagged. Woke up, like… an hour before I left for the thing, had so much coffee.” She waved her hand vaguely. “Work hasn’t been great lately, and I thought I was still on the French internal clock but now I’m pretty sure my body just came up with one on its own.”

Olivia took Alex’s hand, traced her knuckles with a thumb. Any talk of work with the two of them was dangerous territory, but… “Did you lose a woman?” Olivia asked, voice dropped low.

Alex closed her eyes. “We don’t lose—”

“You know what I mean.”

Alex tugged her hand away from Olivia so she could run her palms over her face. “She couldn’t handle the isolation, leaving behind her mother and sisters…”

“She went back?”

“She overdosed on sleeping pills.” Alex shook her head. “I found her during a wellness check. And I don’t want to talk about work anymore.”

“Christ,” Olivia breathed. “Al, babe, I’m so sorry…”

“Olivia,” Alex said. “I said I don’t want to talk about work anymore.”

Olivia wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders and tugged the woman closer to her, pressing a kiss to her temple. Alex sighed, letting her body slump against her.

Olivia considered her options, her comfort level with the situation, trailing her fingers along Alex’s shoulder blades. “Take a shower with me?” She eventually murmured into blonde hair.

Alex raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t you literally just say—”

“You really wanna look a gift horse in the mouth?” Olivia replied. Yes, she had just said Alex’s behavior was making her nervous. However. Olivia understood. She understood what it was like to put so much energy, constant energy, into a case, throw your entire being behind someone, just for it to all… disappear. Just to be left with the residual electricity running through your veins, nowhere to put it, needing somewhere to put it. “You need to relax. A hot shower will help you relax.” Her lips trailed from her temple, to just behind her ear. “And you know I’m very good at helping you relax.”

“Mmm,” Alex hummed. “Not like you have any pent up frustrations of your own, or anything.”

Olivia let out a little huff, dropping her forehead to Alex’s shoulder. “You’re annoying.”

“What is going on with you two?”

“Nothing!” Olivia insisted, yet again. “He just… showed up. That’s it.”

“That’s it? A decade later, he’s back to following you around like a lost puppy, and all you have to say is that’s it?”

Olivia pursed her lips, and couldn’t think of anything better to say. “That’s it.”

“You don’t want anything more…”

“Cabot,” Olivia cut her off. “If you don’t get in that shower within thirty seconds, all offers are off.”

Alex rolled her eyes, but pushed herself up to swing her legs over the side of the bed. “Bossy.”

“You love it.” Olivia stretched her arms over her head, arching her back, hearing the pop. God, she felt old sometimes. “Just give me a minute to…” She gestured towards the hall, and Alex waved her off.

Olivia stood and left the room, closing the door with a quiet click behind her, before making her way to Jet’s room and knocking on the door, loud enough to be heard over headphones.

“Come in,” Jet called in response.

Olivia opened the door and slipped inside.

“It’s my mom,” Jet was saying to whoever was on the other end of her headphones. She looked back up at her mother. “Katie says hi.”

“You two playing a game?” Olivia asked, approaching the desk so she could see Jet’s computer screen. “Are those penguins?”

“Yeah.” Jet swiveled her chair back and forth. “I just got the game, so I asked Katie to try it with me. Are you going to bed?”

“Alex and I are getting ready to sleep, yeah,” Olivia said, which was technically true. About as technical as Alex’s marriage, anyways. “I love you, sweet girl.” She bent down to press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “And— love you too, Katie,” she said to the room at large.

“The microphone’s over there,” Jet said, pointing to the corner of her desk.

“Oh. Thanks.” Olivia leaned towards the microphone. “Love you, Kate.”

“She loves you too,” Jet relayed back to Olivia. “G’night, Mama.”

“Good night, ladies. Try not to stay up too late.” Olivia backed out of the room and started to pull the door shut behind her, until she heard Jet mumble,

“Only if you and Alex don’t.”

“Hey,” Olivia said, pulling the door back open just enough to stick her head in. “Heard that.”

Jet just grinned and shrugged, eyes already focused on the computer screen once again.

By the time Olivia was back at the master bathroom, the water was running and the room was humid, Alex’s form silhouetted against the glass shower doors. Olivia sighed, tugging her hair down from its loose updo, and slid open the shower door to join her.

— — — — — —

To give Olivia some credit, Alex was far more relaxed than she had been a few hours ago.

She was just unfortunately still very awake.

Olivia wasn’t. Olivia was passed out in bed, had fallen asleep very quickly after they had showered, gotten into sleepwear, had a little detour, and then curled up in her bed. Olivia was asleep, and she was snoring, something she insisted she never did but had done for as long as Alex knew her.

The snoring was the main reason Alex now found herself standing in the Bensons’ kitchen, brewing a cup of chamomile tea with the tea bag she knew she’d find tucked away in one of Olivia’s cabinets, (Olivia never actually drank it, but she liked to pretend she would one day. So it was always there. Predictable.) and debating how much of a risk to her physical wellbeing it would be to tell Olivia to please get tested for sleep apnea.

Probably best not to risk it.

Alex rubbed her hands over her face, leaning her elbows on the counter, breathed in the steam that rose from the Pottery Barn mug.

A small part of her liked to believe Olivia kept the chamomile tea on hand specifically for when Alex dropped in, no matter how untrue she knew that was.

But it didn’t matter why Olivia had chamomile tea in her cupboard. She had it, Alex was drinking it, that was that.

“Hi.”

Alex startled, whipping around to find Jet standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “Hey, there. Did I wake you up?”

God, she was glad she had thought to put on pants before escaping Olivia’s bedroom. Even if they were obviously Olivia’s pants, branded with the NYPD insignia.

“I don’t sleep.” Jet took a step into the kitchen, leaning against the fridge. “What’re you making?”

“Tea. Want some? Or cocoa, or something?”

“No, thank you. Why aren’t you dating my mom?”

Alex blinked, jetlagged brain working over time to try to figure out if she’d heard the girl right. “I’m sorry?”

“Why aren’t you dating my mom?” Jet repeated, opening the fridge to grab the brita pitcher of water. “You used to. And now you practically are, anyways.” She glanced pointedly at the logo on Alex’s— Olivia’s— sweats. “Why not just make it official?”

Because I’m married, Alex wanted to blurt out, a shitty attempt at a joke that Jet would probably find more confusing than funny. So she didn’t. “Um,” she said instead, because how much did this kid know about what she and Olivia used to get up to? “That’s a complicated question, sweetheart.”

“No it’s not.” Jet wouldn’t make eye contact with her, and Alex couldn’t tell whether the girl was more offended that she wasn’t dating her mother or that she had. “It’s a simple question, even if it has a complicated answer.”

“Always displace the blame. Good girl.” Alex nodded as she picked up the mug and blew over the rim. “You’ll make a fine lawyer yet. Any way I can still convince you law school’s in your future?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’ve trained you too well,” Alex muttered. “Why don’t we sit down?”

They ended up on the sofa, Jet curled in the corner with her knees practically tucked beneath her chin, Alex perched on the edge. “Where is this coming from?” Alex gently nudged.

Jet shrugged. “You’re dressed in her clothes in our apartment at two in the morning and taking us to the botanical gardens tomorrow. I think it’s kinda obvious where it’s coming from.”

Alright, Alex could play this off. Jet probably wouldn’t buy it, but she might drop it, and that was enough. “Your mother and I have been friends for a really long time—”

“I know you just slept together.”

Alex nearly choked on the end of her sentence.

“Seriously, how naive do you think I am?” Jet asked, very interested in the ridges on her water glass and not at all in making eye contact with the woman across from her. “It’s— I’m fine with it, if that’s what you’re waiting for. I don’t have any problems with you two…” Jet waved her hand vaguely. “Being whatever you are.”

“When your mother and I were… together,” Alex began, carefully. “We were a prosecutor and a detective. We both worked for the system, a just, fair system. I used to— God, the world was so black and white, back then. I thought I knew everything.” Alex shook her head, glanced down at her hands.

“And then you died?” Jet offered.

Alex smiled, studying the lines in her palms. “Before that,” she said. “Before I died, I started… I had questions. Your mother…” She looked up now, above Jet, up towards the ceiling, like she could see right through it. “Your mother didn’t always play by the rules.”

Jet’s face scrunched up. “I’ve never seen her break a law in my life.”

Alex let out a bark of laughter, bringing her hand to her mouth in hopes she didn’t wake up Olivia. “Oh, sweetie. The stories I could tell you…” She shook her head. That was a long time ago. “Another night. But… I thought I knew it all. I thought the system was infallible, that even where there were human mistakes, the letter of the law itself was always imbued with the spirit of justice.”

“Like computer code,” Jet murmured off handedly. “The code is perfect, it’s the humans that fuck it up.”

Alex cocked her head in acknowledgement. “Like computer code. But computer code was created by humans, and so was our system. It’s impossible to lack human error. So Liv and I would argue, and I would lay down the law, but she made some really good points. So I started to ask questions, and I didn’t— I didn’t always love the answers.”

“And then you died?”

“And then I died,” Alex agreed. “And I didn’t want your mama to wait around for me. Not when the world is so big, there are so many wonderful people out there… and we didn’t know when I’d come back. If I’d ever come back.”

“But you did,” Jet pointed out.

Alex nodded again. “Yeah, I did.”

“And you were there after Lewis.”

“I don’t think your mother wants me talking to you about that.”

Jet considered that with pursed lips. “But you were there.”

“I was. And I’ll always be there for her. And for you.” Alex leaned over to squeeze Jet’s knee. “But after I came back, I wasn’t the same woman I was when I left. I tried to be, God knows I tried to be, but…” She shook her head again, switching gears. “The thing I admire most about your mother is her relentless pursuit of justice. She fights for anyone, everyone, and she does it with compassion and grace. She does it in a system that’s routinely tried to shut her up. She’s formidable.” Alex caught her lip between her teeth for a moment before letting it go. “Your mother is an example of everything right in our justice system. She’s the ideal.”

“And what are you?”

Good question, kid. Alex still didn’t know, most days. Her resulting smile was rueful. “I step in when the system fails.”

Jet studied her. “Are you a criminal?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Alex picked up her tea again, finally cool enough to sip. “‘Criminal’ implies that I’m actively committing crimes. I just… the law does not always act in vulnerable peoples’ best interests. I make sure their interests are met.” Alex shrugged. “That might put me in conflict with the justice system sometimes. But I don’t go out with the intent to commit crimes.”

“Just makes it difficult for you to be with a police captain,” Jet mumbled, staring down at her water.

“I know your mother will never really get why I have to do what I do. I mean— she understands the actions, but she’ll never understand why it has to be me. And I’m okay with that. Honestly, she wouldn’t be the woman I know and love if she wasn’t a stubborn ass once in a while. Firm in her convictions. Whatever you want to call it.” Alex leaned back against the sofa cushions. “Maybe there’s a timeline where things went differently. If I’d never had to leave, or… I don’t know. But I like this one. Truly, I’m happy here. Your mother deserves to share her life with someone as dedicated to improving the system as she is.” Alex tipped her head. “And in the meantime, I’ll be waiting in the wings to clean up the cases that the law won’t let her win. The ones the system isn’t quite ready for, yet.”

“Like mine.”

Alex grinned, stretching out an arm to urge Jet to nestle beside her. “You’re my greatest success story, baby.”

Chapter Text

The coffee shop was small— not cramped small but cozy small— the pastries were overpriced but very pretty, and Kathy was immensely grateful to be here. Not inside the coffee shop itself, no, but sitting at a wobbly table across from her daughter.

Kathy was attempting to study, something she was normally very good at, but now kept finding herself distracted. She was sure the open chapter of Clinical Management of Swallowing Disorders, Fifth Edition was interesting enough, but her attention was fully taken by Kathleen.

Katie was grading discussion board posts, resting her chin on one palm propped up by an elbow leaned on a textbook of her own, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, eyes darting back and forth between her laptop screen and the rubric in front of her. “You’re staring,” Katie murmured after a moment, without looking away from her work.

“I’m proud of you,” Kathy replied, with a small smile of her own.

Katie finally looked back at her, eyebrows raised, amused.

There was still a wall between them.

Ever since coming back to America, Kathy had been able to rebuild her relationships with her children. Lizzie and Maureen acted like no time had passed at all. Rich was always busy, always a little distant, but they’d gotten there. Kathy was around Katie the most— save for Eli— and Katie was the one who’d been the most relieved when her parents returned. But for some reason, there was still this block between them. Almost tension, but not quite hostile… Just a stiff, solid boundary.

“I am,” Kathy reiterated, looking down at her own book, feeling weirdly flustered considering this was her child she was talking to, there was no need to get awkward… “You’re very impressive, you know.”

Katie let out a soft sigh, running her fingers back through her hair. “You raised a whole child with an abnormal psyche. I just teach it.”

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Her own child had nearly ended up in jail until someone else stepped in— if her mother in law’s memory was being truthful when she’d relayed the story. Kathy had almost failed her.

And Olivia Benson had been the thread that held the Stabler family together once again.

“I’m proud of you,” Kathy repeated. That was what really mattered, in the end. “I’m proud of the beautiful, intelligent, compassionate young woman you are.”

She expected Katie to make a joke, to deflect, but none came. Instead she just laced her fingers and pressed them to the back of her neck, ducking her head. “You deserved the chance,” Katie mumbled, almost inaudible.

Kathy’s brow furrowed. “Hm?”

Katie unlinked her fingers to gesture at the textbook open in front of her. “You deserved the chance.”

Kathy looked down at the open pages. She’d thrifted it. She could do that now, she’d learned, buy books secondhand online. Katie had been the one to show her how. Katie had offered to get her a free version, but the way she’d dodged her mother’s question of how legal is that? had led Kathy to just thrift the book. She was okay with spending the money. She liked highlighting the pages, anyway. She had blue highlights on this page.

Radiation therapy leads to xerostomia (dryness of the mouth), which, in many cases, is permanent.

“I got my chance,” Kathy said. “In the end. I got to have it all, really. I’m lucky.”

She was lucky. She truly believed that. She didn’t think many women in her position could say the same, which made her feel all that much luckier. Sure, she was divorced, about to be empty nesting, and somehow just now in school in her fifties. But she had a good relationship with her ex-husband, was watching her children flourish, and school would allow her to do something she loved after Eli moved out. So she was grateful.

Tired. But grateful.

Katie looked like she had more she wanted to say, but hovered with her mouth half open for a moment, before glancing back down at her laptop.

There was a loaded pause, before distorted piano music started playing seemingly out of nowhere. Katie shook her head, fumbling in her bag to produce what Kathy now knew was her ringing phone. She didn’t recognize the song, but it was a little eerie, a little melancholy.

Katie picked up without checking the caller ID. “Hey, kiddo. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

Kathy raised her eyebrows, and Katie glanced over to mouth Jet so at least she would know it wasn’t her son playing hooky.

“You alright? Home sick?” Katie asked, turning a little, bringing her free hand to cover her other ear in an attempt to hear the girl on the other end of the line a little better. “Jet, what’s wrong?”

Kathy sat quietly, observing her daughter in what she would argue was her element. Kathy didn’t know exactly how to define the element, just that it was somewhere between big sister and clinical child psychologist.

“No, that’s never happened to me.” Katie’s eyes went a little wide, but her voice remained soothing. “Jet, did you pass out?”

Kathy grabbed her purse.

“Jet, I need you to answer my question. Did you pass out?” Katie repeated, still calm, but a little more urgent. “Okay. Alright. Did you hit your head?”

Kathy felt a little helpless, bouncing the knee that her purse was balanced on, keys jingling where they were clipped onto her shoulder strap.

“Alright, honey. I’m gonna come to you— no, don’t argue with me, you need someone nearby until your mama gets home.”

“I’m coming too,” Kathy murmured, just so Katie could warn the girl.

Katie nodded to her mother, but Jet was apparently saying something in the phone that made her quickly shake her head. “No, sweetie. I’m with my mom, and we’re coming to stay with you until your mother gets home. No– No, Jet, there’s really nothing you can say right now that will convince me you’re fine.” Katie used her shoulder to tuck her phone under her ear so she could utilize both hands in packing up her laptop and books. “Breathe, baby. You’re not inconveniencing anyone, it’s okay…” Once she’d gathered her things, she quirked her head towards the door, signaling to her mother that they should start heading out. “Do you have…” Katie’s voice dropped quieter. “Do you have everything you need? If you need any… supplies, or painkillers, or something, I can grab it on the way.”

Kathy led Katie to the car, unlocking the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. “Where are we going?” She murmured, keeping her voice low as to not interrupt the phone conversation. Katie shouldered her cell phone again to take Kathy’s phone and type in the address, somewhere on the Upper West Side.

“Alright, honey, we’re about a half hour away. You want me to stay on the phone?” Kathy knew what the answer would be even before Katie said, “You sure?”

Kathy started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and into the drizzly day.

“Alright, baby, we’ll be there soon,” Katie reassured her. “You’ll be fine, cutie. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Katie hung up the phone. Kathy waited a minute to give her a moment to breathe.

“Jet fainted,” Katie eventually began to explain without further prompting. “And when she woke up, she realized her period— her first period— had started. She said she called Olivia, but couldn’t get through, and that she thinks she’s testifying in court today so she’s not sure when she’ll be out.”

“Good lord,” Kathy murmured, hitting on the windshield wipers as the drizzle turned to rain. “Is she— does she faint at blood?”

“No. Even if she did, she fainted before she saw the blood.” Katie drummed her fingers on her knee, expelling nervous energy. “I think— she was stuttering a little, I think she may be going nonverbal.”

Kathy nodded slowly. “Do you know how she communicates when she’s nonverbal?”

“I don’t know,” Katie mumbled, leaning her head against the window. Her eyes darted to the little red numbers of the car clock. “Shit, I have to teach in like— two hours.”

“If you have to go and Olivia isn’t out of court, I’ll stay with her,” Kathy reassured her, reaching to squeeze Katie’s shoulder. “You know I wouldn’t leave her alone.”

“I know,” Katie said quietly. “I just— ugh.” She cut herself off to shake her head. “It’s fine. She’s fine.”

While Jet fainting was definitely alarming, Katie’s concern seemed to border on true distress. Kathy opted to leave her hand on her daughter's shoulder, gently rubbing her back until she needed it back on the wheel. “Even if she’s not fine now, she will be,” Kathy murmured in reassurance. “She will be okay.”

— — — — — —

Jet opened the door only a crack, even after confirming through the buzzer that it was the two Stabler women, letting her eyes dart warily over them both. Kathy wondered, with Olivia’s history, how overly precautious this little girl felt like she had to be.

An odd feeling somewhere between sorrow and guilt churned in her stomach.

“Hey,” Katie said softly. “Just us.”

It was still so strange to see Kathleen in this maternal role. One Kathy had expected Maureen or Lizzie to take on, but not her always-feisty ever-independent middle child.

It suited her. God, it suited her.

Jet opened the door a little wider, allowing them in. Her eyes were rimmed with red, like she’d either been crying or rubbing at them. The hoodie she wore— did kids Jet’s age really still listen to Siouxsie and the Banshees—? was probably intended to be oversized on Olivia, considering it nearly hit the girl’s knees.

“You didn’t have to come,” Jet mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “It’s— I’m fine. I just didn’t eat enough, or something, but you don’t have to stay. I mean— thank you, for coming, thank you, really, but…”

She was rambling, and her words were a little slurred, and very quiet, and Kathy realized she needed to get some sodium into this girl— and get her to lie down— fast.

“Sweetheart,” Kathy said before Katie could say anything, keeping her voice light, her smile warm. She knew Jet was shy, almost painfully so, so she was going to have to tread carefully. “If one of my girls had a fainting spell, or even just felt a little off, I know your mother would stay right by their side until I was able to get to them. And I would be endlessly grateful for that. Let me do this for her, as much as I’m doing it for you.”

Jet hesitated, studying her with wide eyes, before nodding timidly.

It appeared that Katie was right when she said that Jet absolutely idolizes Olivia, loves her more than anything. Acting like everything they were doing was solely for Olivia was probably the only way to get Jet to accept any help at all.

Not that it wasn’t a little also for Olivia, if Kathy was being honest with herself, just…

“Were you feeling sick this morning?” Katie asked, approaching to wrap an arm around Jet’s shoulders. “That why you stayed home?”

Jet shook her head quickly. “If I was sick, Mama wouldn’t leave me alone, she’d— she would…” her eyelids fluttered for a moment, as she lost her train of thought. “Um… if she couldn’t get out of court,” she found it, “She would ask someone to stay with me.” Jet leaned forward a little, and Kathy nearly instinctively jumped to grab her, but Katie’s arm tightened to keep her upright.

“Come sit,” Katie murmured into Jet’s hair, pressing a kiss there, before guiding the girl to the sofa. She glanced back at Kathy as she sat the girl down, the look on her face saying she was having the same exact thoughts as her mother. “My mom and I haven’t eaten yet, why don’t we order some lunch?”

It wasn’t exactly the truth. But it wasn’t like Jet would allow them to order food just for her.

Jet took a while to answer, mouth grasping for words, before she nodded mutely, clamping her jaw shut. Her shaky hand found Katie’s.

“Chinese okay?” Kathy asked, as it was the most sodium-dense food she could think of. Would salt even help? Salt always helped Lizzie, when she had her blackouts, but that was Lizzie. Whatever was going on with Jet could be totally different.

It was the most Kathy had to work with at the moment, so she would take it.

“I don’t need anything,” Jet managed. “Whatever you want.”

They could have argued the point, but Kathy really didn’t want to cause her any more stress, so she opted to just nod in agreement. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” she announced, even though the kitchen was within sight of the living room. She thought she’d give the two of them a little space for Katie to squirrel out any information she could from the girl, who was much more likely to confide in her if just Katie was present.

She found takeout menus on the side of Olivia’s fridge, held up with magnets of various designs. NYPD, Siena College, Lake George. She grabbed the Chinese takeout menu and opened her phone, but didn’t dial right away— instead went to her contacts, to where Olivia Benson’s number had lived untouched for the past decade.

It felt overwhelmingly huge to tap that contact now.

But she did, her thumb pressing down after a moment, and it took three rings for her to realize she was holding her breath.

Pull yourself together, she mentally chastised herself. You’re a grownup, for God’s sake.

The call rang out.

You’ve reached Olivia Benson, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

“Hey, Olivia,” Kathy said softly, stepping into the hall to put more distance between herself and the kids. Kid. Child and adult daughter. She glanced over her shoulder, but Jet was leaned fully into Katie, neither of them paying her any attention. “Everything’s okay. I’m at your apartment with Jet. She wasn’t feeling well, so she called Katie, but she’s doing better now. I’ll stay with her until you get home. Just didn’t want you to panic.” Kathy took a deep breath, and had no idea how the hell to end the message. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she decided on, rather lamely. “Take care.”

With that, Kathy hung up, and dialed in the number to the Chinese restaurant. Still not knowing what Jet preferred, she threw in an extra order of pork dumplings and chicken nuggets, assuming at least one of those was a safe bet.

By the time she returned to the living room, Jet was nestled entirely into Katie’s side, and Katie was rubbing her back gently. “I’m gonna stay to have lunch with you,” Katie was murmuring. “But I have to get back to Fordham to teach my class…”

“‘S fine, I’m fine,” Jet interjected into her shoulder, muffled by her denim jacket.

“…So my mom’s gonna stay until your mama gets home,” Katie finished. Jet started to shake her head, and Katie’s hand came to cup the back of her skull. “No arguments, honey. We can’t leave you alone like this.”

“Did you stay home this morning, or did you leave school early?” Kathy asked, even though she was fairly sure Jet wouldn’t have been able to leave without someone checking her out. It distracted from the thought of Katie’s eventual leaving, at least.

“I— um…” Jet looked between them, her expression almost pained. “I couldn’t go in. I got suspended yesterday,” she mumbled, and then buried her face back in Katie’s shoulder.

Kathy looked at her daughter in disbelief, who also had wide eyes at the admission.

“You got—” Katie started, but was cut off by a muffled,

“Don’ wanna talk about it.”

“Alright,” Katie said, still seeming bewildered. “Um… well…”

Kathy could not for the life of her imagine what Jet had managed to get suspended for. She was a quiet girl, with brilliant grades, and was tiny enough that a moderate breeze could knock her over.

“Katie has some first hand experience with that,” Kathy eventually said, deciding that throwing her daughter under the bus was probably the mood lightener they all needed. “She could give you a tip or two about getting suspended.”

Katie flashed a look in her direction that said really, mom? as Jet pulled away to look up at her somewhere between confusion and awe. “What did you do?”

“What didn’t I do,” Katie grumbled. “I was a hot mess.”

That elicited a small smile from Jet. There was one goal achieved, at least.

They sat quietly after that, Katie murmuring nonsense and lightly rubbing Jet’s back, Jet either zoned out or listening carefully, Kathy couldn’t tell.

She took the opportunity for the first time to glance around the Bensons’ apartment from her seat in the armchair. There was a bookshelf in the living room, a tall one, with actual literature lining its shelves. Not the sort of books that were placed on display for interior design purposes; but well worn novels that Kathy had to squint to make out the titles of. There was Shakespeare, and Dickens, and Tolstoy. There were books with titles printed in other languages— did Olivia really read in Spanish and French? Did Jet—? Alongside mugs of pens and pencils.

There were a few picture frames on the walls. A photo of Olivia and a younger Jet somewhere green and lush with a lake behind them. An old photo that seemed oddly familiar to Kathy, though she couldn’t place why, of Olivia with an older woman. She searched back through her memory— had it been on Olivia’s work desk, once upon a time? That sounded right. The woman must have been her mother. Another photo, a candid caught of an even-younger-still Jet grinning brightly across from a blonde woman with her head tipped back, laughing.

The woman also looked oddly familiar to Kathy, though this time she could place why. She looked exactly like Olivia’s girlfriend from way back when Liv and Elliot had first become partners, the young lawyer Kathy had encountered at Christmas gatherings and benefit galas. The young lawyer who had most certainly died. Kathy was— she was pretty damn sure of that, actually. She had been at the funeral. But the woman in the picture definitely resembled her too closely to be a coincidence.

Maybe a sister?

Kathy’s phone buzzing in her pocket startled her out of her thoughts. “Food’s here,” she announced, reading the notification. “Should I tell him to come up to—”

“No!” Jet nearly yelped, shaking her head, starting to stand. “I can’t— deliveries don’t come to our door, that’s a rule. I can— I’ll just—”

“I will go to the lobby,” Kathy quickly said, as Katie tugged Jet back to the sofa. “I’ve got it.”

She met Jet’s gaze for only a fraction of a second, but she felt like those dark eyes were boring straight through her.

Kathy didn’t want to dwell much on why delivery drivers weren’t allowed to approach the Bensons’ door, but it was kind of hard not to. Especially when she had to slide open two deadbolts, a door chain, and unlock the door knob to leave, which felt like a slightly excessive amount in any normal circumstance.

But that was just it. The Bensons weren’t a normal case, were they?

She had tried for so long not to think about it. She really had. For years Kathy had lived with her decision, shoved it somewhere deep inside, buried it with the associated guilt. She had been faced with an impossible choice, and in the end, she’d chosen to protect her family as best she could, to protect her husband, to protect her young son— that was the only choice she could have made, she liked to tell herself. Maybe not liked to. But it was what she continued to tell herself. She was a wife and a mother, that’s all she’d ever been, and her only job was to keep her family whole. For those two, three years she’d been in survival mode, lightning focused on ensuring her baby grew up knowing both of his parents.

She had made really the only choice anyone could expect a woman to make, in her position.

There was a story Kathy had read in one of her required general education courses, the prior semester. Surrounded by bored college freshmen and sophomores, she’d sat in the back of Nineteenth Century American Literature and tried to fade into the wall as best she could. And she’d read Edgar Allan Poe— she was sure if she looked on the bookshelf in the Bensons’ living room she’d find Poe— and his short story The Tell-Tale Heart.

The closer Olivia and Juliet Benson drifted into Kathy’s orbit, the louder she could hear the thumping, the beating, the taunting of the heart beneath the floorboards. Her own decision, come back to haunt her.

She used to tell herself that Olivia would understand. That if Kathy tried to explain, laid out the hospital intake forms and the family history and every single empty beer bottle, one by one, the evidence would stretch so far and wide that Olivia would have to understand.

And then Kathy met Jet, and the illusion shattered. Jet, who peeked through the door even when she knew who was there, who saw nothing abnormal about the amount of locks shielding her apartment from the outside world, who wouldn’t let the deliveryman come to their door, who wanted to be a cop like her mother.

How old had Jet been, when her mother was abducted? Had she been in school, daycare— who had picked her up, taken her to the precinct? Who had told her mommy’s not coming home tonight, who had held her while she’d inevitably cried, the way every child did when sleeping somewhere new for the first time? Had Jet seen her mother in the hospital, bloody and bruised, had there been a threat on her life too?

It was one thing to hide Olivia’s abduction, the phone calls, the horrifying newspaper articles, when there was nothing the Stablers could do. They had been a seven hour plane ride away, Elliot wasn’t NYPD, they wouldn’t have allowed him to assist in the investigation. And during Olivia’s recovery, if they had returned, it would only have raised questions about why they’d gone in the first place, only would have caused Olivia an immense amount of additional stress that would have just hindered her healing. Kathy had thought about it, Kathy had thought about it, Hell, she’d prayed over what to do.

But knowing what she knew now— knowing that Olivia had a daughter that was so young, at the time… There was something the Stablers could have done. They could have kept that little girl safe, the same way Olivia had once upon a time kept Katie safe, and Dickie, and Eli, and Kathy herself, and oh, God forgive me.

Instead of a heart under the floorboards, Kathy had a little girl with heart palpitations, staring right through her with her mother’s eyes.

She could sit with Jet now, until her mother got home. Keep her fed and calm. Frankly, it paled in comparison to everything Olivia had ever done for her, but it was something. Something.

Maybe one day she’d get to explain. Maybe Olivia would understand. Maybe Elliot would forgive her.

The elevator dinged, and Kathy stepped out, finding the young delivery boy in the lobby. She handed over a cash tip, took the bag of food. Got back into the elevator.

Who was she kidding. It would be a cold day in hell before Elliot forgave her.

The elevator numbers flicked up, higher, higher, and the heartbeat pounding in Kathy’s ears was nobody’s but her own.

Chapter Text

He was trying to be good. Really, honestly, he was making an attempt. But, see, the thing is— Adam really needed money. And getting a traditional job wasn’t entirely working out, because the whole reason he needed money was the same reason he couldn’t exactly work consistent hours, so you could sort of see the pickle he was finding himself in.

The competitions were fine, the competitions were great, however the competitions were also competitions. They were— well— competitive. And they didn’t happen as often as he would’ve liked.

So, while he was trying to stay on the straight and narrow, he did have to make some… moral compromises. Rich kids had money. Rich kids were used to having things handed to them. Word-of-mouth marketing had served him fairly well so far, and Adam found himself once again hovering in the lobby of his Discord server, swinging his chair back and forth, waiting for the promised Zach to bite. Was that his real name? If so, incredibly stupid move, using your real name on Discord at all, but especially when hiring such… services.

Speaking of services, he was trying to imagine what “Zach” would ask for. His most common two requests— accessing exam answers (sure) and breaking into a significant other’s phone messages in search of cheating evidence (nope). He did have some boundaries, after all. Adam was a “fuck the system” kinda guy, not a “fuck you in particular” kinda guy.

The notification that someone had joined popped up on his screen, and all Adam could do was grimace when he saw the profile picture, one of a scarily young looking anime girl in a very lewd framing.

“Hey, man,” the tinny voice came through the voice channel. “It’s Malachi, right? Heard you can get into computers.”

Adam let out a long suffering sigh before unmuting. “Depends who’s asking,” he said, before hitting mute again. And then immediately unmuted just to add “And why,” as that was a fairly important component.

“How much will it cost me?”

Adam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Depends what you want me to do,” he said, as he thought that was fairly obvious, yet he somehow always ended up here, explaining to the little pricks how business transactions worked.

Rich kids were also dumb as rocks, had he mentioned that yet?

“This bitch at school—”

“Oh, here we fucking go,” Adam hit mute just to mutter under his breath. Who had made the referral? Some kid named Eddie. He pulled up another window to do a quick search as Zach rambled on.

“This bitch smashed my laptop. Just— completely fucking trashed it.”

Adam couldn’t help the little snort he let out at that image, two private school kids resorting to property damage. He found what he was looking for fairly easily. Eddie’s school, so probably also Zach’s… Hastings-on-Hudson Technical High School.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

“I don’t care what the hell you do, but if you can get into her computer and just fuck it up, make it look like some technical issue so it can’t be traced back…”

Didn’t matter. Zach and his apparent nemesis would not survive a day in his inner city public school, and the thought brought him great amusement. He hit unmute. “Nope,” he said. “I don’t get involved with teenage drama bullshit.”

Aaaand mute again.

“Dude, they’re gonna let the freak get away with it! Her mom’s some feminazi cop, as soon as she whips out the victim card—”

Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Hastings-on-Hudson Blue Moon Robotics—

Adam hit unmute so fast he nearly rocked forward into his computer. “Benson?” He asked, and then realized there should have been a few more words in that question. “Are you talking about the Bensons?”

“You know them?”

Oh, this would be fun. Adam was starting to feel like the Grinch when he’d had an idea. An awful idea. A wonderful, awful idea.

“You know what, Zach? I think I can help you.”

— — — — — —

As soon as Katie left, Jet was a deer in headlights. Her eyes were wide, her footsteps were light, and every move was very carefully calculated.

Kathy packed up the food but left it on the table, privately hoping that Jet would get hungry and come back for more eventually. The girl had eaten enough that she wasn’t too concerned about the possibility of another blackout— at least, not due to low sugar or sodium— but not a lot, not by any stretch of the imagination.

“You wanna lie down for a bit?” Kathy asked, folding together the top of a box of rice. “You might feel a little better—”

“You don’t have to stay,” Jet blurted out, again, like it was compulsive. “I know you’re, um—” She gestured at the textbook Kathy had rested her purse on top of. “I know you’re busy…”

“It makes no difference to me whether I study at my kitchen table or yours,” Kathy said. “But I know it’ll make a difference to your mother whether an adult was present if you black out again.”

“I’m not gonna black out again,” Jet mumbled, her gaze fixed on the textbook and not at all in Kathy’s direction.

“It’s just a precaution, sweetie. You don’t have to stay in the living room, or anything like that. If you want to go to your room and lie down, then that’s fine. I’m just going to stay right here.” Kathy slipped back into the chair she’d taken at the table.

Jet stood there for a moment, thinking, arms crossed over her stomach. Her expression flickered into a little half smile that she was obviously trying— and failing— to suppress. “What if I leave the apartment?”

Kathy was approximately 85% sure she was attempting to make a joke, but there was always that 15% chance the girl was dead serious. She matched the crossed arms, leaned back in her chair, raised her eyebrows, allowed a smile of her own. “I imagine there’s quite a few cops who answer to your mother that would love to be the hero that brings her baby home.”

Hell, all she’d really have to do was call Elliot. He was probably at the top of the list of cops that would love to be the hero that brought Olivia’s kid home. The thought simultaneously made her want to roll her eyes and make a noise comprised of half laugh and half sob. She hardly thought she’d be the first one of the two of them to be in Olivia’s apartment post-divorce. Well, he might have already been here. She didn’t actually know for sure. But if he had, he was being very mopey for no other logical reason.

In the end, she really didn’t need to be thinking about her ex-husband at the moment, when Jet was still standing there, though looking less ‘poised to strike’ and more ‘confused and mildly impressed.’

“Sweetheart,” Kathy said, softening considerably from her prior statement. “I know that this is a discussion that should be saved for your mother. But if there’s any urgent questions or worries you have, you can ask. I have three girls of my own and two little sisters, this is hardly my first rodeo. I don’t want you stewing in anxiety until she gets home.”

Jet studied her intently for a moment, arms slipping out of their crossed position. She pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. “I have a question.”

Okay, Kathy could confidently say she had not actually been expecting that. “Shoot.”

“Were you and my mom friends?”

Kathy blinked. “Um…”

Were. Not are. Jet sounded pretty damn sure they weren’t friends now.

“I mean, back when she was partners with…” Jet trailed off, and she looked genuinely curious, not like she was trying to cause enough discomfort for Kathy to leave. Which was a shame. Because if she had been trying, she’d be getting pretty close.

Kathy swallowed. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Yeah,” Kathy said, and she didn’t sound like she believed herself, because honestly, she wasn’t actually sure if she did. “Yeah. We… she cared for my children, she even saved my life once.”

“That’s her job,” Jet pointed out. “To care about kids and save lives. That’s how she got me.”

Well, that answered one question Kathy had privately harbored about Jet’s parentage. “Your mother and I lived in very different worlds, honey. Vastly different worlds. But she always… she always brought my husband home safe, she always took care of my family. And I always admired her.” That was true, at least. It would’ve just been a little easier to admire her if Kathy hadn’t been so hyper aware of her husband doing the same. More. Louder. The same, but different. “I never— I never helped her out quite as dramatically as she helped me, but I tried to care for her in return, the ways I knew how.”

There was that heartbeat again, pounding in her ears. Even though it was true, it was. After Olivia’s mother’s death, after her girlfriend’s, Kathy was fairly sure Olivia wouldn’t have eaten anything at all if she hadn’t brought over meals and sat there until she obliged just to make sure she ate something. And during the times when Olivia shoved her squad away, even Elliot, Kathy had been the one to wiggle her way past her walls, the one on the other end of the phone rambling about the kids and their drama club or their soccer practices or boy scouts or something equally as shallow and easy to listen to that only served as a reminder that there were kids in the world that were happy and safe and loved.

But the truth of the matter was, the Stablers had always needed Olivia more than Olivia had ever needed the Stablers. Some days it felt like she was the only thread holding their marriage together. And that had essentially been proven, hadn’t it? The Stablers left New York and ended up divorced, came back to find Olivia with a promotion and a little girl of her own.

But she did need you, the heartbeat in Kathy’s eardrums reminded her. She almost didn’t make it out. And where were you? Playing pretend happy-families in London? Lying to the man you made your vows to?

Jet was still looking at her with those piercing brown eyes, and even now knowing they weren’t Olivia’s genetically, God, they were still Olivia’s.

“What are you studying?”

This girl knew how to throw a curveball. Either that, or Kathy was doing a terrible job of neutralizing her expression, and Jet was trying to change the topic before she had a nervous breakdown.

“Swallowing Disorders,” Kathy said, and pulled the book out from under her purse.

“Are you gonna be a doctor?” Jet asked, reaching to pick up the book and flip through the pages. Kathy let her. Jet was probably the first person who had ever assumed doctor and not nurse. Maybe having a cop mom did that to you.

“Lord, no,” Kathy said, shaking her head. “Nothing that exciting. I just want a job, or volunteering, or something, that’ll let me keep working with kids. After my youngest goes off to college, I mean.”

“Like a speech therapist.”

“Something like that.” Kathy watched Jet flip the pages, her eyes darting back and forth through the paragraphs. It would not surprise her if the girl was an incredibly fast reader. “Children who are nonverbal or with communication challenges can be really vulnerable. I just want to be someone in their corner. Someone they can trust to advocate for them, when they need it.”

Jet paused, and while she could have just been taking her time to read the page, her eyes were frozen to one spot in the book. Kathy waited.

“I had a speech therapist when Mama first got me,” she eventually said.

It was interesting to Kathy how she kept referring to her adoption as Olivia ‘getting’ her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I liked her.” Jet resumed to flipping pages. “It didn’t really work, because I refused to talk to anybody at all, but she was really nice. I liked her. You’d be good at it.” Jet shut the book and slid it back to Kathy, standing from her chair.

Kathy thought that probably meant the conversation was over. She had a feeling that said that Jet had more to say, but she wasn’t about to press it, as the girl went back into the living room to flop down in the corner of the sofa. She also wasn’t about to ask if Jet wanted to lie down again, because thinking back to the way she’d peeked through the door and insisted the deliveryman couldn’t come up to the apartment, she probably intended to keep Kathy in her line of sight for as long as possible.

That was alright. If motherhood and a cop husband had gifted Kathy anything, it was copious amounts of patience.

— — — — — —

“How mad were you when Katie got suspended?”

Kathy paused, and considered her response carefully. She knew a question had been brewing for the past ten minutes, could almost hear the gears turning in Jet’s brain, but she’d had no idea what it would be. Somehow, though, the inquiry didn’t take her by all that much surprise.

Katie had gotten suspended twice. The first for skipping class, and Kathy had been pretty damn pissed, because it almost took more effort to avoid class than just go to it. The second had been for drugs, and forget anger— Kathy had been terrified.

But this wasn’t really about Kathy. She knew that.

“If Katie hadn’t been suspended, her father and I wouldn’t have started to realize she needed help,” Kathy eventually said. “I was always more worried than angry.”

Jet thought about that, tucking her knees up under her chin, staring out at the living room. Kathy stood from her seat at the table, walked to the couch, sat down on the opposite end. Closer, but still giving the girl a bit of space. She was clearly still a little wary. “Can I tell you something else?”

Jet tilted her head in a half nod, half shrug.

Kathy had a nagging gut instinct about this, about what could really be going on. Jet reminded her of her youngest daughter in a lot of ways. “You met Katie’s little sister, right? Lizzie?”

“The teacher?”

“Mhm.” Kathy waited for Jet’s slow nod. “Lizzie’s always been pretty non-confrontational, and a little shy. Her twin brother, Rich, is… the opposite. And when they were in high school, there was this boy who… I don’t want to say he had a crush on her. Because the stuff he did was just…” Kathy shook her head. “Wasn’t a crush, it was creepy. She kept gently letting him down, trying to avoid him. One of her teachers told her to just ignore him and he’d go away.”

“That’s literally never worked,” Jet muttered, picking at the seam on the pocket of her leggings. “Not once, in human history, probably.”

“No, it never does, does it,” Kathy agreed. “Anyways, one day, he wrote something really disgusting and left it in her locker. She was understandably pretty freaked out, showed her brother, and Rich went after the guy and got into a pretty nasty fight.”

It wasn’t much of a fight. Rich had just beat the shit out of the guy. There was no competition there. Jet didn’t need to know that, though. Jet also didn’t need to know that Kathy was still a bit proud of him for that.

“I’m assuming he got suspended,” Jet mumbled, eyes never moving from her leggings.

Kathy couldn’t fight back her smile. “Nope. Happened off campus. The school tried, but…” She sighed. “That’s not the point of the story. The point is, when this all went down, my husband and I asked Lizzie why she didn’t tell us this guy had been bothering her from the start. She said… well, her father was still partners with your mother at this point. And you know the type of people they see at work every day.”

“Rapists. Pedophiles,” Jet muttered. “Child abusers. The works.”

Kathy had intended to avoid spelling it out, but that about summed it up. “Lizzie said she didn’t want her father to come home from locking up the worst of the worst just to have to deal with some teenage boy who didn’t know how to talk to girls. But it was— it was more than that, wasn’t it? Her grades had been slipping, she was scared to get changed backstage at her musicals… It doesn’t matter how physically violent the boy was or wasn’t. What mattered is that she was scared and uncomfortable.”

Jet was chewing on her bottom lip, hard enough that Kathy was a little worried it would bleed.

“As parents, no matter what we’re dealing with at work or in our personal lives, or first priority is always the wellbeing of our children. Always. I believe that, my… my children’s father believes that, and I know your mother does too. I can fairly confidently speak for every parent when I say we’d rather be stressed about a tangible issue we can work to find a solution to, than stressed about what our children may be going through that we can’t figure out yet.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jet suddenly asked, becoming borderline defensive. “You have— you have absolutely no idea why I was suspended, what’s going on with me at school, or anything.”

Kathy leaned back into her corner of the couch. “It just seemed like something you should know.”

“I’ve never doubted that I’m my mother’s top priority,” Jet said, crossing her arms over her stomach, balling up a little. “She’s never made me feel second to work. If she knew what was going on right now, she wouldn’t be in court.”

“I believe it,” Kathy said, and did. She was sure Olivia would break a few traffic laws to get home when she saw the missed calls on her phone. “My point is, it’s only natural for kids to want to protect their parents. But Lizzie didn’t have to.” She tilted her head a little, wondering if she could catch Jet’s gaze, but the girl remained staring intently off to the side. “And neither do you.”

Jet didn’t protest any further, just sank into the couch, almost wilted. The poor girl looked exhausted, which made sense, after the events of the day. Kathy opened her mouth, unsure whether to offer to grab her more water, tea, put on a show for the noise— but at that moment, loud music started to blare.

Both Kathy and Jet startled.

“Sorry,” Jet quickly said, grabbing for her phone where it rested on the side table. “Sorry, sorry— Mama?” as she picked up.

Kathy couldn’t make out individual words from Olivia’s side of the line, but she could hear a general tone, which was as frantic as she could be if one could ever really describe Olivia Benson as “frantic.”

“Mama, I’m fine,” Jet quickly said, gripping her phone tight to her ear, with both hands. “I’m okay, I just…” She glanced at Kathy, then back ahead. “Ms. Stabler is here with me. No, not Katie, when have I ever called Katie Ms—” Jet closed her eyes. “Don’t delay the trial for me. I swear, Mama, if you leave in the middle of court…”

There it was. The chaos Kathy had predicted was coming.

Jet sighed, thrusting the phone in Kathy’s direction. “She wants to talk to you.”

Kathy took the phone to her ear. “Hey, Liv.”

“What happened?” Olivia demanded, voice shaky.

“Everything’s okay,” Kathy reassured, gentling her voice. “Jet wasn’t feeling well, and had a bit of a fall. But she called Katie, and we came right away. She’s eaten, she’s had water, she’s coherent.”

“She has a heart issue,” Olivia said, still sounding almost panicked. “Her heart rate spikes—”

“It’s normal right now,” Kathy promised. “She’s okay.”

“You said a fall, did she—”

“Olivia,” Kathy said, voice still soft but firm, cutting her off before she could catastrophize. “Jet is okay. If she needed to go to the hospital, I would take her to the hospital. She is alright, she is resting, we can figure everything out when you get back. Just focus on getting home safely.”

“Not if court isn’t done,” Jet mumbled, mostly to herself, as she seemed to be able to recognize when she was fighting a losing battle.

Kathy heard Olivia take a deep breath, a little shuddery at the end, and there was a brief pause.

“I’m getting on the one train now, about— about thirty minutes away.”

“We’ll be here,” Kathy replied. “Why don’t I pass you to her before you…”

“Yes. Yes, please. Thank you, Kathy, really.”

Kathy handed the phone back to Jet and stood, opting to give them a moment to themselves. She busied herself packing up the Chinese food left on the table, which wasn’t much, but enough to give her something to do for a few minutes, until Jet put her phone back down on the side table.

“Does Mom like lo mein?” Kathy asked, as she sealed the final container. “I can set some aside for her.”

“That’s okay,” Jet said, almost sounding on default. She really did not appear to like letting Kathy exert pretty much any effort for them. She stood, joining Kathy at the table, and Kathy eyed her cautiously, almost tempted to tell her to sit back down on the sofa. “She likes egg rolls,” Jet said, picking up her own untouched egg roll and wandering in the kitchen to put it in a zip loc bag which she then placed in the fridge.

Kathy wondered if Jet did not share her mother’s love for egg rolls, or if she just preferred seeing her mother enjoy them.

“Why don’t you put on the TV, or something?” Kathy offered. “Your mom should be back in a half hour.”

“Will the noise interrupt your…” Jet gestured towards Kathy’s textbook, still lying on the table.

“Not at all.”

Jet ducked her head in acceptance, retreating back to the sofa. Kathy didn’t really think she was going to get much studying done anyway, still paying close attention to any signs the young girl was becoming pale or woozy or trembly.

But Jet seemed fine, or at least— no paler than normal. She snuggled deep into (what Kathy assumed to be) her mother’s sweatshirt, curled up into an impossibly tiny ball in her corner of the sofa, and turned the TV on to what sounded like National Geographic. Kathy was moderately sure it was a show about volcanoes. Not that Jet appeared to be watching very intently, more focused on twisting the sleeves of her sweater around and around.

Kathy flipped the page of her book and tried to at least semi-concentrate on the wonders of… Gastroesophageal and Laryngopharyngeal Reflux.

She didn’t think she could pronounce those words if she tried.

Chapter Text

Olivia was a Captain, and before that she’d been a Lieutenant, and a Sergeant, and a Detective, and a beat cop, and all of those jobs required rushing head first into danger and violence and all sorts of unthinkable situations. Pushing aside fear and simply acting, with confidence and accuracy. And she’d been good at it. She was still good at it.

But she knew— and Fin and Rafa and Amanda all also knew, though they were wise enough not to mention it— that when it came to her daughter, she tended to lose her head a little. Forget about acting, when it came to Jet, Olivia was in a constant state of reacting. Sometimes pre-acting.

She liked to believe that her behavior was both fair and understandable, considering the circumstances of Jet’s adoption and considering her own history and considering her daughter’s unruly heart. But while fair and understandable, it was also wildly inconvenient, because the subway was the fastest way to get to her apartment but it was still too slow and her own heart was going ridiculously fast and she sort of just wanted to scream but didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring the shit out of the other passengers.

Who was she kidding. This was New York City, nobody would bat a fucking eye.

Still, she showed impressive (in her opinion) restraint, and maintained her composure, with her pocketbook balanced on her lap and her ankles crossed, taking deep, full breaths. Inhaling the eau de subway that she always thought she’d managed to tune out, being a city native, until she smelled it again and it somehow got worse every time. Staring at the advertisement across from her, a poster boasting skincare solutions in an annoyingly vibrant shade of something between millennial pink and pepto bismol.

A bit of a fall. What the hell did that mean? She collapsed? Had she lost consciousness? Hit her head? Or literally tripped, and fell, and hurt her ankle, or something? Probably not that last one, even though that would be the easiest to fix. It could never be that simple.

Why hadn’t Jet called Fin? Fin was always Jet’s second call. Jet knew that no matter what, if her mother’s phone was off because she was in court or interrogation or a meeting, if she called Fin, he would come and get Olivia out of there. Always. So why didn’t she?

God, what must Kathy think of her, not responding to her daughter’s calls for so long? That was beyond the point. Olivia was glad Kathy was there, the woman had kept five kids alive and functioning for three decades, now, and was gentle with children in a way that might not put Jet exactly at ease, but at least wouldn’t cause her any unnecessary additional stress.

Jet had sounded okay on the phone. A little shaky, a little frustrated, but okay. The fact that she was speaking at all was a relief. She hadn’t been, the night before. From the moment Olivia had picked her up from the principal’s office to the moment they got into bed, Jet hadn’t spoken a word.

And it scared Olivia. It really scared Olivia.

Jet sometimes went nonverbal, so there was precedent, but only when something upset her very badly. And whatever had caused Jet to lash out and smash a laptop had obviously upset her very badly. But she wasn’t ready to tell Olivia what had happened, even over text or written out. And Olivia wasn’t going to push. She didn’t know if that was shitty parenting— intentionally breaking another student’s laptop was a valid reason to be suspended from school, and it should definitely be addressed— but this behavior was so wildly out of the norm for Jet that Olivia was trying to ease the reasoning out of her rather than force it and potentially cause her to clam up further.

Olivia almost hadn’t gone into court. She hadn’t been planning on it. She absolutely would not leave Jet home alone while the girl was nonverbal. If there was an emergency, she needed to be able to call for help— and while Liv may have trusted one of her friends to watch her any other time, Jet being unable to communicate still felt a little too vulnerable to leave in the hands of anyone else. Not just for Jet’s sake, but for the sake of Olivia’s anxiety as well. So Olivia had been fully ready to call in sick, sorry, Barba, maybe figure out another witness for today. But then she woke up that morning to the smell of coffee, and padded out of bed to find her daughter in the kitchen, which was where Jet often placed herself when she was feeling a bit guilty or trying to compensate for something else.

“I made breakfast,” Jet had said.

And she had. Eggs and toast. Olivia knew what she was doing, could have reminded her she didn’t have to, but instead she decided to pull the girl into a close hug and murmur her thanks. Jet had melted into her, obviously needing the comfort, so that, at least, had been a good choice.

And still, Olivia planned to call out. To sit down with her girl and figure out the truth of what had happened. But Jet still wasn’t ready to talk, yet. She was still processing, still on edge, so they’d come to a compromise— Olivia would leave to testify, the whole ordeal only taking a few hours, but she was coming home right after that, not spending the rest of the workday at the precinct. The agreement gave Jet a little time and space to think, without Olivia having to spend all day in her office, driving herself insane worrying about her daughter.

Did she feel sick this morning? Olivia wondered, tapping her foot against the suspiciously sticky subway floor. Why didn’t she tell me?

The thirty minutes felt like agonizing hours, but finally, finally, they were in the Upper West Side and Olivia could breathe a little easier as her apartment building came into view. She almost wanted to take the stairs, but it would not be worth the stress to her knees and the extra few minutes to get up there just for the sake of perpetual motion.

Didn’t make the elevator ride any less frustrating.

When she finally, finally made it to the door, she barely got her key in the lock before she shouldered it open.

There was Kathy Stabler, sitting at the kitchen table.

Olivia stepped in, opening her mouth to say something, before her not-yet-a-thought was interrupted by a—

“Mama!”

Jet quickly stood from where she’d been curled on the couch, eliciting a slightly panicked “Easy, sweetie—” from Kathy, as Olivia darted forwards to grab her even though she wasn’t really falling.

“Let me feel—” Olivia didn’t even finish her thought, Jet already knowing what she would say and tilting her head back. Olivia brought two fingers under her jaw and took a shaky breath, holding them there as she felt the steady beat of her daughter’s heart.

“‘M fine,” Jet mumbled after a few seconds.

Olivia pressed a firm kiss against her forehead, before pulling the girl close to her. “What happened?”

Jet found the edge of Olivia’s blazer, rubbing the texture between her fingers. “I sorta passed out for a little bit.”

“Sorta?”

Jet sighed and buried her face back in Olivia’s shoulder. “I blacked out,” she rephrased, muffled.

Olivia twisted her head a bit, just enough to look at Kathy.

“She’s eaten, she’s had water— Katie made sure she drank a lot of water.” Kathy looked like she had more she wanted to say, but hesitated there.

“Mama?” Jet repeated, now tugging on the blazer. She went up on her toes a little to get closer to whisper, “Do you keep pads in your purse?”

Olivia froze.

She did, thankfully, she did. She may not have had her period since— well, since 2013— But there usually weren’t many other women in the squad room, so she liked to be prepared for emergencies.

This felt like an emergency. Just— from a mother’s point of view, Olivia was suddenly having an emergency.

“Yeah,” she managed, keeping one arm wrapped around the girl while using the other to rummage blindly through her purse. “Here, baby.”

“Thank God,” Jet muttered as she snatched the little orange square from her mother’s hand. “The ones I grabbed from the nurse are shit.”

With that, Jet pulled away and darted for the bathroom.

Olivia watched after her, feeling a little lost.

“You alright?” Kathy murmured, coming up behind her.

She must have looked a little lost too, then. “Fine. I’m fine. Did she tell you…”

“She told Katie. She thought the fainting might just be another symptom.” Kathy crossed her arms, then dropped them, then rocked forward on her toes a little, obviously a bit uncomfortable. “Have you had her tested for POTS?”

Olivia blinked. “Sorry?”

“It’s, uh…” Kathy gestured vaguely. “Liz has it. She used to have these dizzy moments, and then they got worse, and she started fainting. I just ask because Lizzie’s spells always cluster around her period. Or— they did. She’s able to manage it with medication now.”

Olivia tried to slow down her racing brain long enough to process those words. “I took her to a cardiologist, but they didn’t even— they barely ran the required tests, let alone…”

“It took Lizzie a really long time to get diagnosed,” Kathy said, nodding in agreement.

“POTS,” Olivia repeated. “What… is it?”

“I won’t lie, I can never remember exactly what it stands for. But it just means she has low blood volume, I think. Her blood pressure drops when she stands, her heart has to work overtime to keep it moving.”

Olivia nodded slowly. Was that really it? She almost wanted to laugh and maybe also cry, because after seeing specialized doctors and getting no answers all it took was a few hours with Kathy-Stabler-Supermom to learn her daughter probably had ‘Not Enough Blood’ Disease. Like she was a vampire, or something.

“Thank you,” Olivia said, instead of laughing or crying. “For… for staying, for feeding her, for looking after her…”

Kathy was already shaking her head, shouldering her own purse. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’d do the same in a heartbeat.”

They heard the bathroom door click shut, and Jet slipped back into the living room, moving straight for her mother.

Kathy took her cue. “I hope you feel better soon, Jet.” She offered a small wave. “Bye, Liv.”

“Thanks,” Jet blurted out, without looking in her direction. “For staying, I mean.”

Kathy visibly softened, almost melted, really, which was fair, because Jet tended to have that effect on people. “Of course,” she murmured. “Take care, ladies.”

Kathy departed, closing the door quietly behind her, and Jet moved to the door to slide the locks shut like she automatically did, on instinct, at this point. “I tore down the shower curtain,” she said, almost conversationally. “When I fainted, I mean. Not on purpose. I’ve done enough property damage already.”

“Jet,” Olivia murmured. “Look at me, sweet girl.”

Jet paused at the door, twisting her hoodie sleeves in her hands, and didn’t look at her.

“Why didn’t you call Fin?” Olivia asked. “I would’ve come right away…”

“I didn’t exactly want to explain the circumstances to Uncle Fin or Uncle Rafa,” Jet muttered, looking down.

“You never have to explain. You just tell either of them you need me, and they’ll get me. Always.”

“Didn’t want you to leave court,” Jet followed. “After I woke up, I felt completely fine…”

Olivia didn’t know how to get it through to her daughter that it didn’t matter how fast it passed, what mattered was that she’d had a medical emergency, a serious emergency, and Olivia needed to be there.

Olivia took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. Pushing the issue would only make Jet shut down more, she was already fragile. “Come sit,” she said, taking a seat on the sofa, patting beside her. “I think it’s time to figure this out.” This. The fainting. Her heartbeat. Her behavior. All of it.

Jet was more hesitant to sit beside Olivia than she’d ever been before.

“What happened before you fainted?” Olivia asked, reaching out and hovering her hand over Jet’s shoulder. “Can I touch?”

Jet shrugged, which she knew Olivia wouldn’t count as an answer, before letting out a breath and mumbling “Yeah.”

Olivia rested her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

“I was sitting in your bed,” Jet started, and God, Olivia had already wished she’d just stayed home but hearing that Jet had been sitting in her bed only made the feeling ten times stronger. “And I just… I started feeling weird. I don’t know how, exactly, just weird. Thirsty and kind of nauseous and really warm. So I got up to go into the bathroom, and then I just…” Jet put her hands up as if to say that’s that. “Woke up in the bathtub a little bit later.”

Olivia took another breath, tampering her panic to a concealable level. “Do you know how long you were out?”

Jet shrugged again. “I woke up, and I couldn’t remember if you were home or not, but I couldn’t hear you. So eventually I went for my phone but you were still in court, and Aunt Manda didn’t pick up, so I just called Katie. I thought maybe fainting was normal for your first…” she trailed off, gestured vaguely at her lap.

“It’s not,” Olivia said, shaking her head.

“I was really sweaty and hot, so I just laid on the floor for a bit, until Katie and Ms. Stabler got here and made me eat and stuff.”

Olivia leaned forward to press her lips to Jet’s forehead again, even though she didn’t feel like she was burning up anymore.

“I said I’m fine,” Jet repeated.

“You’re not,” Olivia murmured against her skin. “This isn’t fine. This can’t happen again.” She pulled back a little to bring her hand to cup Jet’s face, tilt it to look at her. “I’m calling the new cardiologist today, we’re going to get your appointment moved earlier.”

“They said they didn’t have any until—”

“I do not care. They’ll make the time. I’ll make sure of it.” Olivia would make sure of that, personally, and she didn’t care how bitchy she had to be about it.

“You’re stressing me out,” Jet mumbled, and pushed away a little.

Olivia couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows. “I’m stressing you out? My daughter, who was home alone after being suspended, had a medical episode—”

“Mom,” Jet interrupted. “I’m asking you to please not lash out at easy targets just because you feel guilty that you went into court.”

Olivia knew she probably shouldn’t let her daughter talk to her like that. But she also knew that Jet was, unfortunately, correct, and Olivia was gunning for somebody to blame. Somebody else, anybody else, so she didn’t have to feel like she failed.

“I wanna tell you things, but I can’t if I—” Jet shook out her hands, shook her head, wouldn’t meet Olivia’s eyes. “If it’s gonna make you angry or upset or stressed then I’ll just avoid it forever. I need— I need you to not be a cop for like… fifteen minutes. Please.” She took a shuddery inhale. “I’m really trying to figure out the words, but I’m even more scared of making you feel bad than of you getting angry at me.”

“Okay. Alright. Do we need a reset?” Olivia asked, because they usually did, when conversations strayed anywhere near the territory of anger. “Come here, love. Let’s reset, take a breath…”

The breath Jet let out was almost more of a dry sob but she did lean into her mother, into her arms, bury her face in her shoulder.

“I’m not mad at you,” Olivia said, cradling the back of her head. “I know you didn’t— God, Jet, I know you. You like computers more than most people, I would expect you to break a kid’s nose before you ever touched a laptop, so I know— I know something happened, and if you let me help you, we can fix this…”

Jet mumbled something into her shoulder, muffled.

“Hm?” Olivia encouraged, gently moving her face out of her shirt.

“I said,” Jet started, and her eyes were brimming with angry tears, and she still wouldn’t look at her mother. “I said, I hate my body.”

Olivia blinked, mildly stunned, and her first instinctive reaction was to contradict Jet, to reassure her, that she was beautiful and perfect.

That wasn’t what she needed, though, Olivia could at least recognize that.

“Why?” Olivia asked softly, trying hard not to say anything that would appear to be a moral judgment— why would you say that, why would you think that, you’re wrong, you’re my beautiful girl, your body has survived so much and been so strong, et cetera, et cetera.

“Because it’s not fair.” Jet scrubbed at her eyes with her fists. “Being a girl is like— it’s like God’s first betrayal, or something. It’s not fair. I bled for so long, and then you saved me, and I didn’t have to bleed anymore— and now I do, again, I have to bleed again, because my body doesn’t even belong to me. It belongs to all the men who had it before, and all the babies I never want to have but will bleed for, every goddamn month, anyways. To be a woman is to bleed, over, and over, and over, and I don’t even get a choice. And it’s not fair.”

With that, Jet slumped back into the sofa, exhausted by her little rant.

And Olivia didn’t know what to say.

Her own first period had been rather traumatic— it had started much younger than Serena’s, before Olivia had gotten any sort of talk, and was accompanied by her mother’s deep rooted… concern? Fear? Maybe grief. It was accompanied by Serena’s own grief that Olivia was a woman now, that men would notice her, that her body was developing so differently from her own mother’s, so rapidly.

And then her final period, well— she had no idea it was going to be her final period. After Lewis, when she went a month without bleeding, she just kept waiting. Figured the trauma and stress had set her body’s systems haywire, and they’d reset eventually. That her period would be back. Until they didn’t. And it never came back.

Just one more part of her body permanently altered by that man’s actions.

So what the fuck was she supposed to say? When even her own experiences had been so affected by bad men, what was she supposed to say to reassure her daughter? This wasn’t a rite of passage to womanhood for Jet, who had already lost so much of her innocence at such a young age. This wasn’t the coveted sign of health, considering she’d just blacked out in the bathroom. This wasn’t a welcome promise of future children, as Jet had already told her before that pregnancy scared the shit out of her and felt like something from a sci-fi body horror movie, like, really.

“I’m sorry,” was all Olivia could think to say, in the end. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I know,” Jet muttered, curling against her once again.

“Your body is not the enemy,” Olivia said, wrapping her arms tight around her. “I know it can feel like it, sometimes, God, I know. But your body survived the pain, the trauma, all of it. This is an important developmental milestone— a really shitty one, I know, but important— and it means that your internal systems have worked hard to overcome all the physical damage they endured throughout your childhood.”

The body regenerates all its cells within the span of seven years, Olivia could have told her. That means that those men never touched the body you have now.

But she didn’t say that, because she knew it wouldn’t help. It had been seven years since Lewis, and Olivia could still feel his hands on her sometimes. That feeling never truly went away. Maybe one day, hopefully— but not yet. And Olivia wasn’t gonna hold her breath.

“Can I go on birth control?” Jet asked, looking up at her pleadingly.

Olivia let out a low sigh. “Birth control has a lot of side effects, sweetheart. We can talk to the doctor, but that may have to wait until you’re older. Or at least until we figure out this heart stuff.”

Jet didn’t seem too happy with that, but also didn’t protest.

“Do these…” Olivia began, slowly, wiggling her fingers to encourage Jet to take her hand. “Do these feelings you’re having, about your body, do they have anything to do with why you broke that laptop?”

Jet intertwined her fingers with her mother’s. “Promise you won’t get mad,” she mumbled.

“I’m not mad at—”

“Not me,” Jet interrupted to clarify. “You’re not gonna be mad at me, I don’t think, but I need— I’m too tired to deal with angry at all right now. Everything’s already so loud.”

Olivia leaned down to press a kiss to dark hair. “Whatever you need, baby.”

Jet sank further into her mother’s arms. “There’s this guy in my Japanese class that hates me,” she started. “He’s just— he’s really stupid. But he’s rich, which is why he’s at… it doesn’t matter. He’s a math guy, and he wanted to join robotics. But he didn’t get in. And I did. So it’s my fault. Even though Coach Aubrey says he’d rather ask one of the pre-law kids to code than have Zach on the team.” Jet shook her head. “Most people just leave me alone because I mind my own business, but Zach is a dick. And recently he realized I wasn’t in any health classes.”

While going over Jet’s IEP with her therapist— former therapist, Stella had retired and while Olivia understood on some level that the older woman wasn’t gonna work forever, she couldn’t really help but be annoyed about it, Jet had liked her, Jet had trusted her— Stella had broached the idea that it may be best for Jet to fulfill her mandatory health credit with a home-school curriculum. Starting a new high school and jumping straight into taking sex ed with a bunch of rowdy teenagers did seem like it would be a lot, so Olivia had readily agreed. There was no way she trusted the school to provide Jet with a sex ed class that wouldn’t become triggering in some way, one that would be sensitive to all the girl had already witnessed and endured. Meanwhile, Olivia’s entire job revolved around this shit, so she was more than willing to take on the role of teacher over some summer.

Somehow, she hadn’t foreseen other teenagers as still being a problem.

“And he thinks I’m super sheltered, or something, because only Evangelicals skip sex-ed. And also because everyone knows you’re a cop, because we had to do these presentations about our family and they were a minimum five slides but since you’re my only family I just spent five slides talking about you—”

“Juliet,” Olivia interrupted, because the only time Jet rambled was when she was seriously avoiding talking about something else.

“He told me he was gonna show me what I was missing out on.”

Olivia’s heart stopped.

“Not like that!” Jet quickly gasped, probably feeling her mother’s pulse jump where she was lying against her chest. “He never— he didn’t touch me.”

Olivia brought a hand up to stroke her daughter’s hair, hold her head close.

“He just… it started with dumb cartoon shit. But it escalated to straight up porn, he’d just play porn from his laptop behind me before class. And I tried everything, Mom, I ignored him, I told him to fuck off, I told a teacher, but he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t let up. And then I— I just—” Jet was beginning to get upset again, squeezing Olivia’s hand tight. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. The noises. I don’t even think I was angry when I snapped, I just literally could not take it anymore. I wanted them to stop. I just wanted the noises to stop.”

“Okay. Okay,” Olivia soothed, allowing the girl to bury her face in her shoulder once more. “You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re alright.”

A few more things made sense now. Especially why Jet had immediately went to the Principal’s office, before ever being asked to by the teacher. Her goal was probably just to get out of there as far as possible, away from the noises that caused her so much distress.

“It’s so stupid,” Jet mumbled. “I shouldn’t— why do I have such a bad reaction to something when I don’t even remember the stuff that makes it bother me so much?”

Because the body keeps the score. “Because anybody would be bothered by that, honey. That is the definition of sexual harassment, and it is absolutely unacceptable.”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“I’m going to treat this issue as the exact size of deal that it is,” Olivia said, which wasn’t exactly a denial, but it wasn’t an agreement, either. “Jet, babe, this is serious. This needs to be addressed. I won’t go in guns blazing, but I do need to address this.”

Jet’s expression was pained, but she offered a small nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” Olivia asked, gentle, trying to keep any tone of anxiety or disappointment out of her voice, even though she was feeling both. She had always assumed Jet would come to her straight away if someone was making her feel uncomfortable or unsafe. She had told her daughter so many times that that was what she should do.

Jet shrugged, playing with the strings of her hoodie. “Wanted to fight my own battles.”

Olivia had thoughts about that, but now was not the time. More pressing issues to figure out. “You said you told a teacher, was that your Japanese teacher?”

Jet shook her head. “I didn’t— Mister Hamanaka isn’t the most approachable, and I thought… I thought a woman would understand better. So I told one of the aides. Miss Carter.”

“And what did Miss Carter say?”

Jet hesitated, picking at the frayed end of the hoodie string to seperate each fiber. “You’re not gonna like it.”

Olivia stayed quiet.

Jet gave in. “He just wants attention. Boys will be boys. That sort of thing. She— um…”

Olivia thought she was doing a rather good job of containing the pure fury she felt bubbling in her bloodstream, because if Jet hadn’t been sitting there, cuddled against her, nervous and in need of comfort, Olivia probably would have stormed up to the school and screamed at someone by now.

“She sort of implied that if I couldn’t handle teenage boys, we should revisit the idea of special ed.”

Olivia had to physically swallow down her response to that, which contained a lot of words that were not at all appropriate to say in front of a fourteen year old, especially at the volume she wished to say them.

“Mom,” Jet muttered, wiggling away a little. “You’re squeezing.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” Olivia choked out. “I’m… very frustrated with Miss Carter.”

“Please don’t get her fired.”

“My intention isn’t to get her fired.” But if it happened, Olivia wouldn’t exactly feel bad.

“Can we be done talking about this?” Jet asked, almost pleaded.

“Yeah. All done.” There was definitely more they needed to cover, Olivia was concerned about a number of things, but Jet had already done far more talking than she did on an average day, especially considering the events that had preceeded their conversation. They could be done for now. “But before we’re done, I want you to know that I’m proud of you. For telling that boy to fuck off, for going to Miss Carter, for talking to me now.” She leaned down to kiss her head again. “And even if breaking the laptop was just reflexive, the little shit deserved it.”

Jet didn’t respond for a while, until she murmured, “I saved you an egg roll.”

Olivia smiled, and squeezed her girl closer for a moment. “How about you find us something to watch, and we’ll have a late lunch?”

“Okay,” Jet agreed, without making any move to get up. “I already ate, though.”

“I’ll have a late lunch, and you’ll have some Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy.”

Jet sighed, tilting her head back against the arm of the sofa. “That sounds incredible.”

Olivia smiled, patting her leg twice as a signal to move them so she could stand. “You need a heating pack? Tylenol?”

Jet shook her head, and Olivia went into the kitchen to reheat the Chinese food in the fridge, including the promised egg roll. She opened the ice cream to see how much was left, and it was little enough that she could justify just grabbing two spoons for them to eat straight out of the carton.

She took a moment at the counter, hands braced on the edge, to close her eyes and take a deep breath, take a moment to process the exhaustion from her lingering adrenaline drop, to process the anger and frustration still brimming just beneath the surface. She gave herself the moment to try to cycle through as much of it as possible, to calm her heart rate and blood pressure before she sat down on the sofa and Jet leaned back against her and noticed the physical indicators of stress.

She stood there until the microwave dinged, and by the time she returned to the living room, Jet had put something on the TV and scooted down to give her mother space to join her on the couch.

“Interstellar?” Olivia asked, as she always did, only half joking, because Jet had gone through a phase where that was literally all she ever wanted to watch. Even though that movie made Olivia cry every time.

“Totoro,” Jet murmured off handedly, distracted by the appearance of ice cream.

“I was thinking,” Olivia said softly, passing the carton to her daughter and getting situated behind her. “How’d you like to go up to Kopernik this weekend?”

Jet eyed her, spoon halfway to her mouth. “We went to the Botanical Gardens last weekend.”

“And as much as we love Alex, sometimes it’s nice to have some time for just the two of us, isn’t it?”

“I just meant— can you really take off again?”

“Sweetheart, contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually supposed to work on weekends.”

Jet hesitated, thinking it through.

“Do you want to go?” Olivia asked after a moment of quiet. “Or are you a little tired?”

“I want to. I just don’t want you to miss anything…”

“I won’t.”

A small smile began to play over Jet’s features, a real, genuine smile, and Olivia felt relief somewhere deep in her gut.

“Can we really?” Jet asked.

“Mhm. I’ll slip out a little early on Friday, we’ll head straight there.”

“I love you,” Jet said, smile growing, and snuggled up against her mother again.

She’s okay, Olivia mentally reassured herself, holding her daughter close. “I love you too.”

She’s okay. We’re okay. Everything is going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Adam almost hadn’t realized when Jet walked in. He’d been on the lookout for her, sure, but he’d been on the lookout for an all black ensemble, so when he saw purple stripes, he almost disregarded it as superfluous information on instinct.

But it wasn’t. Because there she was, wearing purple stripes.

Adam blinked. “Psst, Rosie!”

Jet startled, whipping towards the sound of his voice. Her expression remained wholly unimpressed as Adam grinned and gestured for her to join him at the desk.

“You know my name isn’t Rosie,” Jet grumbled as she still obliged, slumping into the seat across from him and dropping her backpack beside her.

“And mine isn’t Malachi. Point?”

“If I start calling you Adam, will you actually use my name?”

Adam ignored her question entirely, because no, he would not. “You feeling okay?”

Jet’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Your sweater,” he said. “There’s colors. Want to make sure they’re not making you break into hives.”

Jet rolled her eyes. Adam bit back a grin.

“Gotta talk to you about something.” He minimized the file he’d been working on. “Something that I probably shouldn’t be talking about in a police station, but…” He waved his hands to clear the thought. “I digress.”

Jet looked at him like he was insane. “What did you do,” she asked, even though it was more of a statement than an ask.

“What did I do?” Adam repeated, with mock schock and offense. “I’m not the one hulking out on laptops.”

Jet’s eyes went astoundingly wide, and they were already pretty big to begin with. “How did you know that?” She leaned forwards and hissed, her surprise quickly morphing to anger. “Because if you’re stalking me, or something—”

“Jesus, Jet, hold your fire.” Adam put his hands up in surrender. “I’m on your side here.” At least he assumed he was. Zach seemed like an asshole, and Jet was really very pretty, so it felt like an easy alliance to make. Whatever Zach had done to warrant getting his laptop smashed probably— well, probably warranted getting his laptop smashed. “Some guy paid me to fuck up your computer because you broke his laptop.”

Jet blinked, stunned again. “And you said… no.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I said yes.” He grinned, pointed to his own computer. “And now I have remote access to his fancy new laptop. So here’s what we’re gonna do.” He leaned forward, across the desk, and dropped his voice low. “You’re gonna find the chattiest person you can at school, tell them your laptop’s fucked up, let them spread the rumor. I’m gonna collect my check, and nobody has to know. And then there’s the fun part.” He drummed his fingers on top of his laptop. “Remote access. Whatever you want.”

Jet studied him, doe-eyed and suspicious. “Why are you doing this? What if I just broke his laptop because I’m a bully?”

Adam shrugged. “You can tell a lot about a person by their profile picture. And guys with lolicon profile pictures deserve to be bullied.”

“Lolicon,” Jet repeated. “Is that, like, Lolita—”

“Forget I said anything, and don’t ask your mother what that means.” Adam shook his head for emphasis. He probably should have figured she wouldn’t know what lolicon was. “Don’t look it up, either. I just meant—”

“What’s yours?” Jet interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“Your profile picture,” she clarified. “If you can tell so much about a person from it. What’s yours?”

“Uh,” Adam said, having not expected this turn in the conversation. He turned to his computer to open Discord, then swung the screen towards Jet. “It’s Psyduck. At a little computer.”

Jet studied the screen for a moment. “Why does he look so upset?”

It was very, very difficult to render Adam at a loss for words— he had a lot to say, all the time, and was very quick to do so— but this girl was getting close. “Maybe the stock market crashed,” he decided.

That was sufficient enough to please Jet, who pushed the laptop back to him. “How’d you get remote access, anyway?”

There was a question he could answer. “I told him I needed access to his laptop because once your laptops were both connected to the same wi-fi, I could gain access to yours.”

Jet’s face scrunched. “But that’s complete bullshit.”

“I know that,” Adam said, with a growing grin. “And you know that. You know who doesn’t know that?”

It was like a miracle on Earth. The eighth wonder of the world, or something. Not actually of this world. Of a heavenly sphere. Somewhere angelic and holier than here.

Because Jet started to smile too.

“Look at that,” Adam said, though he was a little too awestruck to really infuse his voice with its usual snark. “Think I got a smile.”

Jet shook her head, though her expression didn’t change. “Shut up,” she muttered, ducking to hide behind her ever-growing hair.

“Anyways,” Adam said, looking back down at his laptop, because he was at least self aware enough to realize that he was getting awfully close to staring. He gestured again at the screen where he retained remote access. “It’s free real estate.”

Jet looked at him, confused.

“When’s the last time you spoke to someone under the age of forty?” Adam asked. “Like, besides right now.”

“I saw Katie yesterday,” Jet informed him, like he was supposed to know who Katie was. “And she’s thirty three.”

Alright, technically that counted, even though it wasn’t exactly in the spirit of what Adam was trying to discern. “The point is, we have Zach’s whole computer here. The world’s your oyster.”

Jet was quiet for a moment, a long moment that had Adam almost holding his breath, before she let out a low sigh. “Leave it alone.”

“What?”

She was shaking her head again. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. Just leave it alone.”

“Are all cop kids this boring?” Adam complained. “Come on. He paid, like, a ridiculous amount of money for me to fuck up your computer and you don’t even wanna retaliate?”

“I broke his computer first,” Jet pointed out.

“Yeah, about that,” Adam said. “Why did you break his computer?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does so,” Adam argued, a little pathetically. “I need to know if I’m on the right side of the fight, here.”

“I thought his profile picture gave you all you needed to know.”

“His profile picture only absolved me of any guilt I may have otherwise felt due to immediately placing my loyalty with you, whether the decision was sound or not.”

“Close enough.”

“I am the last person that can judge you, considering I’m a juvenile delinquent and you’re a prep school geniu—”

“Porn,” Jet blurted out.

“What the fuck?” Adam replied.

“He was sitting behind me in class and playing pornographic noises every day,” Jet elaborated.

“...What the fuck?” Adam repeated.

Jet shrugged.

“Jesus Christ, Jet, he’s lucky you only went for his laptop,” Adam said, somewhere between horrified and disgusted. “If some dick did that to my sister, I’d beat the shit out of him. Or— she’d beat the shit out of him, because she’s much scarier than I am, but I’d cheer her on.”

“Very feminist of you.”

“Seriously, though. Forget remote access, this seems like the sort of issue that gets reported to the Captain,” Adam continued, cocking his head towards the Captain’s office.

“Oh, she’s dealing with it,” Jet muttered, glancing down at a purple sweater thread she was wrapping around her finger. “She’s at the school now, probably pulling rank.”

“Good,” Adam said. “Now can I please mess with this asshole’s computer?”

“Malachi, you can’t just—”

“Why not?”

Jet groaned loudly and put her face in her palms, maybe too loudly, because it caught the attention of a nearby detective.

“All good over here?” Fin asked, standing to approach the desk and eyeing Adam with no small amount of disdain.

“Peachy,” Jet muttered into her hands.

“Time of our lives,” Adam said, flashing a usually winning smile that did not seem to actually win him any points with the detective hovering over him.

“What’re you two up to?” Fin asked, crossing his arms.

Adam looked up at him, meeting and holding his gaze. “I’m turning her to a life of crime,” he said, drily. “We started with hacking, but I think she’s almost ready to graduate to arson.”

Jet snorted. Fin turned his attention towards her, eyebrows raised. “Benson?”

There was a brief pause, and then Jet lifted her head to prop her chin in her hands and blink up at him innocently. “He’s right. I aced my property damage final,” she said sweetly, and Adam nearly choked on his laugh.

Fin opened his mouth to offer what Adam was sure would be a scathing retort, but then the other detective— Rollins— was calling for him, and all he bit out was, “Behave.” Before leaving to look at whatever Rollins needed to show him so badly.

“Sorry,” Jet said to Adam. “All my mom’s friends seem to be under the impression that they’re my much needed father figure.”

They were getting close to territory that Adam was admittedly very curious about. Jet went to a fancy private school. An expensive fancy private school. And Captain Benson may have been— well, a captain; but she was still a public servant. She couldn’t have that high of a salary. But she also didn’t wear a wedding ring. And in the five minutes Adam had spent in her office, fixing a downed monitor, he had seen plenty of pictures of Jet and no pictures of any man that wasn’t at least semi-frequently seen in the squad room. So either Jet had a rather absent father who at least funded her tuition, or she was a test tube baby and was brilliant enough to be on scholarship.

Or, third option:

“Dead Dad Club?” He asked, holding out his hand in offer of a fist bump, like it wasn’t at all a completely invasive and rather inappropriate question.

Jet looked at him like he was insane, which was fair enough. It really was none of his business. Or maybe Jet just always looked at him like that. She was rather wide-eyed by nature, reminding him vaguely of one of those nocturnal mousey looking creatures who had pupils the size of the moon.

“I hope so,” Jet said.

Adam blinked. “Huh?”

“I said ‘I hope so,’” Jet repeated.

Yeah, that’s what he had thought she said. But Adam was used to being the one in the room to make the shocking statements, and he honestly did not know how he was supposed to respond to that one.

“Right,” he landed on. “Sure. Close enough.”

He had forgotten his hand was still up in offering, until Jet leaned forwards, and after a brief hesitation, tentatively bumped her knuckles against his.

“Uh,” Adam said.

Jet made a face of discontent and shook out her hand, like she’d just accidentally touched some leftover food scraps while washing dishes in the sink and was trying to clear away the feeling.

He tried not to be too offended.

“Okay,” He said, and really wished his brain would reboot, that it would reinstall the little dictionary app and allow him to remember any other words than vague expressions of affirmation. “Cool. Alright.”

And then his phone buzzed, saved by the bell, lighting up with a message from, oh, shit, no longer saved by the bell, Sara.

“Sorry, I have to…” he mumbled distractedly to Jet, reaching for his phone.

Sara: Doctor wants a biopsy, not too worried.
Sara: Teta’s not happy. Don’t push her buttons. I don’t want to hear about it.

It’s not like he went out of his way to annoy Teta. The problem was that if Teta was already in a bad mood, Adam’s mere existence would be enough for her to call Sara and complain. There was no winning here.

“My sister,” Adam announced to Jet, turning his phone back off.

“Was that your niece?” Jet asked.

“Hm? Oh.” Adam clicked his phone back on to the photo on his lock screen. “Yeah. The— the kid. Not the cat.” The stupid joke was an attempt to bring them back to solid ground, familiar ground, after the shaky minute of uncharted territory that preceded them, and it seemed to work. Or— made Adam feel better, at least. “Her name’s Mia, she’s four. She was upset that my lock screen was still default, and insisted that Helwa— the cat— should be the first thing I see when I turn on my phone.”

“Smart kid,” Jet commented.

“She is,” Adam agreed, tapping his phone so it wouldn’t fall asleep. The photo of Mia stared up at him, little face solemn, expression serious, as she lifted the cat almost the same size as her up to ensure she was fully captured in the photo. “Smart enough not to give a stranger remote access to her computer,” he added, turning his attention back to his laptop. “Can I please mess with his settings? Even just minorly inconvenience him?”

Jet sighed. “I don’t understand why you feel as though you need my permission.”

“Because I’m not a white knight?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Means it’s your battle to fight. I’m just here so you don’t have to get your hands dirty.” He lolled his head back and shrugged. “But I’m not gonna act like I know what’s better for you than you do.”

Jet was studying him— scrutinizing him, really— but he met her gaze and didn’t look away.

“Fine,” she eventually said. “You can mess with his computer. But just a little.”

Adam pumped his fist in triumph, whipping back to his laptop. He put his hands on the keyboard, then lifted them back above the keyboard, and hovered there for a moment.

“You didn’t actually think of what you’re gonna do,” Jet observed.

“I didn’t actually think I’d get this far,” Adam admitted. “I need to poke around a bit.”

“This feels illegal,” Jet said.

“You can testify against me if it comes down to it. I won’t be offended.” Adam clicked open a few of the top apps. Netflix, Spotify, Chrome. “I’m almost scared to see his search history.”

“This is definitely illegal.”

“American Pie,” Adam read, from Zach’s most recently watched in Netflix. “Yeah, sounds about right. I bet he got lots of inspiration from that one.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Jet stayed quiet, so Adam assumed she wasn’t worrying about it.

Or maybe she was, because he could almost hear her thinking.

“You good?” He asked, after a moment.

“Was Buddy Holly married to Mary Tyler Moore?” She asked.

“Um,” Adam said. “What?”

“Was Buddy Holly married t—”

“No, no, I heard you. Just— where did that question come from?”

“American Pie. It’s about Buddy Holly.”

“It most definitely is not.”

“Yes it is. Mama told me. When he says ‘the day that music died,’ it’s about when Buddy Holly died.”

“We are talking about two very, very different pieces of media right now,” Adam informed her.

“And then in that other song,” Jet continued, ignoring him, “They sing about Buddy Holly and Mary Tyler Moore. It seemed like the sort of thing you’d know.”

“Y’know, if literally anyone else told me Weezer just seemed like the sort of thing I’d know, it would be a devastating insult. But you don’t even know what…” He trailed off, not knowing if she even knew what Weezer was, let alone the connotations following the fans of the band.

“Nope.”

“Cool.” Adam nodded to himself. “Great. Yeah. I don’t— I have no idea if Buddy Holly and Mary Tyler Moore were married. I don’t keep up with the love lives of celebrities who were famous decades before even your mother was born.”

Jet cocked her head. “When do you think my mother was born?”

“This feels like a trap.”

Jet just stared at him.

“Nineteen…” Adam began, quietly panicking to himself. “Nineteen ss… seventy… eight?”

Jet’s expression gave absolutely nothing away. “I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

“Oh, Christ,” Adam muttered. That did not sound good in the slightest. But it was an honest guess, mid-forties had to be about right, she was a police captain, with a teenage daughter, those were things that took some time to accomplish—

“Then why is the song about them?” Jet asked. “Buddy Holly and Mary Tyler Moore. Do you at least know that?”

How did this girl manage to make him feel so stupid for not knowing things that she also didn’t know? “I think— I think he’s just saying that they look like them, not that they have anything to do with each other. Like if the song was about us, they’d say that you look like— like Winona Ryder, and that I look like some charming, ethnically ambiguous actor that has absolutely no romantic involvement with Winona Ryder.”

Jet blinked, and she looked a bit startled. By what, Adam wasn’t exactly sure. “Did you just describe yourself as ethnically ambiguous?”

“No. I described the actor Weezer would say I look like as ethnically ambiguous.” He grinned at her, and gestured broadly at himself. “White people can’t pin this down.”

She was definitely curious, he could tell she was curious, but she didn’t say anymore. Adam had heard, somewhere, probably a video essay about the shortcomings of the American criminal justice system, that the police often used silence as an interrogation tactic, because people are naturally predisposed to want to fill silence. He knew as soon as he’d learned that information that the tactic would absolutely work on him, even if he was now well aware of it, because he could absolutely not stand silence.

But he was conducting an experiment now, even if it was mildly painful to conduct— how long could Jet go in silence before she had to break it?

(Much longer than Adam, ended up being the answer, which he could’ve told you from the start.)

“I have an idea,” he eventually said, losing his own experiment. Maybe Jet could just be silent indefinitely. That seemed like something of a superpower. “Simple, but effective…”

“Where’s Mintock from?” Jet asked, which had nothing to do with anything, really.

“My last name?” Adam asked. “Have you spent the past five minutes just trying to…” Pin this down? His brain supplied.

Jet shrugged.

“My mother’s Lebanese and Syrian, my father was White and Filipino. According to family legend, Mintock was an attempt at Americanizing a similar Filipino last name.”

“I wouldn’t have pinned that down,” Jet admitted.

“Told you.” He finished his work with the computer and turned it so the screen faced her. “All done.”

“What’d you do?”

“It’s child locked. Every time he searches for any adult content— or any anime, I felt like someone should probably get him off the anime— he’ll be sent a condescending message. And he can’t turn it off in settings, because it requires a password he doesn’t have.”

It was simple. It didn’t even require any code, any viruses, any worms. It was easy, almost too easy, and if Jet had agreed, Adam would have spent much more effort messing with this jerk. It was worth it, though. In the end.

Because for the second time that day, he got to witness the prettiest smile he’d ever seen.

Chapter Text

Olivia sat at the hardwood desk, drumming her fingers in a rhythmic pattern. It might have been a song she heard on the radio, but she wasn’t thinking about it enough to be sure. Most of her brain energy was being expended trying to conceal her barely-restrained rage. She hardly wanted to know how well she was doing in that department. The secretary outside had not seemed convinced in the slightest.

The door to the office pushed open, and Olivia stood and turned to face it.

“Ms. Benson,” the building principal greeted her jovially, reaching to shake her hand. “Though ‘Ms.’ isn’t right, is it. NYPD if my memory serves me…”

“Captain,” Olivia finished his thought for him, as she offered a firm shake, and normally this was where she’d add But Olivia’s fine, except this time, she did not do that. She liked Timothy Nelson well enough, he put on a big, friendly demeanor. But she was also well aware that his loyalty was to the school and to the image of the school, first and foremost. At least this time she could use that to her advantage.

“Captain,” Mr. Nelson repeated, and let out a low whistle that Olivia didn’t find all that necessary. “Impressive. My father was NYPD himself.”

And how many times had she heard that line? She was willing to bet her pension that Timothy Nelson Sr. was brass longer than beat cop.

Enola Gay, her brain supplied the song, this time, as her fingers started tapping on her thigh, now. You should have stayed at home yesterday. Ah-ah, words can’t describe—

“And this is Miss Louisa Carter,” Mr. Nelson added, gesturing towards the door as he took a seat in his big, leather chair. A young woman with red hair piled atop her head slipped into the room behind them, hovering nervously with her hands behind her back. Olivia thought the kid— God, was she at the age where she saw her daughter’s teachers as kids—? may already have had an idea of where this meeting was going, from the looks of her. “You wished to see her too?”

“Yes,” Olivia agreed, and turned a very pressed smile her way as she offered a hand. “Miss Carter.”

—The feeling and the way you lied… the earworm trailed off as Olivia flexed her fingers, forcing her hand to still.

“Captain Benson,” she responded with a little nod, quickly remembering herself and reaching to shake her hand. “Though I— I’m not one of Juliet’s instructors, I can’t say much on her behavior in the classroom…”

“You’ve interacted with her, though? Spoken with her?” Olivia cut her off to ask. She almost wanted to go into interrogation mode. In what capacity? What did she say? What did you say? Where did you go next?

“Well, briefly, but I—”

“Louisa, could you close the door?” Mr. Nelson interrupted. “Sit, sit. Did Ginny offer you water, coffee…?”

Ginny must have been the secretary, then, the one who looked slightly unnerved upon seeing Olivia and told her to just sit inside, he’ll be with you in a moment. “I’m alright.”

“Very well.” Mr. Nelson folded his hands on the desk, losing a little bit of his cheer for an air of solemnity to replace it. “I imagine I can guess why you’re here.”

I imagine you can’t, Olivia mentally rolled her eyes.

“I will say, this behavior was very out of character for Juliet, and I would like to get to the bottom of how we can prevent this from happening again. We hold students to a high standard at Hastings, and that goes beyond academics to include matters of conduct and accountability. In this sort of situation, an interpersonal student conflict, we would normally aim for a meeting that involves Juliet, Zachary, yourself, and Zachary’s parent or guardian as well as myself and our school counselor—”

“That won’t be happening,” Olivia said firmly, deciding she couldn’t wait for him to take a breath any longer.

Mr. Nelson’s eyebrows raised. “I’m sure you understand, we’ve already shown Juliet a great deal of leniency by pushing back the meeting when she was unwilling to speak—”

“Unable,” Olivia interrupted again. “She was unable to speak, which is a pretty significant difference—”

“Apologies,” Mr. Nelson said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “Let me rephrase. We understand Juliet is a special case, on account of her IEP and behaviors noted within. But while her behaviors may be explained, they cannot be excused, as Hastings has a zero tolerance policy for the willful infliction of damage on another student’s property—”

“And what’s Hasting’s policy on sexual harassment?” Olivia cut him off to ask.

Mr. Nelson blinked. “We absolutely do not take such behavior lightly. An accusation would trigger a full investigation.”

“So if a student is experiencing sexual harassment, what’s the protocol they’re supposed to follow?”

“We encourage students to report any actions that make them feel unsafe directly to a member of faculty or staff,” Mr. Nelson said. “That’s detailed on one of the very first pages in the handbook.”

“Alright,” Olivia said, and then turned slightly in her chair to face the woman seated beside her, who had remained entirely silent so far. “Miss Carter, did my daughter ever approach you about an incident that occured in class between her and another student?”

Miss Carter’s tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and she looked like she was suddenly realizing the amount of trouble she was about to be in. “We spoke in the hallway once, yes.”

“And did she tell you that Zachary Bryce was playing pornographic noises behind her in class every day?” Olivia continued, and clutched the arm of her chair a little harder, her knuckles growing slightly whiter.

Miss Carter’s eyes darted from Olivia, to Mr. Nelson, and back. “That’s not exactly—”

“Louisa,” Mr. Nelson said firmly. “What exactly did you and Juliet discuss?”

Miss Carter’s mouth opened in a little ‘o’ shape before shutting again, and she cleared her throat. “She told me that the boy sitting behind her was playing ‘explicit content’ before class, which could mean anything, really—”

“And you didn’t bother even trying to find out what it meant?” Olivia interrupted, her anger flaring up again. “You didn’t stop and think about why she might be so cagey about telling you what exactly was playing? You didn’t document this conversation or notify anybody—?”

“Captain Benson,” Mr. Nelson cut her off lightly, and she wanted to argue more, argue with him, argue with all of them, but she instead sat back in her chair. “Louisa,” he turned his attention back to the aide. “How did your conversation with Juliet…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Resolve?”

It didn’t, Olivia wanted to snap. There was no resolution. Nothing had been solved. Things had only gotten worse from there.

“I told her that boys acting like that are often looking for attention, it probably wasn’t targeted,” Miss Carter said, sitting up straighter, almost defensively, while still prim in nature.

“Did you tell her that if she didn’t tolerate the bullying, she’d be stuck into special ed?” Olivia snapped, very close to losing her cool entirely.

“You are spinning my words completely out of context—”

“I do not care about the context. Considering neither student is involved with the special education department in any way, there was absolutely no reason for those words to be anywhere near your shameful justifications for that boy’s behavior.” Olivia had gotten louder, fully in her Captain persona. “From my experiences on the job, I’ve seen that students in special education programs are far more likely to become victims of sexual harassment and assault, so your complete dismissal of my daughter’s discomfort on the basis of whatever arbitrary intellectual maturity level you’ve decided a victim needs to appear to meet to be believed, is absolutely disgusting for a whole host of reasons.”

Olivia redirected her attention to the manila folder in front of Mr. Nelson, bearing the words Juliet Benson across the top. “Is her IEP in here?” She asked, not waiting for an answer before taking it and flipping it open. “In my daughter’s IEP, it states that she’s excused from taking a formal Health class and any sexual education programming that may take place in Phys Ed. It says that she’s excused from any activity that requires her to change her clothing in the locker rooms, or any activities in the pool that require swimwear. It says that teachers should refrain from calling on her unless her hand is raised, in the event that she’s gone non-verbal and can’t reply. It says that in the event of a panic attack she may leave the room without asking for permission, and report to the nurse’s office. It says that she may retain access to her phone at all times in case she needs to contact me for any reason.” As far as Olivia knew, Jet hadn’t even had to utilize half of these resources. But they were there, that was enough.

“All of these allowances were established in cooperation with her therapist. It does not take a genius to paint a picture from this IEP. But if you need a little help, I have worked for the NYPD Special Victims Unit for decades. We deal primarily with sex crimes and crimes against children. The story of how Jet came to be mine is not a pretty one.” She slid the IEP back across the table, took a deep breath, tried to calm her pounding heart a little. “Nowhere in this IEP is there any reference to violent or aggressive behavior, because Jet is not violent nor aggressive. She did everything right. She tried to deal with the issue herself, she spoke with faculty about her discomfort— which is a huge deal for her at all— and when nothing worked, after weeks, almost a month of being retraumatized daily in a space where she should’ve been safe, she snapped. She told me she wasn’t even angry when she broke the laptop, she just couldn’t think of any other way to make the noises stop.”

Miss Carter was staring right at the ground, unable— unwilling, Olivia’s brain supplied, sardonic— to look her in the eye anymore. Good.

“I don’t care if it never got physical,” Olivia continued, just because nobody had stopped her yet. “I don’t care if he never actually laid a hand on her. It never starts physically, it starts with boys pushing the boundaries, seeing what they can get away with. That’s where it starts. That’s what you’ve allowed on school grounds. And by ignoring my daughter’s requests for help, by punishing her for reacting out of fear to weeks of sexually aggressive behavior, a reaction that only happened due to your negligence, you’ve allowed that boy to break the first boundary. So maybe he hasn’t escalated yet, but guess what?” She threw her hands up in defeat. “You’ve just given him the green-light to go ahead.”

With that, Olivia leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms. “What I want to know is how you’re going to fix this.”

They couldn’t. Not really. Nothing would be “fixed” until Jet processed what had happened on her own timeline, and Jet was not a big fan of processing anything.

“This is a very serious issue and it will be treated as such,” Mr. Nelson said. “You understand, we will have to investigate before any disciplinary action is taken—”

“Thank God you have a whole two days before the school week begins,” Olivia drawled, though what she really wanted to point out was the significant lack of investigation that had taken place before Jet had been suspended.

Mr. Nelson pursed his lips into a thin line but nodded. “Yes. Assuming all of this information is corroborated— as I am certain it will be,” he quickly added, like he thought Olivia was going to protest, even though at this point she was running low on steam. “Then the final day of Juliet’s suspension will be waived, she will be able to attend class on Monday.”

“And the entire suspension will be wiped from her record,” Olivia added. “She won’t be punished in the college admissions cycle for this completely preventable incident.”

“Right. Of course.” Mr. Nelson sort of seemed like he would agree with anything Olivia said at this point. Which was smart, on his part, Olivia thought. “Juliet and Mr. Bryce will be separated in the class they currently share, and every effort will be made to ensure they do not have a class together in the upcoming semesters.”

“Just to make sure we’re on the same page,” Olivia said, “This does not mean that Juliet will be excluded from classes in the future if he’s already enrolled?”

Mr. Nelson’s face betrayed just enough of his annoyance for Olivia to pick up on it, but at this point, she took no chances. And she had a feeling Zachary Bryce’s parents might be very wealthy, therefore having a lot of sway, because the boy’s brains alone did not seem to be enough to get him into Hastings. “If the investigation corroborates everything, then Juliet will receive priority in enrollment to ensure they are kept separated, yes.” Mr. Nelson glanced at Miss Carter again, who was still very interested in the desk and not at all in looking at the people around her. “Captain Benson, does the NYPD have any harassment prevention training modules for educators?”

“We have workplace harassment prevention training. I can find out if any are tailored to educators or people who work directly with children.” Olivia grabbed her phone from her pocket to make a note to look into that, but also to ask around and see if there were any training programs that were obnoxiously tedious to sit through. For science.

These games you play, they’re gonna end in more than tears someday, Olivia’s brain supplied, and she had no idea what the hell she was thinking about, for a moment, before remembering the song that had wiggled its way into her subconscious earlier.

“I know you have protocol around ‘accountability’ and all that,” Olivia said, “but I don’t want Jet and Zachary sitting down together, whether parents are present or not. I won’t make her become a learning moment for him.”

“Understood,” Mr. Nelson said, standing, and it was obvious that he absolutely wanted to just get her out of there. “We will get this sorted, Captain Benson. Juliet is a bright girl and her teachers and coach only have wonderful things to say about her and her academic achievements…”

Yeah, yeah. Normally Olivia was perfectly happy to listen to people talk about how great her daughter was, but everything about the principal’s words just seemed superficial. Sugary sweet. Olivia stood and shook his hand, effectively shutting him up. Miss Carter started to stand as well, tentative, but sat right back down as Mr. Nelson said, ordered more than suggested, “Louisa, why don’t you hang back a moment.”

Enola Gay, it shouldn’t ever have to end this way…

Olivia closed the door to the office behind her as she left.

“Have a nice day, Ginny,” she said to the secretary, who was a little wide eyed. Maybe the principal’s office wasn’t totally sound proof. Or maybe Olivia could just be really loud.

“You too,” Ginny responded, to Olivia’s retreating form.

It’s 8:15, and that’s the time that it’s always been…

“We got your message on the radio,” Olivia mumbled to herself as she unlocked her car and slid into the driver’s seat. “Conditions normal and you’re coming home…”

Chapter Text

It was exactly what she had been craving for years, and yet all the little details felt wrong. Like a remake of a nostalgic, beloved childhood film that brought back all the same actors, yet the overall message felt… lost. No more wonder, no more soul, et cetera, et cetera.

Yet there Katie was, once again, in between Maureen and Eli, toughing it out for the sake of her mother. Or… she could blame her mother all she wanted, but really, Katie was the one who kept coming back. Who kept sitting in the movie theater over and over, wasting hours of her time waiting for the glossy remake to spark that old bit of joy she’d been chasing after ever since she’d lost her DVD of the original.

She acknowledged she was losing the thread of this analogy.

She glanced down at her phone again, the three little dots bouncing at the bottom of the screen indicating Jet typing a reply. Her suspension had been lifted, it seemed— Katie didn’t know exactly what Liv had done to pull that off, and she thought she’d rather not find out, as she imagined it involved channeling the wrath of Hell. But now the girl was on a long car ride upstate for the weekend, and was engaging Katie in a rare but lovely conversation about the past few days. A sanitized retelling, Katie assumed.

Jet: i saw the boy again
Jet: the annoying one who thinks i look 12

Katie: Yeah?
Katie: The criminal?

Katie smiled to herself. Whatever Jet wanted to label it as, it was clear she had a bit of a… fascination with this boy. It was probably only furthered by Olivia’s desire to keep them apart. Really, who named their kid Juliet and then expected them to stay away from boys who were nothing but trouble? There was definitely some off-Broadway retelling somewhere featuring a cop and a convict.

Jet: criminal is giving him too much credit
Jet: delinquent at most

Katie: Did the delinquent redeem himself in your eyes?

There was a nudge to Katie’s shoulder, and she looked up to see Maureen raising her eyebrows, almost the picture perfect image of her mother. “You with us, Kate?”

“Hm?” Katie hummed innocently, reaching for her water glass. “Yeah, I’m with you.”

“Who’s got you smiling?” Their mother asked, an almost hopeful tone to her voice. She was tapping her fork lightly on the side of her plate, a nervous habit that was pretty out of the ordinary for Kathy to engage in. Normally she was so composed.

Katie glanced back down at her phone.

Jet: a little

“It’s nothing,” Katie said, clicking it off and shoving it into her jacket pocket. “Just a friend.” She’d get back to answering Jet when the attention was off her.

Her family was nosy about Jet. And Katie understood, on some level, she did— but it also irritated her to no end. Sure, Jet was new, and exciting, and a plot twist they hadn’t expected. But they could’ve been there. They could have been around when Olivia had adopted her, through the legal battles and the inevitably shocking transition to motherhood overnight. The Stablers had no short supply of random childcare supplies lying around, they absolutely could have been a presence. And yet none of them were. So why did they act like they had any right to Jet now? Particularly her mother, so comfortable with swooping in and saving the day, taking control of the situation from Olivia’s apartment, Olivia’s private space.

That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. Katie knew it wasn’t. Jet had needed someone nearby, an adult that was more of an adult than Katie felt like, even at the age she was. And it wasn’t fair, because Katie had left just as much as the rest of them had. She was equally undeserving of Olivia’s attention, of her forgiveness. And yet, Saint Olivia granted it to her, as always.

All Katie could do was try to make up for lost time and try to assuage the guilt built up in her gut and the resentment held in the back of her throat.

“Just a friend,” Maureen repeated. “Wouldn’t happen to be that firefighter you’ve been seeing, would it…?” She asked with a teasing, low, tone, and Katie could fucking throttle her.

“Don’t date a firefighter,” her father suddenly said, the first words he’d spoken in a while, holding up his fork and pointing it at her warningly. “You can do better.”

“Yeah, when it comes to public servants, nothing beats living off a cop’s salary…” Her mother muttered, and Lizzie clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her surprised laughter as Elliot rolled his eyes.

“I’m not dating a firefighter,” Katie clarified, and what normally would have felt like lighthearted teasing was for some reason grating on her nerves. She felt jittery, poised to pop out of her seat and bolt.

Maureen did not seem to get the message. “I thought you guys went out again this week,” she prompted. “That’s, what— three dinners?”

“Ooh,” Lizzie breathed. “Come on, Katie, give us something to work with here.”

“Rich, don’t you have a new girlfriend?” Katie tried to dodge the interrogation. “Can we— can we talk about Rich’s new girlfriend?”

“Rich having a new girlfriend isn’t interesting,” Lizzie said, waving her off like it was the most plainly obvious thing in the world. “If Rich had the same girlfriend, now that would be newsworthy.”

Rich shot her a glare, but made no move to defend himself, probably because he was trying to avoid the same line of questioning Katie was currently undergoing. Even if it cost him his dignity. “Whatever happened to Jason, Kate?”

Katie stiffened, and her blood ran cold. She had been doing a really good job of not thinking about Jason, recently. “Jason and I have been over for years,” she snapped.

Rich put his hands up in surrender. “Just asking!”

She could feel her dad’s eyes on her, studying her, concerned, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter anymore. He hadn’t been there then, she didn’t give a shit what he thought about it now. “Ethan and I are just friends,” Katie continued, hoping the more she talked the less red her face would become and the less she’d give away to her detective of a father. “He’s not a firefighter yet, he wants to apply to the FDNY the next time they have an entry exam. And sometimes we get dinner together. That’s it.”

There was a clatter as a fork hit a plate, and then in true overdramatic teenage fashion, Eli repeated, “Ethan?”

Shit.

“You did not,” Eli said accusingly. “Katie, tell me you didn’t—”

“Oh my God,” Katie groaned, dropping her face to her hands. “You need to chill out—”

“What is it, Eli?” Rich asked, craning his neck to see the kid, suddenly very intrigued by the drama. “You know this guy?”

“He’s my coach!” Eli said–near–shouted. “And he’s like— he’s like twenty years old—”

“Twenty seven,” Katie mumbled in correction, not that anyone was probably listening to her anymore.

“And you’re, like, forty—”

“I’m thirty three!” Katie exclaimed in offense, Maureen letting out a little snort beside her. “God, Eli, it was just dinner!”

“Damn, Katie,” Rich said, nodding as if he was impressed. “Didn’t know you were a cougar already…”

Katie pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and bit her bottom lip to keep from really snapping. It was teasing. It was lighthearted family teasing, the kind she’d missed for so long, so why did she kind of want to scream? This just felt like an incessant reminder that none of them really knew anything about each other anymore, that the people that had made up her entire world for her whole life were okay with just disappearing across the sea, that she had been left to figure it all out alone.

“Ethan wants to get his master’s degree,” she said, evenly, tightly. “I’ve been helping him figure out admissions. Sometimes he pays for dinner, and sometimes I pay for dinner, and we’ve become friends. Any other commentary on my life choices, or will that be all?”

She must not have done a wonderful job of keeping the pure frustration out of her voice, because even Eli shut the hell up.

Katie picked up her fork, stabbed a green bean. “Speaking of master’s degrees,” she said, suddenly remembering what she’d needed to ask. “Have one of you—” she gestured vaguely at her parents. “Been putting money towards my student loans?”

“Follow up question, can one of you put money towards my student loans?” Lizzie muttered, pushing around potatoes on her plate.

Their mother looked genuinely surprised. “I haven’t touched them,” she said.

“Dad?” Katie asked, looking up at him, and then stopped when she saw the flash of guilt across his face.

It clicked.

She placed her utensil back down, leaving a second green bean uneaten. “You’ve been taking her money.”

Her father didn’t deny it, opening his mouth and pausing as if to search for words before saying, carefully, “Katie, Olivia won’t accept anything that looks like charity—”

“I told her I didn’t want the money,” Katie said, shaking her head, frustration back to the brim and about to flow over. Her leg bounced with nervous energy. “I told her I wouldn’t take her money—”

“—Especially not when it comes to her kid,” Elliot finished. “She was just trying to—”

“I don’t care,” Katie snapped, cutting him off. “How can you be okay with that? Ten years of nothing and then you just come back and have no issues taking her money—”

Hurt flashed across his face, and her mother looked extremely uncomfortable. “Kathleen,” she said, “Now’s not the time—”

“Oh, don’t you start,” Katie bit out. “You had no problem inserting yourself into Jet’s life—”

“It was an emergency.”

“Did it make you feel any better?” Katie asked, and she felt a little out of control now, like now that the words had started she wouldn’t be able to stop them. “Huh? Did it soothe your guilty conscience, finally getting to play guardian angel—”

“Hey.” Her father snapped, loudly, firm. “Do not speak to your mother like that.”

There was silence for a moment, Katie breathing hard. She wouldn’t look at any of her siblings. She couldn’t look at any of her siblings.

She was really glad Carl had stayed home with Maureen’s kids tonight.

“I know you and Olivia have always been close,” Elliot continued, quieter. “And I’m sorry if my leaving hurt your relationship. But it was my decision, do you understand? You don’t blame your mother for that.”

Katie stared at him, and maybe she should have felt chastised and scolded and whatever else he was trying to make her feel, but really, all she felt was… pity. Pity, above the empty, sinking feeling in the depths of her stomach.

“You still don’t know,” she said, faintly. “You still don’t know what happened, do you?”

“Katie,” Lizzie said, voice a little wobbly. “I don’t know if—”

“You are so lucky,” Katie ignored her entirely to turn her attention to her mother, who was focused intently on her plate. “You are so lucky you’re already divorced. Because when he finds out what you did…” She trailed off, because she had no idea what he would do.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Her father asked, and his voice was low and almost deadly though his eyes only looked afraid.

It was still strange, seeing her father afraid.

“Kathleen, that is enough,” Maureen hissed. “You need to calm down—”

“No,” Katie said, shaking her head. “No. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of this. The— the lying, the deceit, the betrayals, all of it. I’m sick of it!” She stood, knees hitting against the table, causing her plate to vibrate. Lizzie startled.

“I don’t care,” Katie started, loudly, before her voice cracked and she had to restart. “I don’t care what sort of bullshit any of you try to use to defend your actions. I don’t care about any of the weird insecurities you had going on. We all did a horrible thing to a woman who was never anything but good to us. I am disgusted with your actions—” she gestured wildly at her parents. “And I am disgusted with the four of us for going along with it so easily!” She swung her arm around her group of siblings.

“Alright,” Rich said, standing to meet her gaze. “Alright, Kathleen, we get it. You have a goddamned complex for the woman who kept you out of prison. What the hell did you want us to do? Track her down ourselves? You want to throw yourself at a psychopath for Saint Olivia? Nobody was stopping you—”

“You know damn well what I meant!” Katie argued back. “You know if it had been any of us, if it had been one of our parents, she would have been there for the aftermath. She would have never left us alone. But we did. We abandoned her. And now you all sit around, gawking at her and her daughter—”

“You sound hysterical,” Rich retorted. “It was almost a fucking decade ago, and you’re freaking out now— have you been off your meds, or something?”

“Richard,” Lizzie gasped, the last word spoken before a stunned silence fell over the room.

“You know what?” Katie said, voice shaking, as she picked up her bag. “You know what, Richard? Fuck you.” She shouldered her bag. “As a matter of fact, fuck all of you. I’m done.” She turned to Eli, who looked, for all intents and purposes, terrified. “Not you, Eli. I’m sorry that this is the shitty mess of a family you got stuck with.”

With that, she turned on her heel, and stormed out, feeling tears prickle against the backs of her eyes.

In the hall mirror, she saw her father quickly stand, as if to follow after her.

“Sit down,” Maureen spat.

Her father sat.

Kathleen slammed the door on her way out.

Chapter Text

The ringing in Elliot’s ears was so piercing, the blood rushing through his head so loud, that he hardly even registered Maureen’s sharp command as he dropped back into his seat.

“You’ll only make things worse,” Maureen continued, standing herself, brushing invisible crumbs off of her already clean shirt.

“But you have such a great track record of calming her down,” Richard muttered.

Maureen didn’t rise to the bait, instead turning and following where her sister had ran off.

“One of you,” Elliot said quietly to the family remembers remaining at the table, a serious warning present in his voice. “One of you better tell me what the hell is going on. Right now.”

He knew something had happened to Olivia, he knew something bad had happened— after clearing up that Jet wasn’t biologically hers, he had assumed… injured on the job? Lost someone close, maybe a rookie on the squad? She was alive, she was a Captain, she was still with SVU, she had a beloved daughter, so he tried to remind himself over and over that she’s okay, she’s alright, whatever happened, she made it through.

He wasn’t in denial. He wasn’t.

Some part of him, some foolish part of him, still had to hold onto the belief that if something had been horribly wrong, if Olivia’s life had been at stake, he would have known. That’s always how the story went, right? He would wake up in London or Rome with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and call her cell and when it went to voicemail he’d dial up Cragen and then rush back to New York and…

And whatever came next.

The point was, he would have known. If something was seriously wrong, he would have known. And if things were bad, really bad, one of the squad would have called him, right? Cragen or Fin or— well, not Fin— somebody would have called him. They were loyal to her, of course they were loyal to her, but— he had to keep telling himself that, it had been the only way to keep going while across the sea. It was the only reassurance he had had.

Throw yourself at a psychopath for Saint Olivia, Rich had said.

Shit. Shit.

“Mom, can I go?” Eli asked, already standing from his seat. He barely waited for Kathy’s nod before darting off for his room.

Rich’s eyes were dark. Lizzie was staring at her plate, visibly holding back tears.

“Kathy,” Elliot said, because she wouldn’t look at him, why wouldn’t she fucking look at him? “What did Katie mean, what— what the hell did you do?”

Kathy still, still wouldn’t look at him. Or the kids. She just stared straight ahead, her hand that had been rhythmically tapping her fork now completely still. Her mouth opened for a moment, then closed, then opened again.

“Let’s talk out back,” she eventually said.

There was a dark, dark feeling swirling around Elliot’s chest as he stood to follow her out the kitchen door. It felt something like how he’d convinced himself he’d feel if Olivia ever needed him. Just a decade too late.

— — — — — —

“Did that make you feel any better?”

Katie whirled around, hearing her older sister’s footsteps on the crunchy, frozen grass as she approached.

“Did it ‘soothe your guilty conscience?’” Maureen continued to parrot her words back at her.

“Shut the fuck up,” Katie muttered half heartedly, glancing back down at her phone. She was trying to flag an uber to the train station, but her hands were trembling so badly she could hardly even get the app open.

“No,” Maureen said, crossing her arms. “You and I need to have a chat.”

Katie was shivering, having left her coat hanging in the closet inside, and it was starting to drizzle icy rain. That was pretty much the only reason she didn’t walk away from Maureen right then and there. “I’m not in the mood for a chat.”

“Too bad.” Maureen unlocked her car. “Get in.”

“No.”

“Come on. Get in the car.”

Katie started to shake her head.

“Now, Kathleen.”

Fuck, it really was freezing out.

“Fine.” Katie slid into the passenger seat of the car. “Gonna rip into me about ruining Family Friday?”

“You’re being a bitch.”

“The fact that you’re saying that to me and not our darling mother—”

“You have no right to talk about our mother like that.”

“She lied.”

“And you think she did that for fun?” Maureen asked. “She’s not stupid, Katie, she knew Dad would find out eventually.”

“Yeah,” Katie said. “But too late to do anything about it.”

“Mom cares about Olivia—”

“Well, she has a strange way of showing it—”

“For once in your life, would you shut up and listen?” Maureen snapped.

Katie stayed silent.

“Thank you.” Maureen ran her hands over her face. “First and foremost, I know this isn’t really about Olivia. I don’t know what happened that’s gotten you so upset—”

“I’m not projecting.”

Maureen leveled her with an impressive glare. Katie closed her mouth.

“But, this isn’t the way to go about addressing it. We’re adults. Act like it.” Maureen took a deep breath. “Second, you wanna know the real reason why Mom didn’t tell Dad about Olivia?”

“Because he would’ve come running right back to New York?”

“No. I mean— yeah, he would’ve. But Mom wanted to come back to New York too. That’s not…” Maureen trailed off, looking out the front window. “You know Dad struggled, after he left the force. After the shooting.”

“I know.”

“It was bad, Katie.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Maureen shook her head. “You can sit there and throw around blame all you want, but you were just as wrapped up in your own little world as the rest of us. You don’t know the half of it, and you know why you never found out? Because of Mom. Mom protected us from all of it.”

— — — — — —

The chill in the air was biting, the heart in his chest was pounding, and Kathy still would not look him in the eyes.

“In 2013, you were on some… some assignment in Germany,” she started, and her voice sounded dull and robotic in a way Elliot had never heard before. She was eerily calm, almost rehearsed.

He remembered that assignment, his first one in private security. His first one “back,” his first don’t fuck it up moment.

“One night, I got a call from your former captain,” Kathy continued. “He said that he needed to contact you, that it was an emergency. I told him I’d relay the message.”

Elliot was pretty damn sure that she had never relayed any sort of message to him, especially not one from Cragen. “Kath…”

“He told me that Olivia had been abducted.”

His heart stopped, and the blood in his veins suddenly felt colder than the rain that had started to steadily hit the ground around them, dripping through the cracks of the covered porch.

“She had been kidnapped by a psychopath that had gotten out of jail on some… technicality, I guess. All the police in the state were searching for her. The captain wanted you to know.”

“What,” he barely managed, voice gone, hardly taking in oxygen. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t know details. I just followed the news. They found her… they found her four days after she was taken.”

“Four days?”

“I told the kids not to contact her. Told them not to tell you. Told them I’d handle it.”

Elliot leaned a hand against the splintering wood railing beside him, suddenly not trusting his legs to hold him up. Abducted. Olivia had been kidnapped for four days. Olivia Benson, tough as nails, brave as hell, never went down without a fight, had been taken. Liv, his partner, his partner, his kind, empathetic, beautiful partner, had endured pure evil for four days.

And Kathy hadn’t told him. She had known, and she hadn’t made any effort to contact him. Not while he was on assignment, and not after.

Suddenly his panic was replaced by a surge of red-hot fury. The hand clutching the railing curled into a tight fist, and he could feel the shards of wood piercing his skin, but the pain felt deserved.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, and heard his voice beginning to return. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” He roared. “She could have died!”

To her credit, Kathy didn’t even flinch. Her blank expression remained unchanged, and that only made Elliot angrier. “You were unwell,” she said, voice soft.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you really—” He slapped his free hand over his face, ran it down, squeezed at his jaw. “That’s the goddamned card you’re gonna pull? I was unwell?”

Kathy looked up at the sky. “I’m not asking you to forgive me—”

“That might be the first smart move you’ve made—”

“But I am asking you to understand the position I was in—”

“Is this a joke?” Elliot demanded. “Are you serious? The position you were in? Liv was fighting for her life, and you were— you were what, worried about the state of our marriage?”

“You think I didn’t know our marriage was over the second we left New York?” Kathy finally gained some emotion in her voice as she snapped back at him. “I was worried about our son.”

“Great, yeah, blame it all on the kids—”

“I could have lost you! Eli could have lost his father—”

“You’re not making any sense, so if this is your shitty excuse—”

“You tried to end your life!”

The air was suddenly deathly still. And Kathy’s facade had finally cracked.

She looked exhausted. Devastated. Frightened.

“Don’t you dare say that,” Elliot said, his voice low once more. It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs in one fell swoop. “Never say that to me again.”

“This is the problem, Elliot, all these years of therapy and you still won’t admit it—”

“No,” Elliot said adamantly, shaking his head. “No, absolutely not. You don’t get to say that—”

“—You won’t even see it—”

“I never tried to kill myself,” Elliot said, the prior panic he had shoved down to make way for anger suddenly resurging. “I never tried to kill myself—”

“I found you. I found you. I found you half dead, barely breathing—”

“You have no idea—”

“I— I had never been scared of you before,” Kathy said, bringing her hands up, wringing them out. “The alcohol, the yelling, you put a hole in our wall and I still was never afraid of you, until—”

“Kathy, stop it,” Elliot tried to demand again, though it just sounded more like begging. “Stop it. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You were half dead on pills and alcohol, and I didn’t know— I didn’t know how determined you were—”

“I never tried to kill myself,” he repeated, like a mantra, squeezing his eyes shut. “I never tried to kill myself.”

“Even if you didn’t try, you came pretty damn close,” Kathy whispered, sounding on the verge of tears herself. “And I wasn’t going to let our son grow up without his father. He needed you. All the kids needed you…”

“This has nothing to do with Olivia,” Elliot tried to regain control of the situation. “You had absolutely no right to withhold that from me—”

“This has everything to do with Olivia!” Kathy argued. “Jesus Christ, El, you were barely out of rehab! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have blamed yourself for all of it, don’t tell me you wouldn’t have—”

“It wasn’t your choice!” He interrupted. “It doesn’t matter what you think I would’ve thought, it wasn’t your damn choice!”

“What if she’d turned you away?” Kathy countered. “What if she’d pushed you away? What if she’d lashed out at you, blamed you? What if she’d been…” Kathy trailed off, leaving him to fill in the blanks. Raped. Mutilated. Killed. “Would you have stayed sober after that? Or would you have just tried harder to— to—”

Elliot was still frozen on everything that could have happened, nauseated, heart in his throat. “Kathy,” he said quietly. “Would you have told me if she died?”

There was a pause, and Kathy looked genuinely dumbfounded. “Of course I would have told you if she died,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t have kept you from the funeral, I’m not— I’m not a monster, Elliot—”

“Really?” He tried to scoff, but his voice was thick with tears, with pain, “I’m not so sure about that anymore.”

“I don’t expect you to ever forgive me,” Kathy said, sounding tired again. “I don’t— I don’t know if I can forgive myself for the damage I did to you, to Katie—”

“To Olivia,” Elliot added. Kathy’s decision hadn’t just taken away him, but the kids, the kids who Olivia adored. “You hurt Olivia too.”

“I know,” Kathy breathed. “God, I know. But— but I had to make a decision, and I… I chose what I thought would cause the least amount of pain to everybody involved,” she said, closing her eyes. “I chose what I thought would keep you on a path to recovery, I chose what I thought would allow Olivia to focus on her own recovery—”

“It wasn’t your fucking choice,” Elliot repeated, in almost a growl. “It was my choice, and you took that from me. It was my choice—”

“Your choices have consequences!” Kathy said, frustration brimming over. “The outcomes of your choices have effects on others. On me, on our son, on Olivia. And after decades of marriage, I was well aware that you hardly ever consider those effects, because you’re too busy throwing yourself headfirst into danger to think about anything or anyone else! So yes, I took the choice from you, because as a mother, it is my job to protect my son from the consequences of your choices. And at that point, I was genuinely terrified that you would kill yourself trying to save her.” She took a deep, shuddery inhale. “You chose her over me a long, long time ago and you know what, Elliot? I dealt with it. I made peace with it. But I wasn’t about to let you choose your illness over your son.” She crossed her arms over her chest, almost seemed to shrink as her voice quieted. “Hate me all you want. Hate me for the rest of your life. I did what I had to do to protect my family. You know who would understand that?”

“Don’t you dare even think about saying her name,” Elliot warned.

“I did what I had to do,” Kathy repeated. “And that’s all I have to say.”

“Yeah,” Elliot agreed. “And that’s enough.”

Kathy nodded, and without another word, turned on her heel and disappeared back into the house.

Elliot balled up his fist and slammed it into the porch railing as hard as he could, barely aware of the pain in his hand as the wood let out a crack.

A sob he hadn’t realized he’d been fighting back choked its way out of his throat.

— — — — — —

Maureen looked very uncomfortable with the path the conversation was headed down.

“When I was… when I was pregnant, I know we have a lot of…” She waved her hand vaguely. “Mental illness runs in our family. And my doctor was worried that I could be at increased risk for Post Partum Depression or Psychosis. She wanted a complete— as complete as I could manage, anyway— history of our family’s mental illness. Any diagnosed issues, prescribed drugs, an— and attempts.” Maureen cleared her throat. “Self harm and suicide attempts.”

Katie turned to her sister, who still looked pointedly out the window. “Mo, what are you— what are you getting at, here?”

Maureen mostly ignored her, trying to keep her story on track so she wouldn’t lose her nerve. “After Dad left the NYPD, I took Eli for a while. Y’know, so— so Mom and Dad could find a house abroad. But it wasn’t— they weren’t looking for a house. Um. I didn’t know that at the time, I thought… I fully bought into what Mom was saying, but…” Her finger was tapping on the steering wheel at an alarming speed. “Dad couldn’t cope. With the shooting. I found out later… it was just a kid, Katie. She was…she was Lizzie’s age. He shot her. She died in his arms. He spiraled completely out of control. And when I called Mom, for her help with the family history, she… she told me that Grandpa— Dad’s dad, I mean, died from suicide when Dad was a teenager. Grandma Bernie attempted once, when he was a kid. And after the shooting, after leaving the NYPD, Dad…” Maureen’s voice broke.

No, the little voice in Katie’s head insisted. No, no, nonononono—

“Dad tried.” Maureen briefly hid her face in her hands to regain herself.

Katie felt like the car floor had opened beneath her, like all the blood in her body was draining right out, like her heart was plummeting down, down down, down—

“Mom found him. It really— Katie, it really, really fucked her up. She wasn’t okay. But she… she pretended. I think she might’ve been in denial at first, but she just… She just held it together. For us. For him. So Eli wouldn’t grow up without a dad. When I took in Eli, they weren’t looking for a house. Mom got Dad into inpatient treatment, said… the ultimatum was prolonged therapy and AA, or he wouldn’t see Eli again.”

The only reason Katie could be sure her heart was still inside her body was because it was pounding so hard she felt it reverberating in her ears.

“So what do you think would have happened—” Maureen cut herself off, her voice so hoarse it was barely above a whisper. “He hadn’t been out of inpatient that long when Olivia was… hurt. How do you think he would’ve responded if he found out Olivia was… was taken, tortured, and he hadn’t done anything to prevent it?”

Maureen finally turned her head to look at Katie, her eyes shiny, dark. “Well?”

“It would’ve killed him,” Katie whispered.

“Yeah,” Maureen said, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, that would’ve been the final fucking straw. So Mom hid it. And she’s not— she still feels guilty about it, y’know that? Olivia saved her life, delivered her child, this wasn’t a decision Mom made lightly. But— but she had no good options. There was no winning this game that she never signed up to play. You think— look, I know Mom’s always talked about traveling, always talked about Europe, but do you really think she really wanted to leave behind her kids, her sisters, her mother, her friends? With her first grandchildren on the way? Mom sacrificed everything to keep our family together.” Maureen let out a shaky breath. “I thought about getting you and the twins together to do something for Olivia, but that would’ve only raised questions about where Dad was. You know how those two are. They don’t— they don’t let things go. And Olivia didn’t need that on her plate. Not with everything else.”

For the first time that night, Katie couldn’t think of anything to say. Her hands were trembling where they gripped into her thighs.

“Mom did her best,” Maureen said after a long pause, quieter. “And she did it all for us. Everything she did, she did for her kids. So I know you— I know you and Olivia are close, I know you feel betrayed, I get it, I do. So many times during my pregnancy all I wanted was Mom to give me advice, and comfort, and just… I wanted my mom. And raising little boys, I thought all the time about what it would be like to have Dad around, playing catch with them in the backyard, reading them stories, like he used to when we were— when we were little. I missed them too. But… Dad was sick. Really sick. And Mom just wanted to protect us from that.”

“I… um,” Katie said softly, before clearing her throat. “Th— the school isn’t part of the alimony, is it. Mom’s degree, I mean. Dad just…”

Maureen shook her head. “No. He’s not legally obligated to… it’s just another thing she gave up, when they got married. So I guess paying for her degree was his way of trying to… to make something right, in all of this mess. They do love each other, in their own way.”

They sat in silence for a long time, the rain pattering down on the windshield. Maureen eventually reached over to take one of Katie’s hands, run a thumb over her knuckles. “You wanna tell me what’s really bothering you?”

“It feels so silly now,” Katie said.

“What Rich said,” Maureen started, carefully. “About being off your meds. That really got to you.”

“It was a dick thing to say,” Katie muttered.

“Hey.” Maureen leaned over a little to rest her head on Katie’s shoulder. “Please tell me? I’m your sister, you’re supposed to tell me the stuff that feels silly.”

Katie took a deep breath. “Remember that guy I dated a while back? Jason? You didn’t really like him.”

Maureen scrunched her nose. “No, I did not. Knew you could do better.”

“Understatement.” Katie turned their hands over so she could trace the lines in Maureen’s palm. “It was— I mean, he was an ass, but it got worse. It got… physical, I guess.”

Maureen sat up straight at that, looking at her sister with big eyes. “Katie, that’s not… that’s not silly in the slightest, honey,” she said. “Sweetie, what…”

“Calm down,” Katie mumbled, feeling her face redden. This was what she’d been trying to avoid. “It wasn’t— I’m fine, alright? It was a long time ago. The first time—”

“The first—?”

It was Katie’s turn to give Maureen a look.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Maureen said. “I’m sorry, continue.”

“The first time it happened, he was drunk. The second time, he… the second time wasn’t as bad, so he tried to convince me I was overreacting, I was being crazy. He started messing with my meds, claiming I never took them, hiding my doses… I didn’t know— I couldn’t remember what was real and what I imagined, Mo. It was fucking scary.” Katie took another deep breath, grounding herself. “The third— and final—” She added pointedly, before Maureen could react again. “The third and final time, I finally came to terms with what was going on. I started getting stuff out quietly, into temporary student housing, and then one day, when he was out, I just— grabbed whatever I could and got the hell out of there. But I just…” She bit her lip, put her hands on her face. “I remember standing there, packing up as quickly as possible, and thinking God, I wish Dad was here. Just so— just to have someone on my side, just so I could feel safe… I almost called Olivia, to be on standby while I packed, but… but it felt like I was betraying our parents, it felt like I was betraying Olivia. Since I— since I told Mom I wouldn’t reach out about the… the abduction. I felt so selfish, calling her for help when I wasn’t there for her.” Katie reached to rub her jaw, a habit she knew she’d picked up from her father but couldn’t seem to break, even when she tried. “I didn’t react great. To being a victim, I mean. Fell into… old habits.”

The pills. The fucking pills. Sometimes it felt like she would never escape, no matter how many years went by, they would always be a temptation, just out of reach… unless she stretched.

“Have you…” Maureen couldn’t even bring herself to say the word used. “…Since then?”

“Once,” Katie admitted, looking out the window, at the house across the street. “Burnt out, tried something new, had a really bad trip, haven’t— haven’t tried again since then.”

Not that there weren’t times she’d wanted to. God, were there times she’d wanted to. On one memorable occaision she’d locked herself in her office overnight and cried, cried on and off for hours, only pausing when the janitors went down the hall so they wouldn’t overhear. During her little moment of silence she’d caught sight of herself in the mirror, face raw and red and swollen and blotchy and Jesus Christ it was equal parts scary and embarrassing to realize how completely dependent she felt on a tiny white tablet that didn’t care if she lived or died.

“I’m an adult,” Katie said, as if her sister didn’t already know. “I am thirty three years old, I should be well past the ‘figuring it out’ stage. But you don’t— you don’t get it, Maureen, my teenage years— I lost them all. I lost them all to… you don’t know what it’s like unless you’ve felt it. I was out of my mind, and then trying to play catch up while in university. Figure out the world I should’ve already started figuring out, I felt so behind. And then our family all broke up, and who was I— I had no idea what I was doing. I got on meds, I started getting it together, and then the only support I’d known was torn away. I didn’t even think…”

She felt so fucking selfish now, for not seeing it. For knowing her father was in pain, but he was her father. He was the protector. He had been through shootings before, he had been through horrible cases, seen terrible things, and he was always— he wasn’t always okay, exactly, but he always made it there. He was always there. Until he wasn’t, and Katie had been so blinded by her own damn issues she hadn’t seen how much pain he’d been in.

“Nobody thought,” Maureen agreed quietly. “I didn’t suspect a thing. Because…”

“Because Mom always answered the phone,” Katie realized, finishing for her. “Mom always made it seem like…”

“Yeah,” Maureen said. “Yeah. She made everything look fine.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

The rain was coming down harder, and Katie was privately grateful to be sitting in Maureen’s familiar old subaru.

“I still feel so guilty,” Katie admitted. “I feel so guilty for not reaching out to Liv after… after everything.”

“Olivia still sees us as kids, she probably would’ve acted like everything was fine too,” Maureen said. “I know that’s not— it’s not an excuse, but… she does love you, Katie. She’s probably already forgiven you. Probably wasn’t holding it against you from the start.”

A knock at the window startled them both, and Maureen quickly unlocked the door when they saw Lizzie standing there out in the rain.

“Hey,” Lizzie gasped as she slipped into the car. “Mom and Dad are fighting, Eli slipped out, Rich took a call, and everyone forgot about me again. Katie, you left your jacket.” As casual as she was trying to act, her voice was definitely shaky.

“Thank you,” Katie said as she took her jacket. “And Lizzie, I’m sorry—”

“I know,” Lizzie said. “You should be, to me, at least, because I called Olivia.”

There was a pause, before both Maureen and Katie turned to look at Lizzie in the backseat.

“You what?” Maureen asked.

Lizzie was fidgeting with her hands, blue eyes blinking rapidly. “I was scared,” she admitted softly. “I’m sorry, Mo, I know I said—”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Maureen interrupted her. “Just— what?”

“I called her. After they found her. It was keeping me up all night, I couldn’t— I couldn’t not. But it went to voice mail, and she never called back, so I just assumed…” Lizzie shrugged. “I tried to tell myself she was just overwhelmed, but I kinda thought she didn’t want to hear from any of us anymore. I thought we fucked up really bad by leaving when Dad left.”

That made sense to Katie, at least. That people-pleasing, sensitive, overly empathetic Lizzie would assume that by going away to college, being busy with her own life, she’d offended someone she cared about on a deeply personal level.

“Was it her landline you called?” Katie asked. “Because she got a completely new number when she had to move apartments after…”

Lizzie blinked. “Oh. I didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah,” Katie said. “Yeah, sweetie, she just didn’t get it. It’s not your fault.”

“Oh,” Lizzie said again.

“I’m sorry,” Katie repeated. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Lizzie shrugged again, looking down at her lap. “You were hurting. I’m sorry Rich said what he said—”

“Don’t apologize for Rich,” Maureen and Katie both said, in almost perfect unison, as they had to say it quite a bit.

“We’ve talked about this, Liz. You can’t always take responsibility for his asshole moves,” Maureen gently chided. “You want to stay with me tonight, honey?”

Lizzie nodded eagerly, as the alternative was… well, here. “Yes, please.”

“Alright.” Maureen glanced at Katie. “You need a ride to the train?”

Katie shook her head. “I’m not…”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Maureen said, her voice so even it was obvious she was concealing something, whether it was concern or some other emotion. “I really don’t want…”

Katie closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the carseat. That was, unfortunately, a very fair concern. Alone in her apartment, no distraction, heightened emotions… “Liz, do you have any gummies on you?”

Maureen sighed. “I didn’t hear any of this.”

“Oh come on, Mo, it’s fully legal in both Jersey and New York—”

“And you have to take it over state lines to get home, which last I checked, was still a crime—”

“Maureen, cover your ears,” Lizzie interrupted. “I do, Kate. Take your pick.”

Lizzie passed her patchwork tote bag up to her sister, and Katie rummaged through to find two tins. She picked the tin of wildberry gummies and slipped one out, wrapping it in a tissue she nabbed from Maureen’s console before shoving it in her pocket. “There, Mo. I’ll be asleep before I can even find a pill bottle.”

“Great,” Maureen said, sounding totally not reassured. “Reassuring.”

“I’m going to see Dad,” Katie said. “I don’t— I don’t know if he’ll…”

“Handle this well?” Maureen supplied. “Yeah, no, he won’t.”

“I’ll stay with him, then,” Katie said. “We’ll figure it out.”

Maureen studied her for a moment, biting her lip before letting go. “Okay,” she eventually said. “But if you need anything…”

It felt like there was more meaning behind her words than what she was really saying. It felt almost like she was telling Katie to be careful. Around their own father.

“I should check on Mom before we go,” Maureen said to Lizzie.

“I’m not checking on Rich,” Lizzie said.

“Fair enough,” Maureen replied. “Kate, I think Dad’s coming around now.”

“Get home safe,” Katie said to her sisters, before opening the car door and stepping out into the now downpour. “Dad!” She called.

He stopped, turned.

The droplets on his face could have been rain, tears, anything— though his eyes were pretty red. One of his hands was curled into a fist, and the rain dripping from it was red, too.

“What happened to your hand?” Katie asked, though she had a fair idea already.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Katie crossed her arms. The rain continued around them. Neither of them moved.

“I’m coming home with you,” Katie announced.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“I’m not going home.”

“You’re not going to Olivia, either,” Katie countered.

Her father blinked. “You don’t get to decide what’s best—”

“She’s not in the city,” Katie clarified, before he could continue whatever rant her mother had been subjected to on her. “She took Jet upstate for a vacation.”

He just stared at her for another moment, as if he was barely processing her words.

“So I’m coming with you, tonight,” Katie said again. “We’ll go to some diner and get crappy coffee, and I’ll keep you off the bottle—”

“That is not your responsibility.”

“—and you’ll keep me off the pill bottle,” Katie finished. “I don’t trust either of us right now.”

He was silent once more.

Katie held out her hand. “Give me your keys.”

Chapter Text

“I can feel you taking a picture,” Jet murmured, though she didn’t move from her spot. She was curled in on herself, sweatshirt tugged over her knees, on a towel laid over icy grass. She held the eye piece of the telescope steady with one hand while the other remained shoved in her pocket.

“I like looking at you,” Olivia responded, as she had indeed been taking a photo. She put her phone back in her coat pocket and moved to crouch behind her daughter. “See anything cool? Or is it too cloudy?”

“I can see a little,” Jet mumbled, most of her focus in front of her.

Olivia let herself drop to the ground to completely sit, content to quietly watch the girl in front of her. Jet was more relaxed, more at ease than Olivia had seen her all week. In multiple weeks, actually. She was always like this at Kopernik, their safe little bubble outside of Manhattan.

It had been one of the first places Olivia had taken a tiny, eight year old Jet shortly after it was determined they’d be staying with one another. She remembered the small girl’s awe when watching any film that focused on the sky, the stars… it had taken a quick Google search of observatories near me for Olivia to find this place. She was honestly clueless as to what she was supposed to be looking for, but she liked the sound of what Kopernik was offering. It was child friendly, they could choose whether to sit in an educational program or just stargaze, and they were largely left to their own devices. Nobody hovering at their backs monitoring proper telescope usage.

Overall, it had seemed like a good idea. And then they’d arrived, and Jet’s big eyes had grown impossibly wider and lit up as she realized just how much of the sky she could see. She had wandered as far out as she could while still keeping a mittened hand tucked in Olivia’s, head tilted back and mouth slightly agape. They hadn’t even made it to a telescope yet, and it was clear she was in love. That’s when Olivia decided it was more than a good idea, it was somewhere between great and necessary, and they would be returning whenever possible.

Six years later and it had become something of a staple when it came to long weekends and school breaks.

“Come look,” Jet said, leaning back to give Olivia a little room to nudge her way beside her. “You can see Pleiades.”

Olivia hummed her response, ducking to look through the telescope. She wasn’t sure which one was Pleiades. They all looked like stars.

“You see Orion’s Belt?” Jet prompted, as she correctly guessed her mother had no clue what she was looking for.

“I do,” Olivia said. She could at least recognize that one.

“You just follow the line up through the belt and to…” Jet trailed off, eyes trailing across the sky. “You’ll get there.”

Olivia couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Some people call the Pleiades the Seven Sisters, ‘cause they’re all siblings from the same explosion. But there’s not seven of them, there’s like, a thousand.”

“That’s not confusing at all,” Olivia mumbled, still trying to figure out what exactly she was supposed to be seeing.

“And they’re hurtling through space together at, like, ninety thousand miles per hour,” Jet continued. “So I don’t think you can complain about the speeders upstate anymore.”

“Try and stop me,” Olivia muttered.

Jet slumped against Olivia and snuggled into her side. “They’re even brighter than the sun.”

“The Pleiades…” Olivia murmured, leaning back from the telescope to let Jet reclaim her spot. “They were the daughters of Atlas and Pleione, the protector of sailors.” As soon as she started telling the story, she kind of wished she hadn’t. None of the variations were particularly pleasant. So goes Greek mythology. “Orion chased them for so long that Zeus turned them into doves and sent them into the heavens.”

“But Orion’s right there,” Jet said, pointing up at the sky even as she continued to gaze through the telescope.

“Yeah, well, some men can’t take a hint,” Olivia conceded.

Jet thought about that for a moment, bringing her hand back to the telescope to fidget with a dial. “Do I look like I’m twelve?”

Olivia blinked. “Hm?”

“Hey, ladies,” a cheerful voice interrupted Olivia’s confusion. “Staying warm over here?”

“Hi,” Jet said to the approaching young woman. “Yeah.”

“Hey, Ivy,” Olivia greeted, twisting a little to see her without dislodging Jet from her spot half on her lap. “How’s your semester going?” Olivia liked Ivy. She had been a volunteer at the observatory for almost as long as the Bensons had been visiting, and was a student at the nearby university studying for her STEM education degree. She had purple streaks in her hair and also always had fun nail art. If Olivia squinted in the darkness, she thought she could make out a volcano on her index finger.

“Just started student teaching,” Ivy replied. “I’m in a middle school Earth Science class. Pray for me. You two want some hot cocoa?”

“Thank you,” Olivia murmured as she accepted the paper cup from Ivy, passing it to Jet.

“What unit are you on in Earth Science?” Jet asked, a little stilted, and Olivia couldn’t help her small smile at her daughter attempting to make small talk.

“We are on plate tectonics,” Ivy announced without missing a beat. “Volcanoes and earthquakes, all that jazz. Real exciting stuff.”

“Alfred Wegner,” Jet said, nodding sagely, and this time Olivia had to cough to stifle her laugh. Ivy looked similarly amused, though her expression remained soft.

“Tell you what, Jet,” Ivy started, “There’s gonna be a guest speaker at my school’s Astronomy Club next week talking about the magnetic properties of low-mass stars. Usually this sort of stuff is only open to club members, but if you wanna log into the zoom meeting on my Binghamton account…” She shrugged. “It can be our secret.”

Jet nodded happily, sparing a quick glance at Olivia for her approval. “I’d like that.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ivy said, also nodding. “I’ll send your mom a message next week.”

“Thank you,” Jet said, turning back to her telescope.

“Thanks, Ivy,” Olivia said with a smile, accepting the hot cocoa Jet mindlessly passed back to her as she got absorbed in her visions once again.

Ivy stood to make her way to the next patron, and Olivia leaned forward to rest her chin on Jet’s shoulder. “Alfred Wegner, huh,” she mused.

“He came up with continental drift,” Jet mumbled, too distracted by the stars to notice the teasing in her mom’s voice. “Everybody thought he was crazy, but he was right.”

“Hm,” Olivia hummed. “Sounds like Alfred Wegner got the last laugh.”

“He froze to death before they realized he was right,” Jet elaborated. “I can see Andromeda.”

“Is that the one that’s gonna crash into us in a billion years?”

“Over four billion years,” Jet corrected. “And it might miss. fifty–fifty shot.”

“Not great odds.”

“No,” Jet agreed.

“Science is depressing,” Olivia decided, squeezing her daughter a little closer. She was starting to get cold, and she imagined Jet must be too, though the girl showed no sign of discomfort.

“Your Greek stories are more depressing,” Jet muttered, to which Olivia couldn’t really argue. “Wasn’t Andromeda chained up to a rock for sea monsters to eat?”

“Perseus saved her,” Olivia said.

“Perseus beheaded Medusa. Being married to him is somehow a more depressing fate than being eaten by a sea monster,” Jet countered.

“She was turning people into stone.”

“She was hiding out in the mountains to avoid turning people into stone, and dumbass men kept seeking her out anyways.” Jet trailed off, mumbling something under her breath that Olivia wasn’t sure but very well could have been almost like they were asking for it. “Medusa’s only crime was being a victim of, like, everybody in Greece.”

“Mm,” Olivia hummed. “Libya.”

“Whatever. The Mediterranean. The entire ancient world.”

Olivia wasn’t sure why she said it. She wasn’t really thinking, at this point, beyond the fact that she had a brilliant daughter who knew things about the stars and constellations, and she was enjoying talking to her, telling stories that mothers had been telling their daughters for generations. So it really was mindless when she added, “Perseus was just trying to protect his mother. From having to marry the king.”

She felt Jet stiffen against her, and immediately regretted her choice of words. Shit.

“He could have just killed the king,” Jet muttered. “Or. Or—” Suddenly, thankfully, thankfully her vibe shifted as she had an idea that seemed to excite her, twisting so she could see her mother. “He could’ve— he could’ve just gone to find Medusa and said hey, this guy wants to kill you, and I hate him, let’s go turn him into stone. King dead, Medusa alive, Perseus has a powerful new friend, and nobody ever fucks with his mom again.”

“Language,” Olivia gently chided, but she couldn’t help but smile at how pleased Jet looked with herself, like she’d just cracked the code. “That would be a great story. You and Claire can turn it into a little video game.”

“Okay,” Jet said, letting her body weight fall entirely against her mother again. “I’m getting kinda cold.”

“Ready to get going?” Olivia asked, reaching to pull Jet’s beanie over the tops of her ears, which were already chilled red.

“Yeah,” Jet said. “Can I have some more cocoa?”

— — — — — —

Her father had been staring at his coffee long enough that she was sure it was cold. Had been, for a while.

Katie picked up her own, decaf, too much sugar, and took a disappointing sip.

The diner was quiet. There was a small group of teenagers in one corner, sipping at shirley temples, stage makeup smeared and fading and glittery costumes just peaking out under puffer jackets. An old man sat at the bar with a newspaper featuring a bright yellow headline that appeared to be very angry about gas prices. Or house prices. Maybe a sports team lost. Katie couldn’t really be sure. An exhausted looking family with a child half heartedly coloring on his placemat and a sleeping toddler took up a booth, from the states of their outfits she assumed they were probably halfway through a road trip.

“Want some hand sanitizer?” She asked. Mostly for something to say.

Her dad looked up at her, squinting like he had forgotten she was sitting across from him and was trying to figure out how long she’d been there. She could almost hear the rusty old gears in his brain grinding against each other.

“What?” He eventually said.

She tipped her head a little, nodding towards his hands that clutched his drink. The now dried blood was crusted onto his knuckles, and a bit of it had flaked onto the handle of the off-white mug that had been permanently stained by decades of coffee.

“It’ll sting like a bitch,” Katie said, “But it’ll get the blood off.”

“I’ll just wash my hands in the bathroom,” he responded, and made absolutely no move to get up.

“Okay,” Katie said.

She didn’t like how quiet he was. Her father was a lot of things, but “quiet” was absolutely not one of them. He always needed to be doing something. Untangling a case or staking out an apartment or pointlessly arguing with Rich or beating the shit out of a punching bag. The only time she ever really saw her father still was… well, the first that came to mind was when he was holding baby Eli, or one of Maureen’s kids. And even then, he was alert, always the over protective guardian.

“Let’s go to church,” Katie announced, only half aware that the words were about to come out of her mouth.

“What?” Her father said again, though this time he at least had a fair point. Katie hadn’t really gone to church in years.

But seeing her father unnervingly quiet and still and contemplative was making her feel antsy, so she thought she should probably stick him in an environment where it at least appeared natural. Even if he was going to be weird and zoned out the entire time, at least she could pretend he was praying. Or maybe the scenery change would be enough to trigger him into praying, or something. God. Katie didn’t know. She wasn’t above Pavloving her father out of spiraling into a depression, the same way she wasn’t above Pavloving her students into thinking of Pavlov every time they saw a dog.

“Go wash your hands,” Katie instructed. “And we’re going to church.”

She thought he might be looking for a reason to argue with her, as his eyes searched her face for any indication she was joking. But he didn’t. He just stood from the table, and turned towards the restrooms.

Katie pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and tapped it against the table lightly as she opened Google Maps and began to scroll.

— — — — — —

The woman who owned the cabins had a nephew who was NYPD, as she excitedly reminded Olivia every time she checked in. He worked in Brooklyn, and Olivia had never actually interacted with this nephew in her life, but she didn’t mind hearing the story every time because that thin blue line mentality got her a nice little discount on a cute little cottage where Jet was currently laying out clothes for the next day.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Jet asked.

“I don’t know. Cider Mill?” Olivia glanced over. “What do you want to do?”

Jet shrugged, carefully folding a flannel to place on the dresser. “Can we go back to that pinball place?”

“Sure,” Olivia agreed. “I thought it was a bit much, though? The noise and lights?”

“I still liked it. I just— just might not be able to stay very long.”

Olivia hesitated for a moment, drumming her fingers on the ugly floral patterned duvet beneath her. “You could wear your headphones,” She suggested carefully, trying to sound as casual about it as possible.

“I don’t need to wear my headphones,” Jet snapped, as Olivia had assumed she would. She got a bit testy about the idea of needing accommodations. “It’s just a— it’s just a really intense place. I like it, I just don’t want to stay in there super long.”

“We can explore the rest of the warehouse,” Olivia offered, even though the idea kind of made her skin crawl. The arcade was housed in the basement of a huge, creepy old mill that was definitely at least semi-managed by the city, but at night time, felt kind of like a haunted house. Jet adored it. Olivia did not.

“You hate the warehouse,” Jet pointed out.

“I do hate the warehouse,” Olivia agreed. “I also have a gun.”

“Fair.”

“We can figure it out tomorrow, alright?” Olivia said. “We’ll take the day as it comes. For now we’ll say Cider Mill, then Pinball. I’ll see if the Cinema’s got anything on.”

“Alright,” Jet said. “Do you want the bathroom before I shower?”

Olivia waved her off and Jet disappeared, only for running water to start a moment later.

Olivia flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling. She kind of wished she could still see the sky. Not enough that she’d ever agree to go camping, of course not, she wasn’t insane— but Jet had the right idea. It was nice to escape the skyscrapers and light pollution every once in a while. It was something she’d hardly done for herself before her daughter came along.

The sudden trill of her phone jolted her from her thoughts, and she quietly groaned at the thought of work chasing her up to her little paradise.

She swung her legs off the side of the bed and picked up her cellphone from the nightstand to see—

Incoming Call from Elliot Stabler.

Shit.

God.

It wasn’t that she explicitly didn’t want to hear from him, it was just… she wanted a weekend, alright? Just one for herself and her baby girl to hide away from all the messy, dirty chaos of the city. Just one. Just one, single, goddamn weekend…

“Jet!” Olivia called over the noises of the shower. “I’m gonna go outside for a bit, alright? Got a call.”

“Okay,” Jet called back, muffled from behind the door.

Olivia grabbed her cardigan from where it was thrown over the back of the chair, then her coat from the back of the door, and opened the front door to step onto the porch, into the pale light of the moon.

She stood there, considering, maybe for a moment too long, how she should answer her phone. Benson, or hey, or, God forbid, Elliot?

And then she felt patently ridiculous for giving it so much thought, and hit ‘accept’ without making a decision.

“Benson,” her mouth automatically supplied for her, practically a reflex at this point. Thank God.

“Liv?”

He sounded genuinely surprised that she’d picked up. Maybe because she’d let it ring for so long.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Olivia said. “Is everything okay?”

There was silence for a moment.

She was starting to get an uneasy feeling about this.

“Elliot?” She eventually said. “You there?”

“Here,” he rasped out. “I’m— everything’s fine, it’s fine, just…” he trailed off, cleared his throat. “Rough case.”

It sure sounded like it.

She couldn’t deal with this, not really, not right now. But he’d reached out. He was… trying? Sort of. She wasn’t really sure what he was doing. She didn’t think he even knew what he was doing.

She wasn’t going to hang up.

“You wanna talk about it?” She offered, dropping into a porch chair, wrapping her coat a little tighter around herself.

Another long pause.

“No,” he eventually said. “No, I just… needed to know you’re safe. Hear your voice. Needed to be sure.”

Olivia was not stupid. There was something else going on here. Something more.

But it wasn’t her job to drag it out of him.

“I’m safe,” she said. “I’m out of the city, took Jet for a little holiday, but I’m safe.”

His only response was a shaky exhale.

If Olivia didn’t know any better, she’d say it sounded like he was trying not to cry.

“Alright?” She prodded, after he took a moment too long to reply.

“Alright,” he quickly agreed, as if he’d realized he never gave a verbal response. “Alright. That’s— that’s good.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, a little more intense, but not quite to the point of snapping. “I’m… I’m okay,” he amended, slightly softer.

It was anything but convincing.

“Could you… are you able to stay on, for a bit?”

Olivia glanced behind her, inside the cabin, where Jet’s shower was still running. “A few minutes.”

“Tell me about your week?”

It almost sounded like he was pleading with her.

This time was Olivia’s turn to pause, breathe, think.

“Um,” She began, a fantastic start. “Yeah, I… I suppose.”

She started with a very sanitized, very condensed recap of Jet’s school trouble before transitioning into the observatory, the stars, the Perseids and Andromeda. Her story was more mythology and pathetic attempt to recall the science Jet had told her than actual recap, but Elliot continued to mhm along at all the right moments and occasionally ask the skeleton of a question.

“Told her she should make it a video game,” Olivia recounted. “Her friend, Claire, she’s been obsessed with making desktop apps lately. Cute little planners, and stuff. A video game seems like the sort of project those two would try to take on…” Olivia trailed off as she heard something in the background. A faint melody, familiar and calming. Bells. Church bells. “Are those… are you at church?”

“Yeah.”

“Bit late for confession,” Olivia said carefully. “Are you still in the city?”

“Jersey. Edison.”

“Elliot,” Olivia sighed, suddenly feeling her exhaustion catching up to her. “What the hell are you doing in Edison, in some— some church, at this time of night?”

The quiet stretched for a long moment before he said, “There’s a meeting in the basement.”

“Oh.” Olivia closed her eyes, rubbed a hand over them. “Are you…”

“I’m not gonna go in. I don’t think. But I’m not leaving until I’m sure I don’t need to.”

“Okay.” That was something, at least. Olivia tilted her head back. Looked up at the sky between the cracks in the covered porch ceiling. “You have a safe way home?”

“Kathleen’s upstairs. In the congregation.”

Olivia blinked. She couldn’t imagine Elliot ever letting one of his kids see him in a state low enough that he ended up voluntarily sitting outside an AA meeting. Unless… unless it hadn’t been his choice. “She drag you there?” Olivia asked, keeping her tone light, suddenly a little more on edge. She almost wanted to put her phone on speaker so she could open up her messages and shoot off a text, make sure Katie was okay with… with whatever was currently going on.

“She wanted to go to church. I chose one with…” He cleared his throat, again. “I chose one with a meeting. Precaution.”

Olivia had no idea how to respond to that.

“She really loves you, y’know,” Elliot said, after she was quiet for maybe a beat too long.

“Sorry?” Olivia said.

“Katie. She adores you. You’re her hero.” Elliot’s voice was softer, gentler, had lost a bit of its gravel. “She loves your girl, too. So much.”

“I know. I do know,” Olivia murmured. “I love her too.”

“I know,” Elliot parroted. “And I—” He cut himself off with a shaky breath. “I never meant to… to interrupt that.”

Olivia clutched the phone a little tighter, and the chill began to seep through her coat. “Elliot, I can’t— not tonight. I can’t do this tonight.”

“Okay.”

This time, the stretch of silence allowed Olivia to realize the water in the cabin had stopped running.

“I have to—” Olivia started.

“Mama?” Jet called out from inside the cabin, right on cue. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Olivia responded through the screen window behind her. “I’ll be inside in a minute, why don’t you find us something to watch?”

She waited with her breath caught in her throat for Jet’s half-response of “‘Mkay,” before returning her attention to the phone.

“I have to go,” Olivia said, dropping her voice a bit lower. “Are you— you gonna be alright?”

“Fine. Yeah, I’m— I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Olivia said, shifting a little in her seat. “I just…” She let out a low breath. “I’m turning off my notifications for the weekend, because I’m focusing on my daughter.” She had only made that decision at that very moment. It was a clear boundary, one she wasn’t quite sure if she needed, but having it and stating it at least made her feel a little more in control. “But I… I don’t want you to worry about me, with— with whatever this case is. So, um— I’m gonna share my location with you. It should be near Vestal and Binghamton until we come home. If anything goes wrong…” She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’ll hit an SOS, and You’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you,” Elliot said, and his voice was hoarse again, and he sounded like Olivia had just given him some incredible gift.

“Give Kathleen my love,” Olivia said, unsure of how else to move on with this conversation. “Good night.”

“Good night, Liv.”

It wasn’t until she clicked off the call that she remembered she was supposed to correct him.

— — — — — —

Elliot sat in that church basement for far longer than he necessarily needed to.

It felt like an isolated little bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. As long as he stayed in here, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at a faded depiction of Madonna and Child— nothing would ever happen to anyone he cared about ever again.

But the meeting ended, and men started flooding out, and Elliot’s daughter was still alone in the congregation upstairs.

And so the illusion shattered, and Elliot headed for the staircase.

He wished he knew what happened next. He wished he knew where to go from here. The truth was, he knew everything would be painfully, gut wrenchingly, normal. He would go to work and do his job and try to save innocent people and sometimes he’d succeed, and sometimes he’d fail, and the one time it mattered most the one time it mattered maybe at all he’d failed, he’d failed, he’d failed—

Katie was fast asleep on the pew.

She had her hands folded under her head, glasses askew, knees tucked up as she was just a bit too tall to fit within the confines of the wooden divider.

He knelt beside her.

“Katie,” he murmured, reaching to squeeze her shoulder. “Wake up, baby.”

Katie made a small noise and began to stir, clearly not fully comprehending his words.

“Kathleen,” he said, and what he meant to say next was ‘It’s time to go’ but what came out instead was “I love you.”

Did he say that enough? It kind of felt like no matter how many times he said it, thought it, attempted to show it, it would never be enough. Not for his kids. Not for anyone, really.

“Love you too,” Katie mumbled, or at least he thought that’s what she said. He couldn’t really tell with her mouth still against her hands.

“Time to go home,” he said, but knew it would take a little longer for Katie to fully awake. So he rested his forehead against her shoulder, and opted to wait.

— — — — — —

“What’s this?” Olivia asked as she reentered the cabin, screen door swinging shut behind her. Jet sat cross legged on her bed, hair still wet, remote in hand as something black and white played on the TV. Olivia was too focused on trying to jam the decrepit lock of the door into place to really notice what.

“The ‘Dick Van Dyke Show’,” Jet said. “What was that about? The call?”

Olivia bit her lip between her teeth, fiddling with the knob to make sure everything was secure. “Work,” she said, and it was sort of a lie but also sort of the truth. “Why Dick Van Dyke?”

“It was on,” Jet said with a shrug. “Did Buddy Holly date Mary Tyler Moore?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia replied, honestly. “That was before my time, lovey.”

“Winona Ryder was ‘during your time,’” Jet responded.

“Yeah, I know a fair bit more about Winona Ryder than Buddy Holly.” Olivia sat down on her own bed, prompting Jet to get up from the other one and climb up right beside her. “Why?”

“Do you think I look like Winona Ryder?” Jet asked. “Or do I look like I’m twelve?”

“Are those mutually exclusive?” Olivia teased.

“Adam thinks I look like Winona Ryder,” Jet said simply, and suddenly Olivia found the whole thing much less amusing. She did not like that that boy seemed so interested in her daughter. And she did not like that he was comparing her to heartthrob actresses. Even if Jet did vaguely resemble a young Winona Ryder, he didn’t need to say it. He could stay in his own lane, far away from her little girl.

“Sweetheart, from one woman with dark hair and big eyes to another,” Olivia started. “You should know now that every boy you meet will tell you that you look like Winona Ryder, and they will all think that they’re the first one to ever say it.”

“Nobody’s ever told me I look like Winona Ryder,” Jet said. “Usually people tell me I look like you.”

Olivia knew that, but it still made her heart sing a little to hear it. “See? Who needs Winona Ryder.”

“Yeah,” Jet said, and settled into Olivia’s side.

She wanted to say more, Olivia could tell she wanted to say more, but she didn’t.

Olivia took the remote and turned up the TV a little, hoping the laughter of the audience would drown out the growing, nagging feeling in her chest that encouraged her to grab on tight to her baby girl, and never let go.

Chapter Text

Elliot felt not at all unlike an annoying child who’d just been called down to the Principal’s office after a multitude of warnings that he would, in fact, be called down to the Principal’s office.

The glare Ayanna was leveling at him only served to further the analogy.

“And what the hell were you thinking?” She asked, after about thirty seconds of loaded silence. “Fuck, forget it, you weren’t even thinking, were you?”

“He got exactly what he had coming,” Elliot muttered, though his gaze shifted to the side, against even his own will. He flexed his fingers where they sat over his bicep, arms crossed against his chest. “That piece of shit is a rapist—”

“Oh, and is that how they taught you to deal with rapists over in SVU?” Ayanna challenged.

Elliot took a short breath in and tilted his head back, still unable to look at her.

He was so fucking tired. Sleep didn’t come easy. It rarely did, but even less so this weekend. He hadn’t gone looking for the news, he had promised Katie he wouldn’t go looking for the news, and as much as he would’ve liked to claim it was all out of respect for Olivia’s space, that wasn’t the full truth, was it?

Because part of him ached not to know. Like if he let his imagination run wild with all those horrible, disturbing images— at least he could chalk it up to imagination. But once he found out, he could never blame it on his imagination again. He would only ever be able to blame himself.

So he didn’t go looking for news. He tossed and turned and opened his phone to the little blue dot that danced around Vestal and Binghamton all weekend, with brief dips into Pennsylvania, until come Sunday night when the little blue dot traveled right back into Manhattan and promptly disappeared. As promised. A weekend of her life. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you right now,” Ayanna said, voice deadly serious. “But whatever it is, you need to sort that shit out. Because whoever Gasparian is working for isn’t fucking around.”

“I’m fine.”

“You lunged at a cuffed suspect.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows, still not looking directly at her, and said one of the stupider things he could’ve said in that moment: “Didn’t hit him, though.”

“Remind me what stopped you,” Ayanna replied evenly, “Because for some reason I don’t remember it being your impressive self-restraint.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, not that it mattered. Not that it was true. Gasparian had branded those girls. Had burnt their flesh and marked them like cattle. Sure, he wasn’t the one who’d decided it was necessary— but he’d done it nonetheless.

Just following orders. Even thinking of it made Elliot want to lunge at him all over again. And he would be sure to hit his target the second time.

“Stabler.”

Elliot realized his fingers were now digging into his arm. “What.”

“I already got all the approval for you to go under,” Ayanna said, not sounding all too happy about it.

Elliot blinked in surprise.

“That was supposed to be this conversation, actually. I had it expedited after we picked up Cassie. But I’m not letting you go anywhere until I’m sure I can trust you to actually use your brain.”

“I can handle an assignment—”

“You can see the departmental therapist,” Ayanna corrected. “And then we can revisit the assignment.”

Elliot closed his eyes, and this time the squeeze of his fingers was a conscious act of punishment. “I don’t need to see the shrink.”

“Not up for debate.”

“Sergeant—”

“Stabler,” Ayanna cut him off, with the sort of voice she used when she was not about to argue anymore. “You need to earn my trust back. Understood?”

Elliot sank his teeth into his bottom lip.

Ayanna sighed, looked down at her paperwork, rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I know your heart’s in the right place. I am just begging you to find your brain.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said shortly, suddenly desperate to just get out of that office as fast as possible. “Fine. D’you need me to set it up, or did you already—”

“It’s on your calendar.”

“Great. Thanks.” He said it with more vitriol than he probably had to, standing from his seat, but Ayanna hardly looked bothered. Now that he was thinking about it, she looked just about as tired as he felt.

“We’re bringing SVU on,” Ayanna said, possibly expecting Elliot to perk up like a puppy hearing their human come home from work, the way he usually did at the mention of his former unit.

Instead, his throat just felt dry. “Alright,” he agreed.

“I have a feeling there’s gonna be a lot more girls. We don’t have the capacity to deal with it all.” Ayanna looked up at him. “Was thinking about paying your friend Benson a visit later today.”

Was she expecting him to offer? Would she let him, if he did? Or was she just waiting for him to jump at the opportunity, just so she could deny him, revel in the bit of punishment she could enact for her his prior behavior.

“Have fun,” Elliot said instead. Like a coward. How was he supposed to face her? How was he supposed to face Olivia, knowing what he knew now, both not able to ask and unable to stop himself? He was already more than aware of his series of dramatic failures that had led them here and dear God he couldn’t cope with another when he inevitably fucked this up again.

“You need something?” Ayanna asked, and Elliot realized he’d been standing there a moment too long.

He shook his head. “No.”

— — — — — —

Adam thought he should probably feel like an annoying kid that had been called down to the principal’s office. Fortunately, though, he found himself in the surprising position of having an upper hand.

Because this lady was just as much a criminal as he was.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked, barely able to wipe the smug satisfaction off his face. “Call the cops on me?”

The blonde woman sitting across from him did not look as amused as he was. She did not look amused at all. Her lips, painted a muted pinkish color, were stretched thin. “I don’t work with children.”

“Well apparently, you do,” Adam countered. “Even if you didn’t exactly mean to.”

The woman lifted her mug of tea as if to take a particularly angry gulp, decided against it— the steam billowing out of the cup signaled it may still be a bit too hot for her to make any sort of statement sips— and let out a huff of annoyance as she dropped it back down.

“This is— this is not okay,” she said, for maybe the third time, shaking her head.

Adam was enjoying this. In all the months he had known this mysterious woman whom he now mentally labeled Elle, if for nothing but her blonde hair, he had never once seen her flustered, or at a loss for words.

“Am I breaking child labor laws?” She suddenly asked, mostly to herself, looking up at the ceiling like God or the shitty old lampshade might answer.

“I mean, it’s volunteer work,” Adam said with a shrug. “I think it’s only child labor if you pay me. Isn’t that weird? How you can actually give me more hours as long as you don’t compensate me in any—”

“Be quiet.”

“It’s funny that you’re even concerned about child labor laws,” Adam continued, simply because he could. “When you don’t seem all too bothered by any other sort of laws—”

‘Elle’ groaned, dropping her face into her hands.

“Hey, look, you should just be glad I did the responsible thing and even told you what happened,” Adam said, as he was now beginning to regret doing the responsible thing. He could’ve just quietly kept working for this lady and she’d never have to know any better. “The cops caught me. I’m in some trouble. But I swear, I didn’t tell them anything about your operati—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, suddenly wide eyed through the brims of her glasses.

Adam shut up.

She gestured pointedly towards him, and it took Adam a moment to decipher her charades before he took his phone from his pocket. He couldn’t help but grin. “They didn’t bug me.”

“You sound very sure about that.”

“I’m sure. I haven’t been bugged.”

“How do I know you’re not wearing a wire?” ‘Elle’ asked, though she didn’t look all too concerned by the thought, crossing her arms defiantly. It was more of a challenge than anything.

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “That’s your job to worry about.”

Blondie shook her head, apparently deciding not to worry about it. “Look, Malachi, You’ve done great work—” she started.

“You can’t fire me.”

“You’re— you’re a high schooler. How old are you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“You’re barely able to run your digital operations without me,” Adam argued. “You’d lose a significant amount of funding—”

“You got caught!”

“I wasn’t being careful,” Adam admitted. “Not that time. I was just making a statement, it wasn’t that important. Not like this is.”

‘Elle’ softened a little, barely— Adam wasn’t sure it was possible for her to soften all that much— as she studied him. “You actually care about this,” she observed.

Adam shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit warm.

“You’re a high schooler,” ‘Elle’ continued, “And you actually just want to help.”

“Sue me,” he muttered, unsure of why he felt so embarrassed under her gaze.

She tapped her neatly manicured fingernails against her mug for a moment, thinking. “You want to keep helping?”

“I do.” Sometimes it felt like this work was the only real good he could do in the world. He needed something to justify taking up space.

“Where are your parents?”

Adam tilted his chin up a little. “That’s not important.”

“It kind of really is.”

“Uninvolved,” Adam snapped, which wasn’t fair, not really, but it got the message across quicker than any other explanation he could give. “Nothing has to change.”

“You’re a child. Things have to change.” Blondie crossed her arms once more, pursing her lips. “I’m not putting you in needless risk.”

“I’ve already been arrested once,” Adam reminded her.

“Well, if I’m the only adult who’s gonna bother to be responsible for you, I may as well be responsible for you,” Blondie said, with conviction.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“I don’t need another mom,” Adam said, suddenly wondering what the fuck he had just gotten himself into.

“You want to help?” ‘Elle’ asked, looking at him over the tops of her glasses. “You can help. I have shelters— physical shelters— that need digital support. On the books.”

Adam liked the sound of on the books. “But your other—”

“If I ask you for a few…” She wiggled her fingers vaguely. “Favors while on the clock— whatever. You’re just a kid, you didn’t know, I’m the only one who’ll be held liable.”

Adam scrunched his brow.

“Look, Malachi,” the woman leaned in, voice lowered. “Right now, if they link us, the fact that it’s hidden, there’s no records— that’s enough to get us both into some deep shit. But if you’re just some kid I hired to take care of the computers?” ‘Elle’ leaned back and shrugged. “Nobody can prove you were involved with anything else. They see the link between us and assume you’re just the IT guy.”

“Oh,” Adam said. It seemed rather counterintuitive, but he assumed this lady knew better than he did. It looked like she’d been doing this for a while. Not that she looked old! Just… all-knowing. She definitely had some experience in this arena.

Besides, she was letting him keep helping. That’s what really mattered, right?

“And you make some money,” She added. “But you better do your homework first,” she said, probably just to make herself sound more like the responsible adult she was trying so hard to embody.

“Okay, Mom,” Adam agreed, and grinned as she cringed at the name, tea sloshing up in her cup and barely avoiding spilling over her shirt.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then do I get to know your name?”

“Allison.”

Adam blinked, surprised at how easy that had been. “Really?”

Blondie smiled, lifting her mug once more. “Nope.”

— — — — — —

Of all the things Ayanna was expecting when she walked into SVU, the little girl in the swivel chair was not one of them. The room was entirely empty besides the child. She didn’t seem to be in any distress, so Ayanna ruled out “victim” fairly quickly, but that left her with absolutely no clue about… who the kid was, or why she was there.

Neither of them said anything for a long, awkward minute.

Until Ayanna cleared her throat. “Hello?”

“Hi.” The girl barely spared her a glance before returning to tinkering with whatever was in her hands. “Captain Benson’s in a meeting, she’ll be out in a few.”

“Okay,” Ayanna said, and just stood there, because what else was she supposed to do? “What’s that you have?”

“Raspberry Pi,” the kid responded, and Ayanna couldn’t really tell if that was sarcasm or just some strange new technology she’d never heard of. “A broken Raspberry Pi,” she continued a moment later, with a huff of frustration.

“Ah,” Ayanna said, no less confused than she was a minute ago. “Can I wait here?”

The girl gave a distracted wave of what Ayanna assumed was affirmation, though she didn’t even look in her direction. She took a seat at one of the empty desks and glanced down at her manila folder. She was curious, she couldn’t lie. She’d heard of Captain Benson, everybody had heard of Captain Benson, but she’d never actually met the woman herself. Stabler’s obvious devotion to the woman only served to fuel her intrigue. He usually took any opportunity to bound on down to SVU, whether running case files or to ask a favor or to return a favor— his lack of enthusiasm upon hearing the name of his former partner was almost more concerning to Ayanna than any violence he may or may not have carried out against a piece of shit who honestly, yeah, deserved it. Even if she wasn’t allowed to admit that out loud. Not as Stabler’s commanding officer, at least.

Ayanna looked up as the door to the bullpen swung open, and the hacker kid they’d picked up a few weeks back slipped in. She liked to pretend she shared him with SVU as a gesture of goodwill, being two very underfunded departments, but truthfully, she just needed to send Adam somewhere else once in a while before she pulled a Stabler and lost her shit on the teenaged hacker and his smart mouth.

“You’re late,” the unidentified girl announced, before Ayanna could say anything.

“Aw, you were waiting for me?” Adam asked with a cheeky grin.

The girl gave him an unimpressed glare. “Do you know what’s wrong with this?” She asked, shoving her gadget towards him.

“Nice to see you too.” He dropped his backpack in the chair at the desk across from her, taking the object and glancing over at Ayanna. “Hey, Sergeant, you need me for something?”

“No,” Ayanna said, feeling increasingly disoriented by the number of adolescents in this bullpen. Did SVU pick up juvenile delinquents of their own? “I’m just here for the Captain.”

“This looks fine,” Adam said to the other kid, apparently completely uninterested with Ayanna. “It should work.”

“That’s nice,” the girl replied. “It doesn’t.”

“You have an SD card in there?”

“Of course I have an SD card in there—”

“Okay, well, excuse me for covering my bases.”

“You’re literally no help.”

“Have you tried replacing the SD card?” Adam asked, turning it over in his hands. “Could have an invisible scratch, or something.”

“I don’t have any micros I’m not using.”

“I have a few. I can take it home and try one out?” Adam offered, holding up the device before pocketing it.

“Be my guest,” the girl mumbled, shrugging. “Why were you late?”

“I had a meeting.”

“A meeting?” The girl repeated. “Like, with a parole officer?”

Adam looked affronted. “For work.”

“You work?”

“Uh, some of us plebeians contribute to society, princess—”

“I didn’t mean it like— don’t you dare call me that. I’m just surprised that someone like you is able to hold a legal—”

“Someone like me?”

“You know. A criminal.”

The door to the Captain’s office opened slightly, saving Ayanna from watching the ping ponging argument unfold in front of her eyes, and a man that she thought might be a very expensive defense attorney hurried out. He looked a bit disheveled. The sight amused Ayanna as much as it somewhat frightened her for whatever she was about to face.

“Mama!” The nameless girl called, which at least answered one of Ayanna’s questions. “There’s a cop here to see you.”

“Come in!” A voice that must have been Captain Benson’s responded.

Ayanna stood and left the bickering high schoolers in the bullpen as she shouldered her way into the office.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Captain Benson said with a pressed smile as she stood, offering a hand. “Captain Benson, and this is my Sergeant, Fin Tutuola—” she tipped her head to the man leaned against the far wall, who offered a nod in the way of greeting.

“Sergeant Ayanna Bell, Organized Crime Control,” Ayanna said in return, accepting the handshake. “The girl in the bullpen…”

“My daughter, Juliet,” Captain Benson explained. “Did she not introduce herself? She knows she’s supposed…” The captain trailed off, craning her neck, and Ayanna stepped out of the way so she could see out of the open crack of the door.

“She was working on something with her friend,” Ayanna offered in weak defense of the girl. Friend was a nice way of putting it. The daughter of a police captain seeking out a juvenile delinquent for IT assistance reeked of teenage rebellion.

“Her friend,” Captain Benson repeated.

“Adam Mintock?” Ayanna clarified.

“Nope,” Sergeant Tutuola announced, the first thing he’d said thus far, pushing himself off the wall to storm out into the bullpen as the Captain let out a long-suffering sigh. “Up,” Ayanna heard Fin demand once outside.

Ayanna leaned back to nudge open the door again, giving her and the Captain a view into the room.

“Mintock!” Olivia called. “You told me you wouldn’t be here until 4:30.”

“And yet here I am, exceeding expectations,” Adam said, standing with a glare in Fin’s direction. “A whole fifteen minutes early.”

“Go exceed expectations over there,” Fin ordered, pointing at an empty desk. Adam put up his hands in exaggerated surrender, before grabbing his backpack to sling over his shoulder. Juliet started to stand, presumably to follow him, until Fin said “Nope,” once again, clapping a hand over her shoulder to gently push her back into her seat.

“Oh my God,” the girl muttered.

“Jet,” Captain Benson said loudly. “Don’t you have homework you should be doing?”

Juliet— Jet—? Crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m done with my homework. He was helping me fix my computer.”

“Back in my day we called that something else,” Sergeant Tutuola muttered.

“Odafin!” Captain Benson snapped.

“You’re all so weird,” Jet complained, standing with her own backpack.

Captain Benson didn’t seem too bothered by that assessment. “Where are you going?”

“Library,” Jet responded, already halfway out the door.

“I’ll keep an eye on the delinquent,” Sergeant Tutuola announced, to which Adam didn’t look all that pleased.

Ayanna closed the door behind whatever mess that was.

“Sorry about that,” Captain Benson said, taking off her glasses to pinch between her eyes. “Teenagers. You know.”

Ayanna couldn’t honestly say she did know, beyond having been one herself. Which was enough for her to say, “You don’t actually believe her, do you?”

“Sorry?”

“The library?” Ayanna clarified. Pissed off teenagers didn’t go to the library. They got into stupid trouble with their friends.

But Captain Benson just smiled a tired smile. “I’ve heard good things about you, Sergeant,” she said, which was a clear signal that she did not want to talk about her daughter anymore.

“Likewise,” Ayanna said, which was true.

Captain Benson put her glasses back on, and all at once, she was the personification of her title. The shift from Juliet’s Mama to Commanding Officer was somehow both subtle and startling. “Well, then. What brings you to SVU?”

Stabler didn’t want to come, Ayanna resisted saying, though it was the truth. She had been hoping he’d jump at the opportunity as he usually did, and save her a subway trip. “Caught a case that might require your… expertise,” she decided on, sliding her manila folder across the desk. “Started as a drug bust, now it looks like human trafficking.”

Olivia’s brows furrowed as she opened the folder, flipped through the papers. “Friday night, Stabler mentioned you’d been working on a rough case,” she murmured.

Ayanna blinked. Stabler hadn’t found out about the girls until this morning. Hardly over the weekend. And sure, every case was rough, in its own way, but the fent warehouse raids had been fairly routine. “Stabler only found out about it this morning,” she said. She could have let it go. She probably should have let it go. But she was a detective, alright? She was a little nosy. And if this line of questioning provided her any insight into why her bullish detective had suddenly gone batshit…

Olivia paused on a file, and while it may have appeared that she was reading, Ayanna could tell otherwise. Her eyes stayed fixated in place, as she processed that. “You said this started as a drug bust?”

She could have just been asking about the case, she could have let Ayanna’s comment pass by her entirely. The question was vague enough. But Ayanna knew. The good Captain was playing the exact same game she was, snooping for a little more information. Why would Stabler, of all people, call a narcotics raid a rough case? “Yeah. Unis picked up some girls over the weekend, all with the same brand. Two of my detectives found the guy who did it yesterday and took him in, Stabler and I questioned him this morning.”

“Hm,” Olivia hummed, and Ayanna could see her filtering that timeline away, as if she would return to make sense of it later.

“Stabler tried to beat the shit out of him,” Ayanna offered.

Olivia sighed, snapping out of her thoughts and back to the files. “Great.”

“Didn’t do any damage.”

“Should I be grateful for that?” Olivia asked. “I mean, I’d love to avoid the brutality accusations, but maybe he was on to something.”

She was looking at the photo of the violent red brand at the base of Cassie’s neck. It had been fairly fresh when they’d picked her up, only a few days old. And Cassie couldn’t have been more than a few days older than sixteen.

“Do you recognize it?” Ayanna asked softly, referring to the symbol in the middle. She hadn’t been able to make sense of it herself, and it didn’t show up in any databases. A simple circle with a line extending from it.

“It feels familiar,” Olivia murmured, obviously deep in concentration. Ayanna sat quietly for a moment, letting her think, before she shook her head. “No. I don’t know.”

Even as she denied it, there was a look on her face that said it was bothering her, that some memory in the back of her mind was intent on nagging its way out.

“You spoke with Stabler over the weekend,” Ayanna said, a twist in subject she hadn’t really thought through until the words came out of her mouth.

Suddenly, the curious expression that had crossed Olivia’s face was gone, and instead she appeared guarded. “Briefly.”

Interesting.

“I’m supposed to send him undercover,” Ayanna said. A flicker of something passed through the Captain’s eyes, too quickly for her to identify it. “After his outburst this morning, I’m…” Reconsidering sounded too harsh, too much like she was a parent taking away a privilege. “I’m concerned,” she finished, and found herself surprised at how much she meant it.

She was concerned. She was even a little worried about him.

“He has three daughters. The cases with teenage girls always get to him,” Olivia said, which was a total non-answer to her question.

“How did he seem when you talked to him on Friday?” Ayanna asked.

The guarded expression grew almost outright stony. “He seemed fine. As I said, our conversation was brief.”

Hm. Ayanna felt as though she probably shouldn’t push that one any further.

“You know him better than I do. You think he can handle a UC right now?”

“Detective Stabler is very good at his job,” Olivia said, voice short. “And it would probably serve you better to trust what your own detective has to say on the matter rather than consulting someone who hasn’t worked with him in a decade.”

Fair enough. Ayanna got the feeling she was starting to get on the Captain’s nerves— Olivia probably saw right through her, to be honest, probably saw right through her questions and knew what she was really doing.

“I never mind an outside opinion,” Ayanna said, which was a complete lie. She usually minded outside opinions.

“I’d like to speak with Cassie,” Olivia said, standing, which Ayanna took as a signal that their meeting was over. “That was her name, right? Cassie and any other girls you might pick up.”

“I assume I’ll be seeing more of you throughout this case?” Ayanna asked, also rising from her chair.

“It appears so.”

“Looking forward to working with you,” Ayanna said, extending a hand.

Olivia smiled a tight, tired smile, taking the offered hand in a firm shake. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “Nobody ever looks forward to needing help from SVU.”

Chapter Text

WITNESS INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPTION

00:01:32.41

CASSIE: I already talked to a bunch of cops. I told them everything.

BENSON: I understand, and I understand this must be difficult to go through again. But Detective Rollins and I are from a different unit—

CASSIE: If you have anything to do with Vice—

ROLLINS: Nothing to do with Vice.

BENSON: Cassie, nobody blames you for what happened. No matter how you ended up here, our goal is to keep you safe.

CASSIE: Too late for that.

ROLLINS: What do you mean?

CASSIE: I mean, you’re too late. I’m not safe, and I’m never gonna be again. The second that dumbass cop picked me up, target on my back.

ROLLINS: Nobody has any way of knowing whether you cooperated with us.

CASSIE: Bullshit. Doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m pennies to them. I could tell you all sorts of lies and come running back and it’d still be a smarter business investment to whack me just in case.

BENSON: If you cooperate with us, there are special protections available for witnesses.

CASSIE: You think they don’t know that? I bet there’s ten cops in this building right now who report straight back—

ROLLINS: You keep saying ‘they,’ who is they?

CASSIE: Shit, I don’t know.

BENSON: Is this man one of the people you’re worried about?

(BENSON shows CASSIE a photograph of GASPARIAN)

CASSIE: Mark? Mark is useless. He does whatever he’s told, I doubt he’s ever had a idea on his own.

ROLLINS: You recognize this man as Mark?

CASSIE: Yeah, sure.

ROLLINS: Do you know his last name?

CASSIE: Something Greek or some shit, I don’t know. Look, you’re wasting your time.

BENSON: Cassie, we understand that you’re afraid, but if we don’t know who the threat is, then we can’t—

CASSIE: I told you, I don’t know! I’ve never seen the guy, I don’t— someone’s gotta be giving Mark his orders, but I don’t know…

BENSON: I understand.

ROLLINS: Did someone order Mark to brand you?

CASSIE: Must’ve. He didn’t come to that bright idea all on his own.

BENSON: Do you know what the mark means?

CASSIE: Means I’m property.

BENSON: You’re not property, Cassie. You being here is the first step—

CASSIE: Save it.

ROLLINS: Fine, then. Property of who?

CASSIE: I told you, I don’t know!

ROLLINS: The mark isn’t the signature of a gang, or an organization…

CASSIE: It’s not even finished.

ROLLINS: What do you mean?

CASSIE: It’s— it’s— I thought I’d have a choice. They told me I’d have an choice.

BENSON: A choice?

CASSIE: The other girls. They said— they said I didn’t have to get the mark, I could just get some easy work here and there and then— and then go when I wanted. They lied.

BENSON: I’m so sorry.

CASSIE: And it must’ve been one of those bitches who knocked me out, ‘cause none of the guys were even— someone must’ve put something in my drink, ‘cause next thing… I didn’t have a choice.

BENSON: You have a choice now. You don’t have to protect them, Cassie.

CASSIE: I don’t know anything.

BENSON: There are some things that may not seem useful to you, but could still be useful to us. You said the mark was unfinished, what did you mean?

CASSIE: I… they added to it, I guess. Some of the girls that’d been there longer had bigger marks. Like someone kept adding to them. I guess it’s the more action you get, or if you’re in charge of other girls, or— maybe it’s just how much they like you. I don’t know.

BENSON: Do you remember what those bigger marks looked like?

CASSIE: Sure. I don’t know if I ever saw a finished one, though.

BENSON: Could you sketch it for us?

(BENSON provides CASSIE with a legal pad and pen)

CASSIE: This is the most finished one I ever saw. She must’ve been important, because she spent the whole night with some guy, wasn’t just floating around like the rest of us.

ROLLINS: Do you know the name of the girl you saw it on?

CASSIE: Uh— Destiny, I think. ‘Cause some of the other girls were talking shit, saying Destiny thought she was too good for the rest of them now. So I think that was Destiny.

(CASSIE returns the legal pad and pen to BENSON)

CASSIE: That’s the best I can remember.

00:07:23.48

— — — — — —

Jet kind of felt like the way she imagined chaperones of middle school dances must feel.

Yeah, Claire and Eli weren’t officially “official” yet, or anything, but they also weren’t fooling anyone. So there was literally no need for Jet to be tagging along, third wheeling on… whatever this was. She’d offered to back up whatever excuse Claire gave her mom about why she was going out, so she didn’t understand why she actually had to be present for this “Not Date.”

It was awkwardly painful and painfully awkward and Claire was chatting away happily as Eli made big eyes in her direction and Jet sat with her chin in her palm, hardly paying them any mind as she tried to come up with some excuse, any excuse, as to why she suddenly had to depart. She had told Claire she was free prior to finding out Eli would be a part of their little outing, so she had limited options now. Maybe she could text her mom to give her a call? But then her mom would have so many questions.

Maybe Fin. Fin never asked too many questions.

The door to the Boba Shop jingled as it opened, as it had many times since Jet had sat in her chair— not the booth she and Claire always sat at, no, it had to be a table now for some reason— and she really wasn’t sure why this time her attention darted to the entryway.

Shit.

There was no real reason for Jet’s heart to drop, there was no immediate threat— and yet she still gulped down the sudden pounding in her throat, and heard alarm bells blaring in her brain.

Adam noticed her about as fast as she’d noticed him, eyes going slightly wide.

It was wrong, seeing him outside of the precinct. It was absolutely wrong for these portions of her life to intersect, and she had no desire to allow them to overlap any more. So she turned right back to her Boba Tea, eyes firmly on the table in front of her.

“Jet?” Claire cut her own line of thought off to ask. “You okay?”

“Jet!” a familiar voice called, before Jet could answer, and God if she could melt on the spot she would. “Hey!”

Claire’s smile grew a little into something teasing. “Who’s that?”

“Hey,” Adam repeated, slightly breathless, approaching Jet’s table against all of her will. “Uh, perfect— good timing, weird coincidence. I have your— uh—” He stuttered, fumbling in his pocket, before producing her tiny machine. “Raspberry Pi,” he announced proudly. “Good as new.”

Jet was sure he was saying something at least tangentially interesting, but had absorbed absolutely none of it as she noticed and subsequently stared at the girl by his side. Because there was a girl by his side.

“Um,” Jet said.

The girl cleared her throat.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, I—” Adam went to gesture, which seemed to be difficult for him to accomplish with the Raspberry Pi in one mittened hand and his other on the girl’s back. “I— um— Ki—” He looked at the girl beside him, suddenly appearing a bit panicked. “I— this is Jet,” he said, finally freeing his hand to gesture.

They all were quiet for a second, waiting for him to finish his introduction.

“Hi,” Jet eventually said.

“And Jet, this is Kimi— Kimiko,” he finished, only sounding about eighty five percent sure of himself.

Kimiko— or the girl who Jet really hoped was named Kimiko— offered a pressed smile. She, understandably, did not seem all that pleased. Her leather jacket had a patch on it that said ACAB in big, white graffiti letters.

It made a nice contrast to the NYPD hoodie Jet was currently wearing, snatched— borrowed from her mother’s closet.

“Claire,” Jet said, pointing. “Eli.” And then, for good measure, “Eli Stabler, actually.”

“Stabler,” Adam repeated, with a wince. “Thoughts and prayers, man.”

Any other time, the quip would’ve made Jet smile. For now, though, she just ducked to take another sip of her drink.

“You’re all from that fancy private school,” Kimiko suddenly said. “Blue Moon Robotics.” She said the words drawled, drawn out, like they were an insult. Jet wasn’t sure why she actually felt somewhat insulted.

“Yep,” Claire said, totally oblivious to the tension. “I like your— the Kuromi patch. It’s cute.”

“Jet,” Adam said again. “Your— um—”

Jet snatched the little computer from Adam’s hand. She didn’t really even need it for anything important. She wasn’t all that sure why she’d asked for his help. “Thanks,” she muttered anyways. If anything, for the free microSD.

“No problem,” Adam said. “It was just— it was just scratched. Nothing…”

“You’re from Brooklyn, aren’t you?” Claire suddenly asked, still focused on Kimiko. “Brooklyn Poly Robotics. You guys gave us a real run for our money last time.”

Kimiko hummed a non-answer, barely paying Claire any mind as she looked between Adam and Jet. “You two meet from…” She gestured her fingers vaguely. “One of your little competitions?” She asked Adam.

Adam blinked.

“We met at work,” Jet said, maybe a little too loudly, before she’d even really thought about the consequences of what was about to come out of her mouth. “We both help out with odd jobs around the precinct.”

Kimiko’s raised an artfully plucked eyebrow. Adam looked about how Jet had just felt, hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“The precinct,” Kimiko repeated.

“Mhm,” Jet answered, turning a little so that her NYPD hoodie was even more on display.

“Jet’s— uh— Jet’s mother is a cop,” Adam offered weakly. “NYPD.”

“Cute,” Kimiko said, clearly not finding this at all cute. “Are we ever going to get boba, or what?”

“Right. Yes. Um— Good to see you, good luck with your…” Adam gestured vaguely at the little computer. “See you around.”

“See you,” Jet mumbled, turning her attention back to her drink.

Adam and Kimiko didn’t stop to order drinks. She just walked right out of the shop, Adam following behind.

Their table was quiet for a long moment, one Jet hoped would stretch long enough for Claire to get distracted by anything other than what just happened.

“What the hell was that?” Eli eventually asked.

Did God have no mercy?

“Jet,” Claire said, looking an evil sort of amused. “Jet, he’s cute.”

Jet choked on her tea.

“Seriously,” Eli said. “Can someone explain what the hell that was?”

“I have no idea,” Claire giggled, as Jet spluttered, trying to regain her bearings. “But that boy likes you.”

“He was on a date,” Jet snapped, tugging a napkin out of the little container to try to clean up the spots on the sticky table.

“And he forgot her name,” Claire said, seeming all too excited about that. “Literally as soon as he saw you—”

“That’s because he’s an idiot.”

“So why’d you ruin it?” Claire asked, tilting her head curiously, glint in her eye. “If you don’t like him, at least a little, why did you ruin his date?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You told the girl with the ACAB jacket that he works in a police department.”

“Maybe he should try being honest from the start,” Jet mumbled, her napkin tearing as she rubbed it too roughly into the table.

“You like him,” Claire sing-songed, and Jet felt her eyes go a little wide as she now moved to picking at the gloss over the wood.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why are you jealous?”

“I’m not.” Jet let out a little huff, dropping her forehead to her arm. She just did not want the Adam part of her life bumping into the Claire part of her life, was that too much to ask for? Not because she wanted either of them to herself— of course not, that would just be silly— “Maybe I ruined his date because I hate him and I want him to be alone and miserable.”

“Mmm,” Claire hummed, disbelievingly. “Then what’s that in your other hand?”

Jet squeezed the Raspberry Pi a little tighter. “He had a spare part I needed.”

“We have a whole closet of spare parts in the Robotics Room.”

“Claire—” Jet snapped, before stopping herself with a deep breath. “Just— just leave it, please?”

Jet and Claire looked at each other for a moment, and Jet could almost see the neurons firing off in Claire’s brain as she tried to figure out a response, but she never got the chance.

“What’s he have against my dad?” Eli asked, mouth half full with a bubble waffle. “I mean, it’s gotta be my dad, right? If he works at the precinct.”

“Your dad arrested him,” Jet muttered, breaking eye contact with Claire as she grabbed her straw to poke around her drink. She had no idea who had actually been the one to arrest Adam, but she figured this got the point across well enough.

True to form, Claire let out what could almost be categorized as a squeal. “He’s a criminal?”

Jet stood with her cup. “I’m going home. You two have fun.”

— — — — — —

She was trying to resist. She really was. It had been years, and it drove her a little insane that she was falling back into old habits, it drove her a little insane that she was in any way trying to make his life easier.

It had been a week since she’d seen Bell. Olivia knew Elliot was undercover now, not deep, but deep enough.

And he hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t made any attempt to inform her. Hadn’t said anything since that night in Binghamton, when he’d called her out of the blue, outside of a fucking Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he was back and still hiding things from her, that he was back and still willing to disappear without a word. It wasn’t fair that he was back and she still had to care so damn much.

She hit the call button, and waited through the torturous rings.

Voice mail.

She closed her eyes and smiled a rueful smile because what the hell had she expected?

Part of her wanted to hang up without leaving a message, but she deliberated for long enough that she lost her chance. There was a long beep, and then silence, and once again, she was the only one expected to fill it.

“Hey,” she finally said, better to avoid any identifying information if he was UC. “I know you’re busy. Give me a call back when you can.”

She punched the red end button and tossed her phone aside, throwing her arm over her eyes.

It didn’t matter. Not really. Not anymore. Not if she kept telling herself…

She heard the door to the apartment open, and a moment later, the familiar voice of her daughter call out, “I’m home!”

“Hey there,” Olivia called back. “In my room.”

She felt her ears strain to listen for the familiar sounds of Jet locking the door, hanging up her keys, moving around the kitchen— she heard the trashcan open and close, she heard Jet kick off her boots.

Jet appeared in the doorway shortly after. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Olivia replied, reaching out an arm to invite Jet up onto the bed with her. “Have a nice time with Claire?

Jet let out a muffled little noise as she climbed up onto the bed and burrowed into her side.

They were both quiet for a few minutes, Olivia stroking her fingers through Jet’s loose braid, unraveling the strands.

“Boys suck,” Jet eventually grumbled.

Olivia raised her eyebrows. “For any reason in particular?”

Jet didn’t seem to be distressed or anxious, so Olivia tried not to let her anxiety raise in return. Still. It was never a statement she loved to hear.

“They’re really good at showing up where they’re not wanted,” Jet finally elaborated, “And ruining everything.”

Ah. This was about Claire’s not-so-secret boyfriend, then. Probably. Olivia didn’t really want to examine it any further than that.

“Boys suck,” Jet repeated, before mashing her face into her mother’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Olivia agreed, glancing across her bed at where her phone lay, abandoned. Face up, so she was aware that there had been no notifications since she’d tossed it there. “Boys suck.”

Chapter Text

“We are the most exciting high schoolers alive,” Claire mumbled, ostensibly to Jet, before taking a sip from her second cardboard cup of coffee that day. Jet couldn’t blame her. She’d broken her own caffeine-free streak that morning upon blearily arriving at the wholly unnecessary seven thirty breakfast in one of Columbia University’s dining halls. Her mother had dropped her off on the way to her own work— the fact that it was a Saturday not seeming to mean much to her— and Jet had been slowly withering away since. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before, for no particular reason other than there was so much happening in her brain she couldn’t really shut it down.

Now it seemed to be shutting down on its own accord, which was unfortunate, because she really, genuinely, was trying to pay attention. A presentation had just wrapped up on Uncertainty Quantification for Probabilistic Machine Learning in… Jet quickly glanced down at her program. Computer Vision. And she had taken notes, fairly decent notes, but she was out of coffee and she knew she shouldn’t get another and yet…

“You gonna ask one of your questions here?” Claire asked, shoving her tablet into her tote bag, which read In My Coding Era in big, pink letters. “I don’t think I understood enough of that to ask anything remotely intelligent.”

Jet let out a little huff of laughter, because truthfully, Claire could probably teach an entire class on Uncertainty Quantification after skimming the Wikipedia page for it. She had a habit of downplaying her own brilliance. “Yeah, I think… I might just ask them all here.”

“Get it over with,” Claire said, nodding. “Smart. Brave. You okay if I run out? I wanna grab a snack before the next…”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Jet said.

“I’ll see you later. I’ll be in, um,” Claire glanced down at her own program. “The music and brains one, next.”

Jet nodded, and Claire slipped out of the row of chairs to make her way out of the small lecture hall. She stared down at her notebook.

The rules were that they had to ask three questions.

This was not Jet’s favorite assignment that she’d ever been given. She understood the point, she did— but she much preferred to squirrel away and study things on her own rather than… talk to people. Especially very established professors who had much better things to do than entertain high schoolers on a Saturday morning. She couldn’t imagine they were really all that enthused by the idea of spending their precious free time repeatedly answering the same recycled questions.

Alas. If she wanted the honors program perks, she had to put up with the extra honors program work. She sort of wished she had just pretended she was busy today, though. It was a Saturday. It wasn’t like she could be penalized for missing a weekend event.

She opted to sit there and wait long enough for the small huddle of students in the front of the lecture hall to disperse, so she wouldn’t have to hover awkwardly on the outskirts of the group. Professor Whitman, stood in the middle of them, had a few years on her mother, with a smile far too friendly for someone who spent all day every day surrounded by computers. Usually academics in the computer science world chose the path for the purpose of avoiding human contact. But Professor Whitman seemed genuinely invested in conversing with the students. Either that, or he was a great actor.

Eventually, she had no excuse to stay in her seat, so she begrudgingly got up and approached the front of the room. She tried to fix her posture, put a small smile on her face, only garnering half the enthusiasm of Claire’s networking personality that she called her “girl scout mode.” It would have to do.

“Hello there,” Professor Whitman greeted with a brilliantly white smile. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” Jet said, and swallowed, suddenly wishing she had put a little more effort into planning what she would say around her questions instead of just in them. “Um— thank you, for doing this. It was very interesting.”

Even she could hear how painfully awkward she sounded.

But Professor Whitman’s smile just grew impossibly wider. “Of course. It’s all worth it to contribute to the bright young minds of tomorrow. Are you with Manhattanville? Or…”

“Hastings,” Jet clarified.

“Ah, yes. Must be nice to escape the city a little, yeah?”

Jet tilted her head in tentative agreement, not particularly enjoying this brand of small talk. “I had a few questions, if that’s okay. For my research seminar.”

“How old are you?” Professor Whitman suddenly asked.

Jet blinked.

“Apologies, that sounded terribly rude. It just amazes me how student researchers seem to get younger and younger by the year.”

Jet let out an uncomfortable puff of laughter, and pointedly did not answer the question. “I’m studying the use of emerging technology in the justice system.”

“A fascinating choice.”

Jet offered a pressed smile at that. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this man feeling the need to comment after every little thing she said, but she supposed it could be worse. At least she’d have a great amount to write down in her reflection. “Um, I just had some questions about— about uncertainty quantification and machine learning, but applied in a forensic setting. I’ve heard of cases where perpetrators will kinda degrade the media quality of deepfakes to avoid detection by forensic teams. Do you have any ideas about how machines can distinguish between aleatoric uncertainty and actual evidence of tampering?”

Professor Whitman raised his eyebrows, impressed, and Jet felt an inkling of pride at that. “That is a fantastic question. I’m sorry, what was your name?”

Jet had a momentary flash of panic as she always did when confronted with that question in a professional setting, because she never knew how to answer— Juliet or Jet? The age old question. “Juliet,” she blurted out, still hopeful it would make professionals take her even a modicum more seriously. “Juliet Benson.”

“Well, Juliet, you are ahead of the curve with these questions. Forensics is not my principle area of research, but I’ll give it my best shot.” Professor Whitman clapped his hands together, brow furrowed as he considered his next words, thoughtfully. “When bad actors deliberately degrade footage quality, they’re attempting to shield themselves with aleatoric uncertainty. Have you ever— actually, think about it this way. Did you ever do a project in history class in elementary school where you needed to make your paper look old and weathered, so you dropped tea bags all over it to mimic aging?”

Jet hadn’t even gone to elementary school. She nodded anyway.

“Well, when we can’t figure out if a piece of paper is ancient or just muddied by observation, we need to look for clues that speak to the process of it reaching that state. In other words, we search for tea residue. And in the case of aleatoric uncertainty in deepfakes, we analyze the patterns of degradation rather than simply observing the degradation itself. Natural degradation tends to follow certain physical and statistical patterns— like how image compression artifacts manifest in specific ways. When someone artificially degrades content, they could leave telltale signs in how that degradation is distributed. We can build uncertainty models that specifically look at these distribution patterns, which allows us to distinguish between natural noise and deliberate meddling.”

Jet was frantically scribbling along with her mechanical pencil, honestly a bit surprised by the complete wealth of information she’d been granted simply by asking. Maybe this assignment did have a point, after all. “Thank you,” she said, briefly glancing up from her notepad at him, before dropping her gaze back down to finish writing. “I don’t want to keep you…”

“I have nowhere to be,” Professor Whitman said. “And this room isn’t booked for another fifteen minutes. Why don’t we sit?”

Jet felt a pang of wholly unnecessary guilt at prolonging this interaction, which seemed totally irrational considering Professor Whitman appeared more than happy to discuss his passion project. She followed him to the front row of seats anyway.

“Carry on,” the Professor instructed, waving his hand in a vague gesture of propelling the conversation forward.

Jet swallowed, and flipped the page of her notepad back to where she’d noted her questions. "Um— okay. In cases where multiple AI models are used to analyze potential deepfakes, how do you… reconcile, I guess, conflicting uncertainty measurements between different detection methods? Like in a video of some people, if a semantic model flags weird behavior in facial movements, while a different model focusing on compression artifacts seems fairly confident the footage is authentic?"

“Well averaging confidence scores would just be too simple, now wouldn’t it?” Professor Whitman said— joked—? Could a statement that nerdy even qualify as a joke? “Instead, we have to account for the domain of each model's expertise. A semantic model analyzing facial movements operates in a fundamentally different uncertainty space than one analyzing compression artifacts. We can use hierarchical Bayesian models to weight these different sources of evidence based on their relevant domains and known error characteristics. Sometimes these conflicts actually give us far more valuable information than if everything had added up.”

Jet didn’t even flip back to her previous questions, her brain was buzzing with all sorts of new ideas. “Can you— would you mind explaining the hierarchical model?”

She glanced up from her notepad. Professor Whitman was studying her, as if trying to figure her out. “Could I have your notepad for a moment?” He asked. “This may be easier to visualize.”

It wasn’t like she could say no to that. Jet passed her notepad and pencil to the professor, watching him print his ideas. His capital letters stretched up tall, willowy, while the rest of the world hardly made it halfway up the stem.

Facial movement detector: Unnatural mouth movements, 85% confidence
Compression artifact analyzer: normal compression patterns, 90% confidence
Audio-visual sync detector: slight misalignments, 70% confidence

“What would you say in this case, Juliet?” Professor Whitman asked, showing her the page. “Winner takes all? Average the confidence levels?”

Jet bit her lip. This felt like a test. “Not winner takes all,” she decided quietly. “That would disregard too many red flags.”

“Mhm.”

“But so would averaging. We shouldn’t ignore…” She trailed off as she tried to think. And tried not to sound too stupid in front of this academic powerhouse. “I mean, wouldn’t it depend on what the video is of? Like, if the camera is really close to their faces, then the facial movement detector would matter much more than any compression analyzer.” Her brow scrunched in concentration.

“You’re on the right track,” the professor said. “Let's say we've studied thousands of videos, both real and fake. We've learned that in 90% of the deepfakes, our detector picks up on weird facial movements, about 85% have audio sync issues— but only about 15% have normal compression patterns.”

“Because deepfakes can’t get expressions right, really,” Jet mumbled.

“Now, in our real videos, the ones we know are authentic— maybe 20% have weird facial movements, like people sneezing, or something. 25% might have slight audio sync issues, normal video lag. About 95% have normal compression.”

“So to have both weird facial movements and audio issues together would be really unlikely,” Jet said, the pieces starting to click.

“Correct. So when we look at our evidence here— 85% confidence in weird facial movements, 70% confidence in sync issues— we're not just averaging these numbers. We're asking, how likely are we to see this specific combination of evidence if the video is fake, versus if the video is real?” Professor Whitman started writing again. “We’ll use the Bayes’ Theorem here…” he mumbled to himself, running out of room on the sheet of the notepad and flipping to continue his calculations on the next page. “After considering all these relationships, we might find there's actually a 75% chance this video is fake— much higher than if we'd just averaged our confidence scores, which would have given us 55%.”

Jet nodded slowly. “We have to factor in what we already know about deepfake behavior.”

“Atta girl.” Professor Whitman handed her notepad back. “We’ve got a few more minutes if you have any more burning questions.”

She didn’t want to bother him any further. But she also couldn’t resist the opportunity. When else would she get the chance, really? She wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone who knew as much as Dr. Whitman did. “Yeah, just— just one more. Are there ways to simulate epistemic uncertainty to make up conditions that might be relevant when dealing with new manipulation techniques? To sort of… um, stress test new forensic tools that might not have been used practically, yet?”

“Alright, we may have found the limit of my practical knowledge of forensics,” Professor Whitman said. “But I can answer this another way. You know this stuff isn’t my main— Deepfakes aren’t my career, though I do find them fascinating.”

“You’re in the aerospace lab,” Jet said, just to make it clear that she had, in fact, been paying attention to his introduction. That had actually been the entire reason she’d chosen this lecture— though it had ended up having very little to do with rockets.

“Yes, I am. Do you see a future for yourself in engineering?” Professor Whitman asked, and then waited, like he actually personally cared about the answer.

“Um,” Jet said, feeling the heat rise to her cheekbones. “I don’t— I don’t know yet.”

“You’ve got time,” Professor Whitman said. “More time than I have to give this question the attention it deserves, at least. I apologize for that. On the topic of stress testing, think about aircraft design— when designing a wing, we need to be confident it will perform safely even in situations we haven't directly tested. Even in situations we may not have dreamt up, yet. We know some parameters with high confidence— like air density at sea level, or the wing’s material properties. But others, like exact turbulence patterns or how manufacturing variations might affect performance, are less certain. These knowledge gaps represent our epistemic uncertainty.”

Jet drew a bubbly little question mark in her notes, which she had decided was her way of representing epistemic uncertainty.

“To simulate this uncertainty, we use what we call ‘surrogate modeling.’ We start by creating a simplified mathematical model of our wing that captures the key physics. Then we start to deliberately introduce variations. We can’t test a wing design against every possible weather condition— just as we can’t test forensic tools against every possible manipulation technique— but we can create principled ways to stress test both systems. In aerospace we might use techniques like polynomial chaos expansion or Gaussian process modeling to create thousands of slightly different scenarios, each representing a plausible real-world condition we haven't encountered yet. This helps us identify potential failure modes before they occur in reality…”

He was still talking, and Jet was barely keeping up, starring the words polynomial chaos expansion and Gaussian process modeling as a reminder that she needed to look them up later— not that she’d need much of a reminder, if she reread her notes it would be perfectly obvious where the attention was needed.

“...And just like that, our time here is up,” Professor Whitman finished, and Jet in her sort of sleepless daze nearly noted that too, before she realized that it was simply an observation of the next group of students flooding into the lecture hall.

“Thank you,” Jet blurted out, because she really couldn’t pull her brain together to think of anything else. “Thank you, really…”

“It was my pleasure.” Professor Whitman stood from his seat. “Actually, Juliet, you may be interested in my newest publication.”

“What journal…?”

“No journal, it’s a standalone. They let a guy like me write a book, can you believe it?” He asked, with a grin and a wink. “It hasn’t been released to the masses, yet, though I do have a few early copies for interested grad students. Would you be interested…”

“Really?” Jet all but squeaked. You do not squeak, she mentally chided herself, embarrassed. Pull yourself together. “I mean, if you have the extra copy…”

“Of course. My office is on the second floor, come along and I’ll find you one.”

With that, Professor Whitman turned, not even waiting to see if Jet would follow. He just knew she would, and she did. Jet stuffed her notepad into her bag and shouldered the strap, clutched her empty paper coffee cup, and followed Professor Whitman out of the lecture hall and to the staircase outside.

“I do hope you’ll seriously consider Columbia University,” Professor Whitman said to her. “You could do incredible things here.”

Jet felt her face heat up once more. Normally people were telling her how amazing Columbia was— it felt odd to have someone do the opposite. “I do hope Columbia will seriously consider me,” she mumbled in response.

“Oh, they will.” Professor Whitman opened the door to the second floor and held it. “After you.”

“Thanks,” Jet said, slipping through the doorway and into the hall, which was much quieter than the one on the floor below.

“I’m just around the corner—” Professor Whitman said, gesturing, before a booming voice cut him off.

“Cliff, there you are.”

Just around the corner was a shorter man, with salt and pepper hair, leaned against the wall beside Professor Whitman’s office. A thin girl stood beside him, clutching a book to her abdomen, watching with big eyes.

“Edmund,” Professor Whitman greeted, matching the man’s posture and tone instantaneously. “And Veronica, lovely as always.”

The girl who must have been Veronica tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“And who’s this?” Edmund asked, looking down at Jet. “You didn’t tell me you’d taken on a new protégé.”

Jet had no idea what she was supposed to say, considering Edmund wasn’t even directly talking to her.

“Are you visiting with your school?” Veronica asked. Her voice was soft, and had a lilting accent.

“Yeah,” Jet said. “Um— Hastings.”

“Hastings,” Edmund repeated. “Well, you must be the best and the brightest of this next generation, then. What are you doing hanging around this old fool?” He said it playfully, jabbing at Dr. Whitman, who only rolled his eyes.

“I was getting her a copy of the book,” Professor Whitman said, producing the key to his office from his pocket. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly,” Edmund said, raising his hands in surrender, stepping away from where he’d partially obscured the door. Professor Whitman unlocked it and stepped inside. Jet moved to follow, but was blocked by Edmund stepping back to his former position. “Dr. Edmund Pierce,” he introduced himself, holding a hand out for Jet to shake. “And this is Veronica Buonaiuto.”

“Juliet Benson,” Jet said back, accepting his hand, and then Veronica’s. The way Dr. Pierce looked at her made her feel like he had x-ray vision, and could see down to her skeleton.

“You want to be a physicist, Miss Benson?” Dr. Pierce asked.

Jet shrugged. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Professor Whitman opening his large file cabinets, searching for the correct one.

“Yeah, that’s about the enthusiasm I expect from the subject,” Dr. Pierce said. “It sounds so exciting— the many-worlds theory, quantum entanglement— just to eventually turn out so hopelessly dull.”

“Juliet,” Dr. Whitman said, holding up a hardcover book. “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” Jet said, choosing to ignore Dr. Pierce’s commentary and take the book instead. The dust jacket was red and blue and read Dancing with Chaos: Quantifying Uncertainty in Extreme Aerospace Environments.

“Would you like me to help you find your way back to—”

“Actually, Cliff,” Dr. Pierce cut him off. “I need to talk to you, rather urgently. I’m sure Veronica can help Miss Benson back to her class, no?”

Professor Whitman looked less than pleased, but did not try to argue. “It was lovely to meet you, Juliet,” he said instead. “Stop by my office hours some time, I’d love to follow your project as it develops.”

“Thank you,” Jet said, looking between the three people there and feeling distinctly out of place. “I’m fine to find my own way—”

“It’s no problem,” Veronica interrupted. “I’m headed outside anyway.”

Jet nodded mutely, and started off towards the stairs. She could feel Dr. Whitman’s eyes on her back until she was out of his sight. She and Veronica made their way down the stairs silently.

Jet could almost make out the title of Veronica’s book, slightly blocked by her arm, and definitely not in English— Il Pendolo di Foucault.

“Are you a physics student?” Jet asked. She was still mildly curious about the department.

Veronica looked at her, blinked, and then seemed to make the connection between Jet’s question and her book. “Oh— oh lord, no. I’m not… my brain is not one for math. It’s the novel. By Umberto Eco.”

“Oh,” Jet said.

“I’m in the Comparative Literature department,” Veronica said. “Working for my doctorate.”

“Good luck,” Jet said, because she wasn’t really sure what else to say, and doctorates were a lot of work.

“Thank you,” Veronica said. “I’m meeting my partner by the fine arts library, it’s near the visitors’ center. We’ll see you from there.”

“Thanks,” Jet thanked her again, even though she was perfectly capable of finding the visitors’ center on her own. They walked in silence for another few minutes.

“Have you read it?” Veronica suddenly asked.

“What?” Jet asked.

“Foucault's Pendulum.”

Jet shook her head. She didn’t even know what it was about.

“You should,” Veronica suggested, then glanced at the book Jet was still holding. “Maybe after you make it through… that.”

“Noted,” Jet said.

They were approaching the library now, and Jet could see a young woman sitting on the bench outside, reading something on her phone. A familiar young woman.

“Elizabeth!” Veronica called, grabbing the woman’s attention, causing her to look up in their direction.

“Jet?” Lizzie asked, standing.

Jet blinked. Not exactly what she had been expecting. “Hi,” she said, and didn’t know what else to do.

“Hey there,” Lizzie said, looking between Jet and Veronica. “Small world, hm?”

“You know each other?” Veronica asked.

“We’ve met,” Lizzie said. “It’s good to see you, Jet.”

Jet mumbled a you too.

“We have to get going, if I’m gonna catch my train,” Lizzie murmured to Veronica, shoving her phone in her pocket and slipping her mittens back on.

“You can find your way from here?” Veronica asked Jet, like Jet couldn’t have found her way from the engineering building in the first place.

“Yeah,” Jet said.

“Tell your mom I said hi,” Lizzie said to Jet, with a smile.

Jet nodded in agreement, only raising her hand in response to Lizzie’s wave goodbye, Veronica’s arm wrapped around her waist and leading her towards their subway stop.

Jet watched them go, for a moment, before taking out her own phone to check the time.

They were already ten minutes into Claire’s music and brains session. She may as well go get some food.

Chapter Text

Lizzie was far more concentrated on her finger-crocheting than she really had to be, considering she could make a granny square in her sleep at this point. But the focus— the intention of each stitch, the careful way she wove the strands together— was preventing her mind from completely spiraling into catastrophe. It was busy in there, and loud, and every thought seemed so important, clamoring for intention. Easier just to keep herself occupied, looping periwinkle into lavender and back again. She had more ambitious projects she could be working on, sure, but creation wasn’t the objective right now. It was simply the action that was necessary to keep her mind on track.

Veronica’s toes brushed against her calf, and Lizzie looked up to meet her girlfriend’s eyes, where she sat in the seats across from her. The sunlight filtered through the cloudy window of the train, creating sparkles in her auburn hair.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Veronica asked. She liked that phrase, Lizzie knew. Thought it was cute because pennies are good luck sometimes, no?

Lizzie had tried to tell her she was reading a little too far into it. Veronica didn’t seem to care much, though, just shrugging and stating that she liked her interpretation better. Which was fair enough. Lizzie liked it too. “I’m fine.”

“Mm,” Veronica hummed, acknowledging without agreeing with her. “You’re thinking very loudly.”

Lizzie bit the inside of her cheek, looking back down at her handiwork. She was, wasn’t she? As much as she ignored the thoughts, they were still there, and it was taking quite a bit of effort to keep them at bay.

“How did you know that girl?” Veronica asked. “The high schooler.”

“Her mother is a family friend.” Lizzie could taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue, and resisted wincing when she realized she’d actually broken skin on the inside of her mouth. She tugged a loose thread, wrapping it around a finger. “It’s really complicated.”

She could feel Veronica’s eyes on her, still. “So you think it’s gonna get back to your mom…”

“My dad,” Lizzie corrected, quickly. She could imagine it all very clearly. Jet going home to her mother and saying I saw that other Stabler girl with her girlfriend today, and Olivia running into her father at work and making smalltalk with so when did Lizzie get a girlfriend—

“Elizabeth,” Veronica said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Lizzie said again. “I just don’t know if I should get ahead of it or pray it never comes up…”

Veronica nodded. “Prisoner’s Dilemma,” she said, sagely.

Lizzie snorted. “Something like that.”

Veronica tilted her head, searching Lizzie’s face. “Do you really think he’ll care so much?”

Her dad cared about everything much more than he necessarily had to, actually, but Lizzie knew that wasn’t what Veronica was really asking. And no, her father wouldn’t necessarily be bothered by Lizzie seeing a woman. If anything, he might be relieved. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, she had an extensive New York-Jersey-Catholic family who loved gossip and scandal. She had aunts who would be far more reactionary about this than her own parents would be. The problem children had always been someone else— Kathleen, Dickie, even her parents, after announcing their divorce, had become the subject of scrutiny from a significant majority of her family. But the divorce was old news. They needed something new and exciting to jump on. Lizzie didn’t want to hand them the opportunity.

And then there was the totally separate but somehow even more concerning issue of work. Oh, God, work. She was a teacher without tenure in a Catholic school working with young, developmentally disabled children. Lizzie was hyper aware of the fact that all it took was one parent finding out she was a lesbian, and the school would save face by throwing her out of her classroom before she could finish her Hail Marys.

“Your brother didn’t care,” Veronica prompted, and Lizzie realized she’d waited far too long to answer.

“My idiot brother still thinks we’re totally platonic roommates,” Lizzie grumbled. She and Veronica barely shared an apartment at this point— it all still felt so new. Their weird meeting and re-meeting had left gaps of time that neither of them could really define, and Lizzie still felt sparks of anxiety in her chest at sharing her own personal space with anyone else. Even if that someone else was a sweet Italian girl with a deep intellectual curiosity and the most incredible command of written language Lizzie had maybe ever read in her almost three decades of devouring literature. But Lizzie had grown up in a crowded house, one where she often felt like she was more part of the scenery than anyone who had any right to take up space. So she enjoyed having her own little oasis. And her siblings did not at all mind that Lizzie would travel to stay with them but rarely ever invite anyone to stay with her.

So yeah, Veronica slept over sometimes. And Lizzie had slept at Veronica’s apartment in Brooklyn on a number of occasions— she still didn’t understand how Vera afforded the place without a roommate, but she absolutely was not about to complain.

“I don’t think my dad will care,” Lizzie eventually said. “It’s just…”

“Really complicated,” Veronica quietly finished for her, a repeat of Lizzie’s words about Olivia earlier.

“Yeah.” Lizzie folded up the granny square in her lap and shoved it into the slouchy bag on the seat beside her. It would definitely start to unravel in there, but she could hardly bring herself to care. “That’s my family.”

Veronica stood from her seat, suddenly, and slid into the free one next to Lizzie. Lizzie sighed, feeling some of the tension drain from her shoulders as she allowed herself to collapse her bodyweight into Veronica’s side. They were quiet for a moment.

“I wanna meet your sister,” Veronica eventually mumbled, half into Lizzie’s hair. “So we can commiserate about PhD stuff.”

Shit. Shit. Lizzie groaned, sitting back up to put her face in her hands. “Dammit, I forgot about Kathleen.”

“What?” Veronica asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Jet. The girl you met today. She’s really close with Kathleen. Even if she doesn’t mention seeing me to her mother, there’s no way she won’t say something to Kathleen…” Lizzie pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, before dragging her hands down her face. Of course this would be a topic of conversation between Katie and Jet. And Katie was smart.

“Hey. Hey,” Veronica said, looping her arm around Lizzie’s shoulders to pull her back into her side. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m sure your sister won’t say anything if you ask her to.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lizzie said, slumping back against her. “It doesn’t. It’s out now—”

“Elizabeth—”

“Maybe I just don’t wanna share you with the rest of the world, yet, is that so wrong?” Lizzie said, almost pleaded, though she didn’t know who she was pleading with or for what. She looked up at Vera with big eyes. “Can’t we just stay like this a little longer?”

“Stay on an unnecessarily lengthy train ride home? Sure we can,” Veronica said. “That’s all we have to worry about for the next hour and a half.”

“You’re right,” Lizzie murmured, closing her eyes for a second, taking a breath to ground herself, breathing in Veronica’s soft perfume. “Have you heard from your sister lately?”

She regretted the question as soon as she felt Veronica’s muscles tense against her.

“No.”

Lizzie bit her bottom lip, reached for Vera’s hand, ran her thumb over her knuckles. As messy as her own family could be, Veronica’s sometimes felt ten times more complicated— even though it was comprised only of three people. And one of them was overseas in Italy, spending most of her days cooking, attending church, and rocking away in her rocking chair. Being as generally uncomplicated as possible.

That left most of the complication to one individual.

It had been a funny little coincidence, when they’d realized, over coffee and pastries in a tiny café in Napoli. That both of them had a twin they viewed as so inherently different to themselves. At least Dickie had grown up, over the years— even though he could still be childish, at times, just to get on Lizzie’s nerves, he had matured. Had grown into Rich, had become an adult who made mostly adult-level choices. Veronica’s sister, Gianna, was certifiably far more of a mess than Veronica was.

Lizzie knew if she called, if she needed him, Rich would always come running to her. She couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t. Veronica, on the other hand, didn’t even know what state her sister was living in anymore. It had been Nevada, the last time she’d managed to get in touch with her. That didn’t mean it was still Nevada.

Lizzie continued rubbing circles into Veronica’s hand with her thumb as the conductor made his way down the aisle, collecting paper stubs and scanning QR codes.

“Two to Waterbury,” Lizzie said as he approached, holding out her phone so he could scan their codes.

“Professor Pierce asked me to speak at a conference at Yale,” Veronica said, after the conductor had left their car for the next. “He was invited but couldn’t attend, for whatever reason.”

“Vera, that’s great,” Lizzie exclaimed, twisting so she could look up at her. “Both the conference, and Eddie not being there.”

Veronica gave her an unamused look, and Lizzie couldn’t help but grin.

Look. She had no real reason not to like Edmund Pierce. The few times they’d encountered one another, he’d been nothing but polite. Veronica spoke highly of him. Even his RateMyProfessor reviews— which Lizzie had nosily poked around on— trended overall positive. The harshest thing anyone anyone had posted clearly thinks very highly of himself. The rest of the negative reviews were for too much reading, which Lizzie tended to disregard because the man taught upper division literature courses at an Ivy League school. Had previously taught those courses at Stanford freaking University. Of course there was gonna be too much reading, that’s exactly what they’d signed up for.

But she digressed.

The point was, Professor Pierce had never acted in any specific way that should make Lizzie dislike him with the passion that she did. Though she tried to keep her contempt under wraps to the point of quiet disdain, knowing that Veronica did care about him. Even if he was arrogant, conceited, and unnecessarily over dramatic.

“He’s provided me with an incredible amount of opportunities,” Veronica reminded her. “So you will play nice.” She poked Lizzie’s upper arm after each word, for emphasis.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lizzie shrugged her off. “When’s the conference? And can I come and watch?”

“April, and yes, I can get you a ticket,” Veronica said. “I might be able to get you some continuing education credits, as well.”

“God, bless you,” Lizzie nearly groaned. She loved learning, loved education, and absolutely despised figuring out her continuing education credits each year. “How is Eddie, anyways?”

Veronica tried really hard to appear annoyed, but couldn’t help but smile as well. “He’s fine,” she said. And then, “Still thinks the sun shines out of his ass.”

“I should’ve never introduced you to Rich.” Lizzie shook her head. Her brother was a terrible influence. In this case, though, his preferred figure of speech was also probably the best possible way to describe Professor Pierce, so she could hardly complain. “What’s he been up to?”

“He gave a talk to the high schoolers about Critical Postwar Fiction Studies,” Veronica said. “Mostly just trying to use as many big words as possible. I think he scared a few off. And then he moved on to antagonizing the science professors again.”

“It’s good to have hobbies,” Lizzie joked.

“Hobbies? It’s an inferiority complex.”

“Is that how you met Jet?” Lizzie asked. “Was your boss antagonizing her professor?”

“Essentially. Though I don’t…” Veronica trailed off, losing some of her amusement, as her mouth turned into a little frown.

“What’s up?” Lizzie asked.

Veronica shifted, mouth twisting into an uncertain line. “Probably nothing. I just— I understand the purpose of office hours, but today was a school visit day, and I— Professor Pierce and I both found it a bit odd that a professor would take an underage student back to his office. Not that I think— we’re just so heavily trained to avoid even the appearance of— of… I don’t remember the word—”

“Impropriety,” Lizzie found it for her. “The appearance of impropriety.” She pursed her lips at the thought. While it could be— and almost definitely was— a totally innocent situation, Lizzie herself had been repeatedly instructed to never be alone with a student if she could help it. And university was an entirely different ballpark, but Veronica had a point, that Jet was still a young girl. A teenager who appeared even younger. Most university students were adults, who tended to be a little older and wiser and more self-advocate-y than high schoolers.

“I don’t know,” Veronica said. She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I didn’t even think of it until Professor Pierce mentioned it to me, and apparently when he told the other professor, he was mortified, and hadn’t even considered how it may look. It was just… weird.” She shook her head again. “But it was also nothing. Forget it.”

“Jet’s mom is a cop,” Lizzie said. “Captain of the Manhattan Sex Crimes Unit. I don’t think you have to worry about her.”

“I’m not,” Veronica insisted. “I just— it’s so easy to…”

This was about Gianna, still, Lizzie realized then. Gianna and her overly trusting nature, the one that always got her wrapped up in worlds of trouble. Always searching for the approval of authority, for the approval of men.

“What does Ed have you speaking about at Yale?” Lizzie asked, just to divert the conversation back to even, solid ground.

“It’s up to me.”

“Exciting,” Lizzie said. “You have any ideas?”

“Philosophy of Paranoia,” Veronica said. “Comparative Postmodern American and European Literature centered around conspiracy, maybe some discussion of historical trauma.”

“Mm,” Lizzie hummed happily, as she did every time she remembered how brilliant her girlfriend was. “Do I have any assigned readings I’ll need to complete to understand this lecture?”

“You could always start with Foucault’s Pen—”

Lizzie groaned, cutting her off. “Vera, sweetie, you know I love you. And if you love me too, you won’t ask me to read that monstrosity.”

Veronica looked offended. “It’s not that bad!”

“It’s seven hundred pages!”

“And I’ve read it in both my first and second languages,” Veronica reminded her. “And I’ve been thinking of picking it up in French.”

“Any less terrifying books?” Lizzie asked. “Ones that won’t break my foot if I drop them on accident?”

Veronica sighed. “I’ll make you a list.”

Lizzie smiled, letting her fingers trail up Veronica’s sternum. “Thank you,” she sing-songed, before reaching her collar and pulling her in for a quick kiss.

Chapter Text

The building was uncomfortably warm, and hazy from both candles and cigar smoke. Elliot was standing ramrod straight in the corner, a habit left over from his Marine days, carefully scanning the cramped room. As he’d been hired to do. And as his undercover assignment also dictated.

He still didn’t really know who he was looking for. And it didn’t really help that everyone was wearing masks around their eyes, like some sort of fucked up masquerade party. Not cheap plastic-and-elastic ones either— he saw a lot of ribbon, and plenty of ceramic. A handful had Venetian masks covering their entire face. He remembered visiting Venice with Kathy and Lizzie once, when they lived abroad. Lizzie had been in heaven in those shops, talking to the artists in her broken Italian, and had spent a small fortune on an intricately decorated gold and teal mask that had resembled a haunted doll more than anything, in Elliot’s opinion. He didn’t really understand the appeal.

He’d been hired as a contractor, by a contractor, and the gruff, older man had only given him a sharp look when he’d requested to know who, exactly, he was working for. They don’t pay us to ask questions. So that had been supremely helpful. At least Elliot had gotten inside the party, working as event security, even if he still had no idea whose party it was. Everyone present looked equally as rich, which was, he thought the scientific term would be,filthily. Everyone except for the working girls. They were fairly easy to spot. They were also dressed in expensive clothing, but it was usually a little too big for them, straps falling off their shoulders, sashes tied tight to hold waistbands in place. He could also pick out a pattern in the posture— they were more often than not slightly dazed, or fidgety, or off-balance.

Usually working girls for an event like this would be the utmost professionals, Elliot knew from many previous undercover ops. This was a chance to make big money. So the lack of… sophistication, was probably one of the nicer ways to put it— was a big red flag waving right in Elliot’s face. He had a feeling Cassie wasn’t the only girl involved with this organization, whatever it was, against her will. The drugs and amateur-ity and seemingly underage appearance of these girls screamed trafficking.

Elliot’s gaze trailed slowly around the perimeter for the umpteenth time, until interrupted by a pair of dark eyes staring directly at him.

Elliot blinked.

The woman appeared to be in her late twenties, and was wearing a deep purple evening gown that draped elegantly across her collarbones. Her hair was mostly down, loose around her shoulders, except for a few strands pinned artfully back out of her face. Her face which was adorned with a simple black eye mask, far less embellished than most of the ones surrounding her, but somehow far more mysterious.

And she was still staring at him.

She was more along the lines of what Elliot expected of a working girl at one of these events, though he had no idea if she was actually working, or simply a guest. Or the date of a guest. He hoped it wasn’t the latter, because now the woman was approaching him. And Elliot didn’t feel like getting the shit beat out of him because he toed the border of some rich asshole’s territory. Christ.

“Hello,” she said, as she stepped up to him. Her voice was deeper than he had expected. “Destiny.”

“Destiny?” He repeated.

She smiled, sweet and dangerous. “My name is Destiny.”

“Oh,” Elliot said. “Thought you were tellin’ me I’d found mine.”

Jesus Christ, that was awful. He had to restrain from cringing at his own words right there. But while Elliot could definitely do better than that, he was not Elliot Stabler tonight. He was Joe Donovan. One of the thousands of Joe Donovans out there.

This Joe Donovan just happened to be kind of an idiot.

Destiny laughed lightly, in a manner that said I’ve heard that one a million times before and I’m so damn sick of it. “And you?”

“Sorry?”

“Your name.”

Right. That. “Joe.”

“Well, Joe,” Destiny said. “We will not be letting anyone else in for the night, and there’s already a bouncer at the door, so how about you… unwind a little?”

Elliot was only half listening to Destiny, now scanning the room over her shoulder, until he found the guy he now knew to be looking for. The one keeping a watchful eye on Destiny, presumably tracking each action of ‘his’ girl. A black mask covered the top half of his face, silver lined around the openings for his eyes, but didn’t block his mouth. So when Elliot’s gaze landed on him, he could easily see the grin exposing his teeth.

“Don’t know if your boyfriend over there would like that very much,” Elliot said.

Destiny didn’t even look behind her, just grinned in a not-at-all dissimilar fashion to the man behind her. “Him? He doesn’t mind. He believes it important that all his staff has a good time, on occasion. When are you working ‘til?”

“Nine.” Elliot had thought it odd, that a party of this calibre would end so early in the night. But it made sense, in hindsight, that he would only be scheduled until nine if they were expecting to cut off the guest flow around that time.

Destiny grabbed his hand, paying no mind to a reasonable person’s idea of personal space, and turned it over to look at his watch. “Look at that. You’re off the clock.”

“Lucky me.”

“You know something, about our boss?” Destiny suddenly asked.

That piqued Elliot’s curiosity. “Huh?”

“How to earn his respect,” Destiny clarified, except it didn’t really clarify anything. “Anyone told you yet?”

“I don’t even know who the guy is,” Elliot said, truthfully. “I just got a job.”

“That’s how we all start,” Destiny said. “With a job. Some of us only get the one job. Some of us get the same job, over and over. But some of us…” She tapped his watch twice. “Some of us get promoted. But only if we’re very, very valuable. Do you know how to make yourself valuable, Joe?”

Elliot couldn’t tell if this conversation was very interesting, or mostly useless. “I do my job, and I do it well.”

“Anyone can do a job well,” Destiny said. “Effort is not hard to come by. You know what’s rare, though?” Her hand moved from his watch, up his arm, pushing up his jacket sleeve. “Loyalty.”

His U.S. Marine Corps tattoo, faded by age, was now entirely visible.

“What is it you say?” Destiny asked, though the glint in her eyes told Elliot she already knew. “Siempre fiel, hm?”

Elliot offered a pressed smile in return, tugging his sleeve back down. “Something like that.”

Destiny sighed, turned so she was side by side with Elliot, looking out over the crowd, and leaned against the wall. “These… gatherings have always reminded me of that one film by Stanley Kubrick,” she said.

Elliot was not the sort of guy that remembered movies by their directors. “Uh,” he said, unhelpfully.

“Tom Cruise?” Destiny offered.

Elliot blinked. Tom Cruise, masks… “And Nicole Kidman,” he added. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re talking about.”

“Nicole Kidman,” Destiny repeated. “If you like Nicole Kidman, I have the perfect girl for you…”

Well, that was one hell of a segue. “I don’t know if…”

“You’re a Catholic,” Destiny interrupted. She leaned in again, a little too close for Elliot’s comfort, though he didn’t step to the side. She took his crucifix necklace between two fingers. “I believe a fear of fun is necessary to be Catholic, no?”

“I don’t remember them saying that in Sunday School,” Elliot replied.

“Eyes Wide Shut,” Destiny said. “That was the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Sounds right.” Elliot’s gaze had left Destiny and was once again directed at the man who had been carefully watching them this entire time. Even with the mask, Elliot could tell he was still staring at them. He didn’t seem tense, leaned back in his seat, an arm draped across the back of the chair of the girl sitting beside him.

“Do you know why they wear the mask?” Destiny asked, looking up at him through dark lashes.

“Uh,” Elliot said again. “No.”

Destiny leaned in further, which shouldn’t have been physically possible, to say quietly into his ear— “I believe it is so God cannot see who they are.”

“Maybe I’ll bring mine next time,” Elliot said. He still didn’t move away from Destiny, wouldn’t let her win that battle, but he shifted on his feet and turned his body slightly to put some space between them.

“You can use mine. God does not expect much from me anymore,” Destiny said, finally taking a step back of her own volition. Elliot glanced again at the man watching them. He hadn’t budged at all.

“Come along. You will enjoy Sonia.” With that, Destiny turned and started off, reaching under her hair to untie the ribbon of her mask— giving Elliot a brief glimpse at the tattoo on the base of her neck. Not a scarred branding, like Cassie, but a delicately inked tattoo. He didn’t recognize the symbol. It was more intricate than the one that had been printed on Cassie’s neck, and he tried to mentally map it to his memory, closing his hand into a loose fist so he could trace it with his fingertip into the base of his thumb. Triangle, line, and a circle swirling in on itself…

— — — — — —

Elliot sat at a table, now, and still had not been able to figure out how Sonia was supposed to be similar to Nicole Kidman in any way. To be fair, he couldn’t remember much about Nicole Kidman off of the top of his head, so it was very likely he was forgetting something pretty obvious.

The most glaring difference, one that he was sure of, was that Sonia was much, much younger than Nicole Kidman. Definitely hadn’t even been born when Tom Cruise was starring in a Stanley Kubrick movie. Fortunately, blessedly, Joe Donovan was the type of guy who could say I’ve got kids your age, sweetie, this isn’t gonna work.

Sonia didn’t seem relieved or bothered either way. Just blinked at him, seemingly drifting between there-and-not, and turned back to sipping her cocktail. Elliot had the overwhelming urge to wrap her in his jacket, swoop her out of there, drop her off at a CPS office (that in his imagination was far better funded than reality), and instruct the first social worker he found to get her some clothes that actually fit, a GED, and a family that would actually give a damn about her.

Her eyeliner reminded him of the shit Kathleen would try to get away with in high school. Or, maybe more accurately, the eyeliner that Kathleen tried to get away with in high school had reminded him far too much of girls like this. It made him feel a little nauseous.

“You work for one of the guys here?” He asked.

Sonia hummed, and took far longer to answer the question than a sober person would. “Destiny finds me jobs. She’s real good to us. I’m gonna get another drink.”

With that, Sonia stood to walk with a slight wobble to the bar, clearly not used to her high heels, leaving Elliot alone with the other guests, who were already wrapped up in conversation. The guys at the table had been talking about sports, of all things, for the past five minutes. Both appeared to be businessmen of some sort, and both sounded like idiots, in Elliot’s opinion. Not ones that would have any kind of useful information. One of them was with a woman— older than Sonia, still much younger than any of the men present— who had spend most of her time so far clacking away on her phone, only speaking once to announce her disapproval of the lack of service.

Elliot was able to contribute here and there, the off-hand comment about the Islanders or the Yankees. But he quickly made his excuses to find the bathroom.

There had been people ducking off to private rooms throughout the night, usually couples, and anyone could easily guess what was happening in there. But there had been other groups disappearing behind side rooms, ones who appeared more serious, more focused, and usually with a few more people of more varied ages and genders.

Elliot was far more curious about what was happening in there.

He didn’t know where the bathroom was, and didn’t really care. There were three slim hallways stemming off from the main room— he knew which one led to the kitchen, which left the other two open for exploration. He chose one at random, meandering slower than he had to, in hopes of picking up something interesting along the way.

The first closed door he passed definitely housed a couple participating in activities Ayanna and the squad would not be too interested in hearing about.

The next door, however, gave Elliot some pause. He took out his burner phone, in case anyone were to see him hovering, like he was simply paused to check his messages.

“...He was supposed to go directly to St. Petersburg,” the man was saying. “With the new Department of State restrictions, there will be far more scrutiny…”

Someone else started speaking then, in a language that Elliot thought was probably Russian, and he could not make out a word of. It sounded like an older man.

“He asks how you got— you had success in transportation through borders of China,” a young female voice translated. “Is there not a similar route…”

“We had success until we didn’t,” the original man spoke again. “Course, it wasn’t us, but a guy in California just got in massive trouble over violating the IEEPA. He went through South Korea, but they’re gonna be paying more attention over there too, now. I don’t see how we could get the whole machines through Africa without suspicion, but it might be our best bet.”

IEEPA. Elliot didn’t actually know what that was— he knew most of the violations these guys could wrack up, but that wasn’t one of them. He opened his messages, typed it out quickly. IEEPA. California trouble with South Korea. Machines in Africa.

The woman then spoke Russian, presumably translating, and then the old man spoke Russian back, and the woman said, “Do you have any established contacts in a place like Qatar…?”

There were no cameras in the hall, Elliot knew, he’d checked when he’d first arrived. But he still felt like he’d been standing in front of this room too long, long enough to catch attention. So he shoved his phone back in his pocket and finished making his way down to the bathroom without hearing anything else of note.

When he exited the bathroom, a few minutes later, he found himself face to face once again with fate.

“There you are,” Destiny said. “I’ve been looking for you, Joe. Sonia seemed lonely.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows. “Sonia seemed barely old enough to drink.”

Destiny made a pouty expression. “So she has a little bit of a baby face. She wasn’t to your liking?” She reached out and grabbed Elliot’s arm, looping it through her own. “You really need to loosen up, honey. How about I get you a drink?”

“Thought it was an open bar.”

“But I know what’s good.” Destiny didn’t wait for a response, leading him back down the hallway and to the main room, and then to the bar, where Sonia still sat.

“Hello again,” Sonia said. Her glittery cyan dress sparkled in the dull light.

Elliot couldn’t see the man that had been watching him and Destiny all night anywhere in the room, anymore. He had either gone into one of the side rooms— whether for business or pleasure, both probably equally as illegal— or left the event entirely.

“Let’s get you something special,” Destiny said, half to Elliot, half to the bartender. “To celebrate your new job.”

New job? Elliot was pretty sure he’d never said anything about making this a recurring job or full time career. Not that he was complaining— it would make it easier to get in and out of these things unnoticed. But when had this been decided? And by who? Had Destiny taken an interest in him and put in her request, or was he being tested? When that man was watching him, was he really observing how Elliot interacted with a working girl?

And why did Elliot feel like he was still being tested?

“Here we are,” Destiny said, taking two amber colored drinks from the bartender.

Hers had a straw in it. Elliot’s didn’t. He wasn’t sure why he clocked that so quickly, so immediately, but he definitely did. And it felt like that was something important to worry about.

Sonia had wandered back off into the crowd.

“A toast,” Destiny said, in a half-sarcastic tone, raising her drink. The way she studied Elliot made him feel like he was a bug under a microscope.

“To?” Elliot asked.

Destiny shrugged. “Siempre fiel,” she said again.

“Semper Fi,” Elliot said in response.

Too late to worry about it now, he thought, and mentally prayed his drink wasn’t laced with arsenic or something as he tipped his head back and downed it.

Chapter Text

Jet was far more chatty than usual, which put Olivia in a better mood after a long day of little answers. Partially because she loved hearing her daughter talk, partially because she knew that the chatter meant Jet was a few steps beyond exhausted, and she would actually sleep through the night. Her brain was dumping out all the information it could so she would crash the moment they got home, and stay soundly out for upwards of ten hours.

“There was one professor,” Jet said, in between bites of rice. “A physics professor, from the aerospace laboratory. He was, um— he was telling us about uncertainty quantification and machine learning.”

“Sounds right up your alley,” Olivia said. She didn’t exactly know what uncertainty quantification was, and only had vague, abstract ideas of what machine learning entailed, but she at least understood the words “physics,” “aerospace,” and “laboratory.”

“Mhm. My project’s not on aerospace or physics, really, but he still talked to me for, like, twenty minutes. It was really, really cool, we were talking about…” Jet cut herself off for another bite of rice. “My project is—”

“Swallow your food,” Olivia interrupted, and looked at her in the rearview mirror to raise an eyebrow. Jet usually sat in the passenger’s seat, but if she were to spill rice everywhere, Olivia would much rather it be in the back of the car.

Jet let out a little huff but obeyed, swallowing her bite. “My project,” she repeated. “It’s about, like— y’know deepfakes? And how they’re starting to be a problem with criminals and stuff?”

Olivia was vaguely aware of other precincts who’d had to deal with computer-generated non-consensual nudes, and she was very, very grateful that had not occurred at the 1-6 yet. Knock on wood. “Yeah.”

“So, these guys are making deepfakes to frame other people for crimes, or make fake hostage videos, or fake confessions, or revenge porn. And it’s gonna make video evidence a lot harder to trust in court. So I’m trying to do a project to help— I mean, there are already scientists with way more money and resources and stuff working on making detection methods for the actual forensics labs, there’s no way I could really do that. But I can make something that makes it a little easier for people to understand, so if this all comes up in court, a jury isn’t totally confused.”

Olivia couldn’t help the smile stretching across her face. “That’s really amazing, baby. I bet if you asked Aunt Melinda she could tell you a little about testifying in court as a scientist.”

“I’d like that,” Jet decided, and Olivia glanced at her again in the rearview, watching her dig around her rice with her plastic fork, probably searching for some particular vegetable or another.

“So what did you and the professor talk about?” Olivia asked. She wasn’t really expecting to understand much of it, but she imagined Jet probably wanted to talk about it.

“Mostly we talked about how machines can analyze footage and tell the difference between natural imperfections and intentional manipulation,” Jet continued. “There are different kinds of— there’s aleatoric uncertainty, which is basically… randomness. And then theres epistemic uncertainty—”

“You’re losing me, babe,” Olivia said, who was trying to focus both on driving and comprehending the words of the little genius sat behind her.

“So, like, if you give a DNA sample to Aunt Melinda, and it’s kind of degraded, she probably never gives you a 100% match, right? Because even with the best technology in the world, she’s not completely sure about how much the sample’s degraded, or how long it’s been in the sun, or whatever. So she can match it pretty well to another sample, but it’s not gonna be 100%, because all these random little variations introduce some uncertainty. That’s aleatoric uncertainty,” Jet explained.

Olivia felt like she was back in her freshman statistics class. “Got it,” she said.

“And then If you have a fingerprint and you try to match it to a print in the database, but you don’t have enough prints in the database, that’s epistemic uncertainty. It just means there’s a lack of knowledge.” Jet closed the lid to her rice, putting it in the paper bag on the seat next to her, before leaning down to dig around the larger takeout bag for whatever other snack she’d gotten herself. “Epistemic-emptiness, is how I remember that,” she said.

“So you and this professor were talking about how machines deal with not knowing things,” Olivia clarified.

“Mhm. How they can tell the difference between aleatoric uncertainty and modification, and how they can manage epistemic uncertainty when they encounter new situations they haven’t analyzed yet.”

“And you got some good information for your project?”

“Yep,” Jet said. She’d found her brightly colored soda and happily popped the top off. “And lots of other interesting stuff. I downloaded two of his articles.”

“About deepfakes? Or space?”

“About aerospace engineering— Stochastic Optimization for Uncertainty Aware Neural Networks in Extreme Environments, and…”

Olivia blinked, feeling her own sense of epistemic uncertainty about what most of those words meant.

Jet must have pulled up the second article on her phone to read it. “Physics-Informed Neural Networks for Real Time Navigation in Uncertain Aerospace Environments.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Olivia said, even though it absolutely did not.

“Basically, he helps built robots that can explore really strange parts of outer space, because they’re able to recognize when they’re not sure about something and make decisions with that knowledge factored in, like a human brain would. Except humans have to use intuition, while robots can use mathematical equations and programmed rules. So their robot body lets them deal with super harsh conditions, and he’s helping their brains make human decisions with a scientific basis.” Jet seemed pleased with her summary, and Olivia was mostly impressed that she’d retained this all on such little sleep. “He gave me his book,” Jet said. “A pre-mass publication copy from his office. And he said I can visit the lab sometime, if I want.”

Olivia chewed the inside of her mouth, flicking on the blinker of her car as they inched through Manhattan traffic, closer and closer to home. Jet was excited, she was clearly very excited, and Olivia didn’t want to ruin that excitement by always bringing her job into things, but… “You and Claire got to see his office?” Olivia asked, which was not what she wanted to ask, but that question would hopefully elicit the information she actually wanted to know.

“Claire was at some cog-sci thing, and his office was like any other old office. It wasn’t like the lab.”

Olivia hummed in acknowledgement. She didn’t love the idea of her little girl hanging around older men’s offices alone, but this was an educational event. And besides, Columbia wasn’t exactly Hudson University.

Still.

“Take Claire with you next time,” Olivia said, glancing into the rearview mirror once more. “Okay?”

She could see Jet take a moment to comprehend what she was implying, before she groaned. “Mom, don’t make this weird…”

“I’m not making anything weird.”

“He just wanted to get me his book—”

“I know that, sweetheart. It was a very nice thing for him to do.”

“That’s what professors do, they have office hours.”

“And you’re fourteen,” Olivia reminded her. “And while I’m sure Professor— what was—”

“Professor Whitman.”

“And while I’m sure Professor Whitman is the utmost gentleman, not every professor is,” Olivia said. “I would know. It’s my job to lock them up.”

Olivia was sure many a young student had been charmed into Professor Lowe’s office with the promise of an early release of his next bestseller.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Jet said. “That thing you always tell me not to do where we let our past experiences—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Olivia said, waving her off. Jet didn’t know the half of it. Sure, she knew that Olivia had locked up an academic or two, but she didn’t know that Olivia also had some personal experience in the matter. Was practically engaged to her personal experience in the matter, once upon a time. “I’m allowed to do that when it comes to you, you’re my baby.”

And Olivia wouldn’t make the same mistakes Serena made. She refused to.

“He thinks I’m really smart,” Jet said, and Olivia could practically hear the hero worship in her voice.

“You are very smart.”

“He said I could do incredible things at Columbia.”

“I have no doubt you could,” Olivia agreed. “You’re doing incredible things now, already, with your project.”

“He wants me to keep in touch about the project.”

“You absolutely should,” Olivia said. “He sounds like a great connection.”

It was true. Professor Whitman did sound like a fantastic connection, one that may even push her daughter towards the academic route over the law enforcement route— And if he did, Olivia would be forever grateful.

“How did the rest of your day go?” Olivia asked, as they finally, finally pulled into the parking garage of their building.

“It was fine. I went to a lecture about Japanese art and another about sustainable city planning, those were kind of cool. Oh, and I saw Lizzie, which was a little weird. I was surprised she recognized me.”

Olivia blinked. “Lizzie Stabler?” She asked, not knowing who else Jet could be referring to.

“Yeah. Her girlfriend’s studying there, so I guess she came to hang out. She says hi, by the way.”

“I didn’t know she was seeing someone. Good for her,” Olivia said. Lizzie had always been quiet, and Olivia knew her parents tried hard to not let her become the ‘invisible child’— but with teenaged Kathleen and Dickie as siblings, and eventually a new baby in the family, Lizzie had always required a little less special attention than any of the other kids. She’d always appeared to Olivia to be a little bit of a loner, even as close as she was to her twin. Dickie had plenty of other friends, Lizzie seemed to prefer to move at her own pace.

“Have you read Foucault’s Pendulum?” Jet asked as she climbed out of the car, and then yawned. Olivia smiled at the girl’s creeping exhaustion, picking up her folders to tuck under one arm so she could hold Jet’s hand with the other.

“Can’t say I have.”

“Lizzie’s girlfriend said I should,” Jet said. “Looks like a lot of work, though.”

“When has that ever scared you off?” Olivia led them into the lobby, nodding at the doorman and making her way to the elevators.

Jet shrugged, and then yawned again.

“Oh, baby,” Olivia said, nudging her teasingly as they entered the elevator. “You’re asleep on your feet.”

“A little,” Jet admitted, nuzzling into her mother’s side for the duration of the short ride.

“You gonna sleep good tonight?”

“God willing.”

They made it to their floor and finally, finally, blessedly their apartment door, Olivia pulling out her keys to allow them entry. She was very ready to get into sweats and curl up under a blanket.

“You want me to leave your dinner out, or should I put it in…” Jet trailed off as she opened the fridge to stick her own leftovers inside, along with her pink soda. Now that Olivia got a closer look at her, one not obscured by the carseats, she could see dark circles on the pale skin beneath her eyes. If the night before had been an allnighter, that meant Jet had been awake for what— almost 40 hours straight? They really needed to figure out an alternative to the melatonin gummies that clearly weren’t working.

“You can leave it out,” Olivia said. “I’ll be eating in a few.” She dropped her stack of folders and files on the table and entered the kitchen, reaching out her arms to urge her daughter into them.

Jet hummed contentedly, nuzzling into Olivia’s warm embrace.

“I’m glad you had a good day at Columbia,” Olivia murmured, swaying them a little. Jet nodded against her shoulder.

Olivia didn’t want to be the one to break them apart, really, she could’ve stayed there forever and been perfectly happy with that. But there was a not at all insignificant chance that if they stood there much longer, Jet would quite literally fall asleep standing up. She patted her daughter’s back twice, and gently untangled them. “You need to get ready for bed, sweetheart.”

“Mhm,” Jet agreed, rubbing at her eyes. She wandered a little wobbly out of the kitchen, back past the dining room table, to pick up her backpack where she’d dropped it. “Is that— that’s Crying of Lot 49?” She asked.

“Hm?” Olivia hummed.

“That,” Jet said, pointing, her brain seemingly unable to come up with many more words. “It looks like The Crying of Lot 49.”

Olivia stepped back out to see what Jet was pointing at and found the picture of the branding-slash-tattoo Cassie had drawn for them. “What do you mean?”

“The book. In the book, the secret society symbol looks like that. I had to read it for English, but I did awful on the test.”

“You’ve never done awful on a test in your life,” Olivia said, stepping closer to pick up the image. Jet’s progress report had featured an ‘A’ in English, so she was hardly concerned. “What’s the secret society?”

Jet shrugged helplessly. “If I knew that, I probably would’ve done better on the test.”

Olivia pursed her lips. She had the vaguest recollections of reading Pynchon in college, but not enough to remember anything about the actual book. “You still have your copy?”

“Mhm. You want it?”

“If you could.”

“It’s in my room.”

Olivia followed Jet into the hall, and then into the girl’s room, kneeling in front of the bookshelf as Jet dropped her backpack on the ground and started tugging off her jacket. Olivia found the small novella lying across the top of the properly shelved books.

“Enjoy,” Jet said, plopping down onto her bed. “Or don’t. It’s really weird.”

“Noted. Thanks, babe,” Olivia said, pushing herself up from the ground, knees slightly protesting. “I love you, sweet girl,” she murmured, turning to Jet to lean down and pressing a kiss to her hairline.

“I love you too,” Jet mumbled, eyes already drooping shut.

“Sweet dreams,” Olivia whispered, backing out of the room and closing the door so Jet could get changed before she inevitably crashed, hard.

Olivia returned to the kitchen, grabbing her own rice bowl in the hand that wasn’t holding the book, and made her way to the living room to curl up in the armchair.

She figured she could afford to get some light reading in before bed.

Chapter Text

Olivia woke up with a start, phone buzzing against her thigh.

It took her a moment to gain her bearings. She’d fallen asleep in the armchair, book splayed open on her chest— only an embarrassingly few pages in, as well. She swallowed hard, blinking. What time was it?

She fumbled under the blanket for her phone, tapping accept. “Benson.”

“Ms. Benson,” a man’s voice said, sounding almost relieved. “So sorry to wake you. It’s Ray, at the front desk—”

Ray. One of the newer night-shift doormen. Olivia pulled her phone back to check the time— it was past one in the morning. What the hell?

“There’s a man here, insisting he needs to see you. Says he didn’t have his phone to call. Normally I’d tell him to— you know. It’s the middle of the night. But he says he’s a cop, and he showed me the badge, so…”

Her first feeling should’ve been alarm, she was aware of that. She was aware of the fact that a man showing up in the middle of the night claiming to be a cop was only somewhat likely to actually be a cop.

But somehow, she knew. She knew who was knocking at her door.

“What’s his name?” She asked, though she knew what the answer would be.

And of course, it was. “Says he’s a Detective Stabler. Doesn’t have ID, though— literally just the badge.”

Why was he here? It sounded like he’d come straight from his UC assignment, no ID, no phone— at least none with her number— but why here? He wouldn’t come here if he was in danger, would he? He wouldn’t risk someone following him to where Olivia and her daughter slept, he wouldn’t put her little girl in harm’s way, right?

No. There had to be another reason. And privately, deep down, there was a glimmer of hope in Olivia’s chest. Hope that he’d seen her calls, been unable to answer, but the second he got off the assignment… he’d come straight to her.

Even if it was at a wildly inconvenient time of night.

“I think he’s on something,” Ray said, and immediately dashed any romantic fantasies she may or may not have been indulging in. “Pupils the size of bowling balls, slurring his words…”

“Put him on for a second?” Olivia requested. If she was gonna let him upstairs, she would at least confirm firsthand who was coming to her door. She was fairly sure it wasn’t an imposter, but, well— better to be safe.

There were some vague noises from the other end of the phone line, a muffled voice that may or may not have been Ray telling Elliot to behave.

“O…Olivia?”

Olivia swallowed. The way he said her full name, over-pronouncing the Oh, led her to believe that Ray may have been onto something about Elliot being… on something.

“Elliot,” she said. “That you?”

“Olivia,” he breathed again, this time sounding relieved, almost in awe. “Livia, I told them I need to… I needed to see you…”

“Elliot, give the phone back to the man at the desk,” Olivia instructed, only 75% sure he would obey.

This was a bad idea. This was a really, really bad idea.

Thankfully, she heard rustling on the other end of the phone, the noises of Elliot passing the device back to Ray. “Let him up,” Olivia told him.

“You really sure about—?”

“Yeah,” Olivia cut him off. “Let him up.”

“Alright. You need anything, give me a shout,” Ray said, and though his tone was light it was obvious he meant it, and had some concerns about Olivia’s decision making capabilities.

“Thanks,” Olivia said, and hung up.

Fuck. Fuck, this was such a bad idea. This was an astronomically bad idea. But what the hell was she supposed to do? Let him wander the streets, intoxicated, without ID or a phone? It was possible her address was the only one he could remember how to get to, in this state.

Olivia quickly rocked herself up from the chair, tossing her book on the table beside her now cold rice bowl, and made her way down the hall. She cracked the door to Jet’s room open and peeked inside.

Fast asleep. Juliet was fast asleep, bundled under the covers. She even had a fan running, which Olivia would usually raise her eyebrows at— you’re under a million blankets, do you really need that thing sucking up energy—? but tonight, she was grateful for it, grateful for the white noise it provided.

Olivia quietly closed the door once more and took a deep breath.

This didn’t have to go badly. Elliot would come in, sit down, Olivia would gauge if he needed medical attention or his Sergeant or—

She paused.

It wasn’t like she could call Kathy, not anymore, not after the divorce. Who the hell did she call? She couldn’t contact his kids, not like this—

Shit. She might be the one to call in this situation.

She didn’t have enough time to fully panic about that, because there was a knock at the door, and she bolted for it to try to yank it open before the noise could wake her kid up.

“Shh,” she hushed as she made it to the door, sliding the locks open. “You need to be quiet—”

There was no reason for her to startle when she opened the door. None at all, considering she had been expecting Elliot, and there he was.

But her heart still stuttered in her chest at the sight of him, like her body hadn’t yet caught up to the fact that he’s here, he’s back, back for good.

He was dressed for undercover work, black t-shirt, black jeans, brown jacket. He hadn’t shaved in… a while. He definitely appeared more muscle than police detective.

Olivia swallowed, and was suddenly glad she’d fallen asleep in her work clothes, before she could put on the pale lilac pajama set she’d set out for herself. Those would remain folded up on her dresser, unseen by piercing blue eyes. Piercing blue eyes that were more dark than blue, considering how much of his pupils had overtaken the iris.

“Hi,” Elliot said, low, drawn out, looking at her with something like wonder in his eyes.

“You sure are,” Olivia said, voice scratchy, trying to retain a modicum of control of the situation. “El, what— what happened?”

“I… I was…”

“Keep your voice down,” Olivia interrupted. “My baby is asleep in there, and she doesn’t need to know you’re here.”

Elliot nodded once, slowly, and then a few times, quicker, as he processed. “Okay.”

“Come in,” Olivia said, opening the door a little wider. “And explain.”

“There was… um… I was at a— a party,” Elliot said, and stumbled forwards. Olivia caught him by the shoulders with a small huff, before leading him to the sofa. “Or— Joe. Joe was the one at… but I was Joe too, and… and he was at the party because… security, y’know?”

“You were undercover as security at a party,” Olivia clarified, and Elliot brightened a little.

“Yeah. Yes. You’re so… so smart, y’know that?”

“Continue,” Olivia instructed, opting not to respond to that.

“There were drinks… and things. And I wasn’t— I was… um… She gave me one of them. The drink. The girl in the purple… gave me the drink.”

Elliot didn’t seem too sure about the sequence of events. Olivia took a breath that was more sigh than anything. “You think it was drugged?”

“Mmm… mhm,” Elliot hummed, and why was he still staring right at her? Olivia was not a self conscious woman, and yet she still had the urge to gather her blazer a little tighter around herself, the way Elliot was admiring her.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Olivia ran her hands over her face. “Elliot, there is a protocol for when a UC is forced to take a controlled substance.”

Like he would even understand what half those words meant, in this state. God. Shit. “Sit down. I’m calling Sergeant Bell.”

“I felt…” Elliot began, long, drawn out. “I felt I had… to come here.”

“I’ll get you some water.” Olivia disappeared into the kitchen, just to put some space between them. She took out her phone and opened the contacts list, jabbing the name of Elliot’s commanding officer with far more aggression than she necessarily had to. She tucked the phone under her ear as she opened the cabinet for a glass, and her fridge for the pitcher.

It only rang twice before Ayanna’s voice picked up, obviously having been pulled from sleep. “Bell.”

“Sergeant, I’m sorry to wake you,” Olivia said, as she finished pouring the glass.

“Captain Benson? What’s wrong?”

She sounded much more alert now.

“Olivia?” Elliot called hopefully from the living room, to which Olivia responded with a harsh “Sh!”

“Hang on,” Olivia said to the phone, before putting it to her chest and reentering the living room with water in tow. “If you wake up my daughter, I will kill you,” she hissed at Elliot, and handed him the water. Then put her phone back to her ear. “I’m so sorry about that,” she said.

“Was that—”

“Yeah,” Olivia said. “He was dosed with something.”

“It was in… in the drink, I think,” Elliot said, unhelpfully.

“Great,” Ayanna said, and Olivia could hear the rustle of her getting up from what was presumably her bed. “Great, that’s just— that’s just fantastic. And what the hell is he doing at your place?”

“God only knows,” Olivia muttered. “Look, my daughter is asleep here, and if she sees him in this state she will freak out. Can you come and—”

“Yeah. Yes. Send me your address and I’ll take care of it.”

Elliot’s expression could only be described as pouting. “But I don’t—”

“Lower your voice,” Olivia demanded, through gritted teeth. And then to the phone, “Thank you, Ayanna, I’ll let the doorman know to send you right up.”

She clicked off the call and opened her messages to text her address to Ayanna. Elliot watched her with huge eyes, mostly pupil, clutching the glass with both hands the way a small child would. “You’re… you’re mad at me,” he observed, still with overly elongated words, but fortunately a lower volume.

“That’s one way to put it,” Olivia muttered, tapping send and pocketing her phone again.

“‘M sorry, ‘Livia,” Elliot slurred, twisting in the chair so he could watch her move to the door, tap in her key code, give instructions to the doorman.

She let go of the key code. “You’re high,” she said.

“‘M sorry when I’m sober, too,” Elliot informed her, and took another drink of water.

“Do you even know what you’re sorry for?” Olivia couldn’t help but ask, which wasn’t fair, because right now she was the adult of this situation and she should have ended the conversation right then and there. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

Too late.

“I’m sorry for… for lots of things,” Elliot said, nodding. “Like I missed your call. ‘M sorry for missing your call.”

“Days ago,” Olivia said. She had walked back into the living room, but didn’t care to face him as she fidgeted with the window curtain under the guise of pulling it tighter shut. “You missed my call days ago. You had plenty of time to be sorry about that.”

Elliot blinked, putting the cup down on the coffee table in front of him. “Days… but— but it was more than days, too.”

Olivia couldn’t help but let out a little snort at that. “No kidding,” she muttered.

“No, no, no, I’m not kidding,” Elliot said, waving his hands over his lap, innocently wide eyed as he missed her sarcasm completely. “I’m not— I promi— you called me. You called me and I thought— I wasn—” He let out a huff of what was presumably frustration as he couldn’t articulate his thoughts. “You called me and told— you… told me you had a baby now.”

Olivia froze. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

It had been a moment of weakness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, voice hoarse, window curtain still clutched tightly in her hand. “I don’t—”

“You did,” Elliot insisted. “You— you were— um…” Olivia finally turned, just enough to see him with his eyes closed, head tilted back, appearing to be thinking intently. “You told me you had a baby now,” he repeated, seemingly to himself. And then he blinked his eyes open and looked right at her.

She stared right back at him.

He blinked again. “Y— you look pretty, there, with the… the glowing…” He gestured his hands in a circle shape around his face. “Like an angel.”

“It’s a street lamp,” Olivia said drily.

“Like the… in the church, there was a picture. I was looking at it and you were talking to me on the phone and— and…” Elliot trailed off, looking devastated. “You didn’t miss my call, but I— I still—”

“I’ll get over it,” Olivia said, with a pressed smile.

Elliot shook his head rapidly, and then blinked a few times, as if the action had made him dizzy. It probably had. “You told— you called me and you told me you had a baby now, and it was… wasn’t a dream,” he said.

“Elliot…”

“I thought it was a dream,” he said, and picked up the cup of water again. “I used to… I used to dream about you a lot, y’know. All the time.”

And what the fuck was she supposed to do with that?

Elliot gazed at her, trancelike. “You called me and told me—”

“Will you stop saying that?” she hissed, suddenly feeling a bolt of fury. “I— I didn’t even know your number was still active. It was the middle of the night, I wasn’t thinking.”

Jet had been so small, so fragile, so dependent on Olivia. The little girl had looked up at Olivia like she had all the answers, like she could protect her from all the terrors of the world, all the horrors she’d already witnessed, and Olivia didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t expected it to be so terrifying. It felt like God had carved her heart out of her body and shaped it into a child, and it was Olivia’s responsibility to give her a safe life. A gentle life. And Olivia didn’t know how to have one of those, so how the hell was she supposed to provide one of those?

She didn’t know what to do.

So yeah, five years after Elliot had left, had disappeared, had abandoned her— she’d called him. She had managed to make it through Lewis, through her squad departing around her, she’d convinced herself she had finally healed, that she was perfectly fine without him. But then Jet had stumbled into her life, starry eyed and scared, and Olivia didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to be a parent.

So she called him.

He hadn’t picked up, no surprise there.

“I tho…thought I dreamed it,” Elliot repeated, voice drowsy, voice quieter.

But you didn’t! Olivia wanted to scream. I needed you, I needed you, I needed you!

“I liked those dreams,” Elliot continued. “They were nicer than— than…” He trailed off again, taking another long drink from his glass of water, staring at some point on the floor just ahead of him. “Wanna go to sleep.”

“You need to stay awake until Ayanna gets here.” Olivia took a careful, deliberate step, and then another, until she had made her way to the armchair across from him. She sank into it, exhausted. “You shouldn’t be taking any assignments that force you to drink to maintain a cover right now,” she said, and then tipped her head back into the chair. “That’s the last thing you need.”

“I’m… fine.”

“You’re not.”

“You sound… you sound like Kathy.”

Olivia’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she leveled him with a look that said, are you kidding me?

“That,” Elliot said slowly, processing. “That was the wrong thing to say, I… I think, maybe.”

“No shit,” Olivia muttered.

“She’s also… she’s mad at me too,” Elliot said, nodding, and put his glass down again. “Or— or I’m mad at her, I… I think. Everybod— all of us are really, really mad. Kathleen is the maddest. Little Ka… Kathleen, not Kathy.”

“Little Kathleen,” Olivia repeated. “You mean your thirty-three year old daughter?” It wasn’t really fair to poke fun at him calling her ‘little’ when Kathleen was still a child even in Olivia’s head, who couldn’t really comprehend how much the girl had grown and matured— that was neither here nor there, though.

“She’s so mad, Livia,” Elliot agreed, nodding again.

Olivia shouldn’t be taking advantage of this, she knew that. But she couldn’t help herself, not with him sitting right there. “Is Kathleen mad at… you?” she asked carefully.

If anything, at least this conversation might give her some insight as to why Katie had dragged her father to a church with an AA meeting in Jersey in the middle of the night.

Elliot’s brow furrowed. “I…” he said, long, drawn out, as he thought hard. Olivia could practically see the rusty old gears of his brain turning. “I don’t… know,” he said, slowly. “I think— maybe… she was mad at me, but then… she was even madder at Kathy, and then at— Dickie? I think she’s not talking to her mom. She likes Eli best, now.”

Elliot seemed proud of that answer, nodding twice more, before slumping back into the sofa.

Considering that cleared up absolutely nothing, Olivia only had more questions. “And why is Kathy pissed off this time?” She asked. “Did you not tell her you were going under?”

Elliot stayed very, very still, and was silent for a few very long moments.

“I didn’t answer your call,” he eventually said, voice faint. “You called me, and I didn’t— I thought—”

“You thought you dreamed it, yes,” Olivia said. She wasn’t getting anywhere with this tonight, apparently.

“I wan’ed to go to sleep,” Elliot mumbled, closing his eyes. “All I wanted was…That’s why Kathy was so… she was so mad,” he said, and then rocked himself forward a little, putting his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. “She didn’t want me to go to sleep,” he said into his palms.

Olivia was starting to get a weird feeling in her chest, a sinking, curling, twisting feeling, like vines of English Ivy were wrapping their way up her ribcage, around her lungs… “What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head a little to study him.

“You called me—”

“Elliot.”

He lifted his face from his hands then, looking at her with clear, watery eyes that were beginning to spill over. “It’s… it’s like the… the picture in the church,” he repeated. “Mama and child.”

“Madonna and Child?” Olivia asked.

“Mhm.”

Elliot sat across from her, gazing at her, chin on his hands, and tears were dripping down his face.

“In the call,” he said. “The very, very first one. Or— not the first one. The almost last one, but the very first one I missed. You to… you told me not to go, but I didn’t… answer.”

“No, you didn’t.” That call had been over a decade ago. And yet there they were now. “It wasn’t—”

“You were…” Elliot continued, cutting her off, seemingly without meaning to. “Later, you— somebody took you away.” He faltered, as if piecing together the puzzle. “Somebody took you and hurt you and I didn’t…”

The vines around her lungs constricted, and it took a small struggle for Olivia to inhale a gulp of air. “Elliot, I can’t— I can’t talk about this, not tonight—”

“I just… wanted to sleep,” Elliot repeated. “That’s why Kath— I couldn’t—” At that moment, Elliot seemed to become aware of the tears dripping from his eyes, trailing down his face to his hands. “My face is wet,” he mumbled. “Why is my…”

“You’re crying,” Olivia said, and felt like in a moment she might be as well.

Elliot blinked rapidly a few times. “Why am I… why is this happening?”

“You tell me,” Olivia said, trying to keep her voice simple and not let on to the shakiness of her nervous system.

“In the dreams,” Elliot said slowly. “You… you were safe. Always safe. All the kids were s…safe. ‘Donna and child.”

Elliot started making an attempt to stand, and Olivia lurched forwards from her seat to… steady him? Keep him on the couch? She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she was trying to do. Elliot grasped onto her upper arm, though he fell back into the sofa. He looked up at her, with those big blue eyes, and reached a hand up.

“You’re… pretty,” he said, and cupped her face.

“El, I…” Olivia started, without a plan in her mind for where she’d finish. She tried to start again. “Elliot—”

“It was jus’ a dream,” he mumbled, and it didn’t sound like he was fully talking to her anymore. His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, down to the corner of her mouth, barely catching on her bottom lip.

Olivia didn’t mean to hold her breath, but it was all she could do.

“Thought you were safe,” he murmured. “It was just a dream.”

“I’m safe now,” Olivia whispered. “I’m safe. The kids are safe…”

“I don’ know if I’m… I don’ know when I’m really awake, anymore,” Elliot confessed, his voice dropped to meet Olivia’s whisper. “Thought everything would be better if I just went to sleep.” His thumb dragged to the bottom of her chin, until he was holding her face once more. “You’re prettier when I’m awake, though,” he mumbled.

Olivia didn’t know why she did it, what possessed her, but she leaned forward a little, dipped her head a little, just enough so their foreheads touched. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she murmured. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to reassure him, to reassure both of them, but she felt like it had to be said. Manifested. Promised. What had Jet called it? The one when you didn’t have enough data… “We’re going to be okay, Elliot.”

Epistemic uncertainty. Epistemic, emptiness. She was definitely lacking some vital knowledge, somewhere in there. She absolutely felt the void of the future sprawling out in front of her. In front of them. Pristine. Untouched. Empty.

Elliot tugged a little on her arm, and she realized he was trying to get some leverage to pull himself up, so she grabbed his other bicep and pulled them forward, barely catching herself against the coffee table as the weight of him nearly bowled them over.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “’M sorry I didn’t answer… your call. Any of the calls.”

“We’ll work it out,” Olivia said. She shouldn’t be making statements like that, not right now. But it wasn’t like he could really comprehend anything that was happening enough to have that conversation tonight, and he was clearly fixated on it. “We’ll work something out.”

He took an unsteady step forward, and Olivia braced herself with her hands on his biceps, and they ended up in a position that was almost a hug, but not quite, almost holding each other, but not quite, lightly swaying as the dim golden glow from the streetlamps outside barely illuminated the room.

“Can I… I wanna tell you something,” Elliot said, and she could feel his breath on her ear.

“Go ahead.”

“The dreams are… I know I can’t make— I’m not supposed to be doing that anymore,” Elliot said. “But I still hope… I still wanna see them, tonight, maybe.”

Once again, Olivia was at a loss for words. She allowed her hands to travel up his back, just a little, until she was resting against his strong shoulders.

“I dunno if I’ll remember all this,” Elliot admitted. “And I… I really wanna. This is better.”

“Better than the dreams?” Olivia clarified.

“Mhm.”

“I’m glad,” Olivia said, and then, in a whisper, “I like you better when you’re awake.”

Elliot just nodded, tucking his face into the crook of her neck, the scruff on his face scratching at her throat. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around her.

Olivia let out a shaky sigh, and allowed herself to hug him back.

Sergeant Bell would be here any moment. She would take her intoxicated detective home and whether or not Elliot would remember any of this tomorrow was up to chance.

The thought shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did.

But for now, this was real. This wasn’t one of his dreams. Their kids were safe. They were safe. They were holding each other. And everything might be okay. His heart beat steadily against her chest, and the vines wound around her ribs began to relax, and everything would be—

Olivia heard a door open, and her blood ran cold.

“Shit,” she whispered. “Shit, Elliot back—” she tried to disentangle from him, as quickly as possible, but Elliot was still high, still intoxicated, still disoriented, and he wobbled without her support.

“What—” he started to say, but Olivia gave him a look with wild eyes that caused him to clamp his mouth shut just as fast.

She whirled around just in time to see the small figure frozen in the hallway, watching the scene like a deer in headlights.

“Mama?” Jet asked, voice quivering.

“Jet,” Olivia breathed. Her heart was thumping so loudly she could feel it in her eardrums. “Jet, sweetheart, it’s okay…”

She looked so tiny like this. Her dark hair was braided down her back, wispy strands stark against her pale face. The t-shirt she wore was once oversized on Olivia, so it fell down below Jet’s knees, fraying at the edges. She clutched her stuffed dragon in one trembling hand.

Olivia couldn’t tell where, exactly, her mind was. When her mind was.

“It’s okay,” Olivia repeated softly, taking a step towards her daughter, reaching out a soothing hand while still trying to maintain Elliot’s weight, placing herself between them as best as she could. “Everything’s okay—”

“¿Por qué está él aquí?” Jet asked, voice faint.

Olivia blinked, startled enough that it took her a moment to mentally translate— why is he here?

She’d never heard Jet speak Spanish unprompted. They had found out she could speak Spanish fairly early on, when she seemed to enjoy Rafael talking to her in the language, and would respond with little phrases. Barba had told Olivia that she definitely was not a native speaker, but she was close to fluent— and her accent and vocabulary choices seemed to be an interesting mix of Honduran and Puerto Rican, though she didn’t appear to have heritage from either. But Jet only spoke Spanish when Rafael did first, or sometimes Olivia— this was the first time Olivia had ever heard her use it naturally on her own.

“Él— él está esperando que su sargento venga a buscarlo,” Olivia murmured in response. Better to meet her where she was at, and reassure her from the start that he would not be staying. Elliot had the sense to keep his mouth shut, thank God. Olivia glanced at him for a split second, to see him staring at Jet, eyes the size of dinner plates. She wasn’t sure if he was simultaneously realizing how badly they’d fucked up, or if he just still wasn’t used to her having a kid. “Sergeant Bell is coming to get Elliot soon,” Olivia repeated, in English this time, keeping her voice low and slow. “You’re safe, the apartment is safe. You can go back to bed.”

Jet took a step forward, and Olivia could not tell if she had comprehended a word she said or not. “¿Qué quiere él?”

What does he want?

Olivia opened her mouth, then closed it, throat dry. “Él sólo quiere esperar aquí a su sargento.”

“Livia,” Elliot said. “Livia, what is she…”

“Quiet,” Olivia muttered, shutting him up.

Jet shifted on her feet, as one of her legs began to tremble. Her gaze darted to Elliot, and then back to Olivia, and Olivia felt like she was choking on her heart in her throat, the vines squeezing her ribcage til fracture, as she realized that Jet was on the verge of tears.

“Sweet girl,” Olivia murmured. “It’s alright, sweetheart, we’re alright…”

“Estoy tan cansada,” Jet said, almost whimpered, her voice squeaking with the effort of forcing back emotion. “I’m so tired, I can’t— I’m not—”

“Okay, alright, it’s okay,” Olivia quickly tried to reassure her, feeling like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, only moments away from witnessing a catastrophic meltdown. “He’s going to go home soon, él se va a casa pronto, and then we’re going to go back to sleep.”

“¿Por qué te está tocando? I don’t want him to touch you,” Jet said, and she sounded so small, so young, so childlike, and that was the moment Olivia knew that there was no way they were getting out of this one unscathed. She needed to switch tactics to damage control.

“How about,” Olivia said quietly, slowly, calmly. “How about you go back into your room— or my room. Elliot will stay in the living room, and I will follow you into the bedroom,” she offered. “He will stay out here, and we can stay in there.”

“I can… the lobby,” Elliot mumbled, missing quite a few words in that sentence. “I’ll wait— Bell can—”

Elliot let go of her and took a step back.

“See? We’re okay,” Olivia said to Jet. “Everything’s okay. You can go back to—”

“Shit,” Elliot hissed, as the back of his knee hit the coffee table— he was still off balance, still dizzy from whatever drug was in his system. It was instinct, on both of their parts, it was pure instinct when Olivia whipped around to try to steady him, and she was sure it was pure instinct when Elliot grasped at her arm to keep from stumbling over the table.

But there was no way for Jet to know what was instinct and what was intentional. All she saw was a large, drugged man grabbing onto her mama— from her point of view, trying to yank her to the ground.

“No-no-no get off of her!”

“Jet—!” Olivia started, frantic, before being knocked backwards by the sheer force of her daughter hurling herself in between them. She stumbled, barely catching herself on the table— Elliot was not as lucky, taking the brunt of Jet’s bodyweight and going fully down with her. She could hear something shatter— the glass of water—? and Elliot let out a strangled noise of surprise.

“No more!” Jet shouted through a sob, hitting at him. Elliot put his arms over his face, but made no move to physically defend himself against the much smaller girl. Olivia used the table to quickly push herself back up to standing. “You don’t touch her! Leave her alone!” Jet attempted to scramble off his chest, presumably to rush back to her mother, but Elliot suddenly grabbed her by her wrists, causing her to shriek.

“Elliot, let go!” Olivia demanded, lunging forward to grab her daughter. How could he be so stupid, trying to restrain her like that—

“Glass, Liv, there’s glass—” he warned, and it took Olivia a second too long to comprehend what he was saying. Jet took full advantage of that second to strike back with a sharp bite, sinking her teeth into his hand. Elliot, to his credit, did not let go of Jet’s wrists— Olivia wasn’t even sure if he’d realized what had happened, through all the adrenaline.

Glass. The glass, Jesus, if Jet rolled off of Elliot she’d land in the broken glass— Olivia wrapped her arms around her daughters waist and tugged her off of him in the vague direction of up, primarily trying to get her into her arms and away from the ground where the shards had scattered.

“Get out!” Jet cried out, and Olivia stumbled backwards with the weight of them, not at all helped by Jet’s flailing, but managed this time to stay upright. “No more! No— Please, no—!”

Elliot could fend for himself, Olivia made the split second decision, and she bolted for the hall with her daughter still in her arms. She shouldered open the door to her room, dropping Jet on the bed and turning to slam the door shut and lock it as quickly as possible. Jet was sobbing, and clambered off the bed to cower in the far corner of the room. “No more,” Jet said again through the tears, now sounding more like begging than demanding. “No more, I’m sor— I’m— I’m sorry, I’ll be good—”

“Juliet, it’s me,” Olivia said, dropping to her knees and slowly approaching her daughter. “It’s Mama, sweetheart, it’s just Mama— you’re safe, Jet. You’re safe…”

“No more,” Jet sobbed into her hands, bringing her knees to her chest, curling into as small of a ball as she could physically manage. “Please, I’ll be good…”

Olivia finally got to her, gathering the girl into her arms. Jet went almost entirely limp, and it greatly unsettled Olivia that she couldn’t tell if the girl was relaxing due to being in her mother’s arms, or ceasing all resistance in fear of retaliation for her lashing out.

“Shh,” Olivia whispered, cradling her daughter close, feeling Jet’s tears seep into the collar of her shirt. “Mama’s got you, sweet girl. You’re safe. Mama’s here. You’re safe…”

But Jet was inconsolable, her heart pounding against her ribcage so intense that Olivia could feel it in her own chest, crying so hard she could barely breathe. “You’re safe, Jet,” Olivia repeated, even though all that was running through her head was I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. “We’re safe, sweet girl. We’re safe.”

And they were, physically, they were. But that didn’t really matter now, because Olivia had a feeling she may have just broken Jet’s sense of security— she may have just broken Jet’s safe place, Jet’s trust in her, Jet’s confidence that her mama could protect her— for a long, long time.

“No more,” Jet gasped out again, and she was running out of steam, her body trembling violently as her depleted energy turned her sobs into coughs. “Please—”

“No more,” Olivia repeated. “We’re safe, baby.” She rocked them, gently, rubbing circles between Jet’s shoulder blades, trying to ground her. “Mama’s got you. We’re safe.”

Olivia could count on one hand the number of times she’d stepped foot in a chapel. She had no idea how a Hail Mary went, what the words were supposed to be. She thought she’d send one up anyways, from one mother to another. She thought Mary would understand.

Hail Mary, full of grace, she started, stroking her fingers through Jet’s hair, humming a low, soft melody. How did you do it? How do I do this?

No golden glow filtered in through the window, from the streetlamps on the roads below. No moonbeams or starlight could pierce through the blackout curtains. There was no halo, no illumination surrounding them. Nobody would hang this picture in a church.

Olivia thought it might be nice to live in one of Elliot’s dreams. Mama and child, safe and certain.

Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Chapter Text

Kristi sank into the soft arm chair, breathing in the steam from her tea and letting her eyelids droop closed for a moment. It wasn’t that early— she’d gone to church with her family, with her mother, and they were all back at home for lunch. She felt a hand on her shoulder and rolled her head around to blink her eyes open at her husband.

“Ça va?” Eric murmured. Kristi hummed in the affirmative, bringing her hand up to brush against his. He leaned down to drop a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her shoulder one more before letting go to go wrangle their son, who had spent a few moments too suspiciously quiet for a hyperactive almost-two year old.

“Kom zitten, Mama,” Kristi heard Xavier instruct, and she twisted in her seat to watch Xavier leading their mother into the sitting room.

Their mother, predictably, batted his assistance away. “Speak English, Schatteke, be polite.”

“It’s alright,” Jasmine said, trailing after them, carrying a bowl of some snack or another. “I’m still trying to learn…”

“Today is for celebration, not school,” their mother chided, sitting gingerly on the other chair in the sitting room.

Xavier ruffled Kristi’s hair as he past, causing her to huff in annoyance. “Sorry, Kris.”

“Please, I need a break,” Kristi mumbled. She could only be Miss Kristi so many times a week, she could only handle baby ballet for a few hours at a time. She pushed her feet off the ground to rock her chair a little, watching her brother and his new fiance perch on the sofa, curled all too close together. They were sickeningly adorable.

Eric reappeared, carrying their sleepy baby on his hip. Kristi reached out to accept Mathis into her arms. “Nap time,” she murmured, pressing a kiss into his downy hair. He snuffled into the crook of her neck.

“Congratulations are in order,” Eric said from the kitchen, where Kristi could hear the clanking of bottles. “Champagne, everyone?”

Xavier and Jasmine looked at each other, and a small smile played across Jasmine’s lips as she said, “I’ll pass, for now.”

Kristi was not stupid. She was well aware of what a recently engaged young woman passing on alcohol really meant. She watched the couple until Xavier noticed her gaze, and met her eyes. She raised her eyebrows— really? and he gave her a responding look of, pipe down.

“I think we’ll just have tea for now, Eric,” Kristi called back to her husband. “Come sit.”

Eric returned to the sitting room, pulling a stool from the table to the chair beside Kristi, as she rocked their now sleeping son in a soothing motion. “Are you enjoying The Hague?” Eric asked, directing his comment at Xavier and Jasmine. “Settling in?”

“I love it,” Jasmine said excitedly, eyes sparkling. “There’s so much culture.”

Anywhere in the world would appear to have ‘so much culture’ if one was raised in suburban England, in Kristi’s opinion. She chose not to comment on the matter.

“And will you be sending the child to the European School or the British one?” Wilma asked.

There was a beat of silence.

“Mama!” Kristi hissed, quiet enough so that Mathis wouldn’t wake, but with enough vexation to get the point across. “Je moet ze het je laten vertellen—”

“Misschien moeten ze hun subtiliteit oefenen,” Wilma said in response, with a shrug. “Really, Dear,” she directed at Jasmine, returning to English. “You just got engaged, and no champagne?”

Jasmine was wide eyed. Xavier had his face in his hands in exasperation.

“I missed something,” Eric announced to the room at large. “What did I miss?”

God, her husband could be dense at times.

Jasmine bit her lip and shook her head, but her smile betrayed her. “I’m pregnant,” she announced, reaching to take Xavier’s hand, catching his gaze once more. “We’re having a baby.”

Kristi started to stand, passing her son to her husband. “Congratulations, you two,” she said, leaning in to hug her little brother.

He stood as well, accepting the hug and holding her tight, a moment longer than was maybe necessary. Kristi let out a breath. She knew what he was thinking. It was the same thought she’d had when she found out she was pregnant with Mathis, the same thought she’d had when she’d walked down the aisle, the same thought she’d had when Eric had proposed.

She still felt a little ashamed of that one, actually. The love of her life was down on one knee and all she could muster up a thought of was the sister that should’ve been there.

“She would be so proud of you,” Kristi whispered, feeling him nod in acknowledgement into her shoulder. “Everything you’re doing, you know that?”

And it was true, of course it was. Xavier had built his life around justice. Justice for a girl disappeared. A girl loved, and a girl gone. He went full Europol, working his way through the ranks, aiming for the human trafficking assignments.

It was their best guess as to what had happened, anyway.

Xavier had decided to do something about it, had decided to fight. Fight for her memory, Kristi would say. Fight for her, their mother would correct, their mother who still held onto foolish, painful, beautiful hope. Xavier had decided to fight.

And what had Kristi ever done?

“Continué à vivre,” Eric would tell her, had told her. “You kept on living, baby. That’s enough.”

But was it?

Kristi finally pulled back, avoiding meeting Xavier’s eyes— not trusting herself to hold it together, at the moment— instead watching her mother finish hugging Jasmine.

“Hey, there,” Kristi said with a smile, regaining her composure to swoop in and hug the girl as her mother turned to Xavier. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”

Kristi liked Jasmine, and was very happy her brother had ended up with such a sweet, carefree woman. Jasmine introduced a levity into Xavier’s life that Kristi had once been worried he’d never really find again— he was so absorbed by his ambitions, his frustration, his fixations. Privately, Kristi thought he may truly be motivated by wholly unnecessary feelings of guilt.

Jasmine, on the other hand, embodied a more go with the flow style, more interested in taking her time to explore the world around her than always pushing forward as fast as possible. Kristi knew she would be an amazing mother— she had to have some gift of endless patience if she’d put up with Xavier for this long, anyway. She was curious, optimistic, and largely unburdened.

In many ways, she reminded Kristi of Annelies. Innocent, sweet, and cheerful.

But Jasmine wasn’t Annelies. Annelies had dreams of attention, of stardom, of adventure. Jasmine had dreams of settling down and living a simple, slow, life.

“I’m gonna need you,” Jasmine murmured to Kristi. “You know my mom didn’t— I have no idea what the hell happens next.”

That was another thing. It was hard not to compare Jasmine to her little sister when Jasmine had sort of chosen her as an honorary older one. She had been adopted as a child, into a home with three brothers— Kristi was probably the closest woman to her that had ever given birth. It shouldn’t have stung as badly as it did— once again, memories of Annelies popping up at inappropriate moments. But Kristi would have to settle for giving somebody else’s little sister wedding and pregnancy advice.

“Of course,” Kristi whispered in response, squeezing gently before letting go. “Whatever you need.”

She should consider herself lucky, really. That she got the chance at all.

She was sort of grateful Jasmine and Eric didn’t speak Flemish as she heard her mother muttering to Xavier, her sweet tone obscuring the complaints she was making— you couldn’t put a ring on her first? Had to knock her up before she walked down the aisle?

Kristi made eye contact with Xavier from where he hugged their mother, and they offered each other knowing, tired smiles.

“We actually had something else, too,” Jasmine said, looking at Xavier a bit more nervously. “We wanted to— um, we wanted to get your blessing.”

Kristi glanced at Jasmine, then back at Xavier. He caught her eyes and she could’ve sworn she saw a flash of anxiety in his.

“Eric,” Kristi said softly. “Could you go put Mathis down for a bit?”

Eric, fortunately, recognized his dismissal for what it was, and left without protest.

Jasmine shifted on her feet. “He could’ve stayed—”

“Spit it out,” Kristi said to her brother. “I don’t like that look you’re giving me.”

“Why don’t we sit back down?” Jasmine continued. “Let’s sit back down.”

Wilma pursed her lips, and Kristi waited for her mother’s argument, but none came as she perched back on the edge of her armchair. Kristi crossed her arms, but did the same, as Xavier and Jasmine settled back onto the couch.

“We’ve been thinking about names,” Xavier started. “If it’s a boy…” he nodded in Jasmine’s direction.

“If it’s a boy, we wanna name him Alfred, for my father,” Jasmine said, her hands subconsciously drifting to her still mostly-flat stomach. “We’ll call him Alfie or Freddie.”

Wilma nodded. “A smart name,” she decided. “A good one.”

Kristi nodded too, swallowing down the nervous feeling rising out of her gut. “And if it’s a girl?” She asked, mostly to her brother, already having an idea of what the answer was going to be.

“If it’s a girl, we’d like— with your blessing, both of your blessings,” Jasmine quickly clarified, then glanced at Xavier.

Xavier took a deep breath. “If it’s a girl, we’d like to name her Anneke.”

Kristi let out a shaky exhale. Wilma was silent.

For a moment, you could hear a pin drop.

“We already have an Anna, we don’t need another,” Wilma said, voice short and final.

“And Jasmine’s father is still alive, that doesn’t mean we can’t pay homage,” Xavier fired back, almost immediately— he clearly had prepared for this in advance.

Wilma did not look happy as she stood from her chair. “Do as you please,” she said, turning for the kitchen.

“You have my blessing,” Kristi blurted out, causing Wilma to pause, and distracting Xavier from the devastated look he was giving their mother for just a moment. “You have my full blessing.”

Jasmine looked surprised. Kristi could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her.

“We weren’t sure if… we thought you might like to use— one day, I mean, if you had…” Jasmine started to stammer out.

Kristi forced a smile, and couldn’t look any of them in the eye. “I always preferred Liesl, myself,” she replied, not that she’d thought about it all that much. "Goes better with Laurent." Sure, use her husband's last name as an excuse, why not. She’d sort of avoided the idea entirely— she hadn’t even entertained the baby name discussion with Eric until they’d found out the gender. It had saved her a significant amount of unnecessary stress. Kristi stood from her chair, fidgeting with her hands. “You have my blessing,” she repeated, softer. “Anneke is a beautiful name. Will she— her last name, is she taking—”

“I’m taking Xavier’s,” Jasmine said. “I know it’s not all that common here, but back at home— you know. So yeah, she’ll…”

“Great,” Kristi managed, though her voice felt thick with tears. “Good.”

“Kris…” Xavier said, standing. “I don’t want to upset…”

“No. No,” Kristi said shaking her head. “I’m not— I’m just…” She took a deep breath, and tried to reorganize her thoughts. “I’m not upset. I just need a moment to… to think.”

“Take your time,” Jasmine encouraged, and Kristi offered a pained smile at that.

“I’m going to check on the baby,” Kristi announced, turning on her heel to follow where Eric had left to rest Mathis in bed. She refused to look at her mother as she passed her. No matter what she said, it felt like she was betraying someone. Her mother, somewhere between determined and in denial. Xavier, who had already given so much of his life to their sister. Annelies herself. Her memory? Herself. Who knew.

Kristi swallowed her tears down hard, pushing open the bedroom door, finding her husband sitting up against the headboard, Mathis curled up on his chest. Eric had his glasses on, was scanning over something on his phone. Kristi shut the door behind her.

“Hey,” Eric said, still reading. “Il voulait que je le tienne—”

Kristi let out a choked sob, hand flying to her mouth in an attempt to avoid waking their son.

“Kris?” Eric asked, sitting up, immediately concerned.

Kristi had no real idea what to say to him, how to explain. There was no way he could understand, no way Jasmine could understand— they tried to, of course they tried to, and Eric was always gentle with the subject. But how could they ever get it?

Her sister was gone, her little sister was gone, and the only words her brain could muster up was the potential name of her brother’s child.

Anneke. It was a beautiful name, Kristi had been truthful in that regard. But it felt so final. They didn’t have a tombstone, they didn’t have a body. Nobody would ever know what happened to Annelies, no matter how valiantly Xavier searched or how long Wilma refused to move out of their childhood home.

But a little girl would still carry her name.

Anneke. Anneke Slootmaekers.

Chapter Text

E-MAIL DRAFTS: 1

— — — — — —

INTERNAL MEMORANDUM

TO: Sergeant Ayanna Bell, Organized Crime Control Bureau
FROM: Captain Olivia Benson, Manhattan Special Victims Unit

SUBJECT: Request for Reassignment of Detective Elliot Stabler from Undercover Duties

CLASSIFICATION: CONFIDENTIAL

SUMMARY
This memorandum formally requests the immediate reassignment of Detective Elliot Stabler (Shield #6313) from his current undercover role due to concerns regarding his fitness for duty pursuant to NYPD Patrol Guide Procedure 205-47 “Fitness for Duty” and Narcotics Division Directive 21-03 “Qualification Standards for Undercover Personnel.”

BACKGROUND
Detective Stabler has recently assigned to operate undercover, collecting intelligence pertaining to suspected human trafficking activities in Manhattan. Prior to this assignment, Detective Stabler successfully completed the department's Undercover Officer Training Program (UCOTP) and has served with distinction on multiple previous undercover operations.

BASIS FOR REASSIGNMENT REQUEST
I am requesting Detective Stabler's removal from this assignment based on the following observations and concerns:

Detective Stabler has a prior history of substance abuse issues, for which he received treatment and was subsequently cleared for duty. Immediately following Detective Stabler’s involvement in an undercover operation, during which he consumed alcohol which was potentially tampered with, I observed concerning behavioral changes including:

• Physical indicators consistent with potential substance use (dilated pupils, tremors, slurred speech, etc.)
• Inability to recall key operational details such as emergency contacts
• Uncharacteristically reckless behavior and a disregard for standard protocol

The current operation places Detective Stabler in consistent proximity to controlled substances, creating an environment that may trigger a relapse.

RISK ASSESSMENT
The nature of this continuous undercover operation places Detective Stabler in a high-risk environment that:

• Requires optimal judgment and reaction time
• Involves regular exposure to alcohol, narcotics and related paraphernalia
• Lacks immediate backup due to operational security constraints
• Involves subjects with violent criminal histories

Continued assignment creates unacceptable risks to:

• Detective Stabler's personal health and recovery
• Operational security and integrity
• Officer and civilian safety
• Case prosecution viability

RECOMMENDATION
I respectfully request:

• Immediate temporary reassignment of Detective Stabler to non-undercover duties pending evaluation
• Mandatory fitness for duty evaluation pursuant to PG 205-47
• Referral to the Employee Assistance Unit for assessment and appropriate support services

REQUIRED ACTION
In accordance with Narcotics Division Order 18-09 "Undercover Personnel Reassignment Protocols," I request your review and authorization of this reassignment within 72 hours due to the high-risk nature of this operation.

Captain Olivia Benson
Commanding Officer, Manhattan Special Victims Unit

— — — — — —

This email is currently a DRAFT. Would you like to SEND?

YES • CANCEL

— — — — — —

Chapter Text

It was the smell of coffee that tugged Olivia from her sleep on Monday morning.

It took her a moment to gain her bearings, to remember exactly why that might be important, and who would be making coffee in her apartment, before her brain caught up with her and she closed her eyes again with a soft sigh.

Her alarm went off not even ten seconds later, and Olivia pawed at the night table aimlessly until she managed to hit it off. Normally she had a routine, she would get dressed and brush her teeth and start her own coffee before making her way to Jet’s room to gently wake the girl up, whether that was from her bed or slumped over her desk.

It seemed that her daughter was a few steps ahead of her today.

So Olivia didn’t bother with the routine at all. Just pushed herself out of the bed— an action that required far too much effort for such a simple result— and padded into the kitchen.

Jet hovered near the keurig, body tense with restrained energy. Olivia didn’t want to startle her, but she was fairly sure the girl had already heard her enter.

“Good morning,” Olivia said softly. “You’re up early.”

Jet shrugged, eyes never leaving the machine, confirming Olivia’s suspicions that she had heard her enter, or maybe even get out of bed. She had spent almost the entirety of the day before closed off in her bedroom, nonverbal and avoiding Olivia at all costs. Olivia knew she hadn’t been napping, she could hear the occasional clack of her keyboard— but every time Olivia entered the room, Jet was curled up in her bed, facing the wall, and doing her worst impression of being asleep. It felt somewhat pointed, the fact that Jet didn’t actually put any effort into appearing genuinely asleep. It was more of a message.

Now’s not the time.

Olivia had attempted to coax her out of her room once, to eat, and when that hadn't worked, had left the food in her room with the warning that if half of it wasn't gone she would sit in there until Jet ate what Olivia deemed to be an acceptable amount. Olivia was lenient with her daughter, respectful of her boundaries— but she drew a firm line at self starvation. And Jet had complied. By the time Olivia came to check on her and collect the plate, half the food was gone— quite literally down the center of the plate, in a show of extreme compliance— and Olivia stayed true to her word and didn't push her further.

The only times Jet left of her own accord were twice in the night, to check the locks on the front door.

“You don’t have to go to school today,” Olivia suggested now, resting her hip against the doorframe and observing her daughter carefully. “If you want to take the day to process or if you think you’re ready to talk about—”

Jet was already vehemently shaking her head.

“You wanna go to school?” Olivia asked, and now Jet was nodding. “Alright,” she obliged. “Is talking still difficult?”

She hesitated at that.

“If talking is still difficult, then I’m driving you. You know I don’t like you being on public transport when you can’t get help if you need it,” Olivia reminded her.

Jet shrugged again, smaller this time, and removed the now-full mug of coffee from the machine. She turned and held it out to her mother, but still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Thank you, baby,” Olivia murmured as she took the mug. “You didn’t have to do that.”

But Jet had already turned away, starting to brew another coffee. Olivia decided this morning was not the morning to comment on her caffeine intake.

“I’m gonna shower and get dressed, and then I’ll drive you to school, alright?” Olivia said, even though they’d already pretty much established that.

She just wanted her daughter to look at her.

— — — — — —

The rain was barely anything, mostly just an early morning drizzle that would clear up by noon. Olivia had the windshield wipers on anyway, desperate for some break from the silence. Even Sirius XM wasn’t really helping.

Olivia hadn’t addressed it yet. She didn’t like to address things will Jet was nonverbal— especially big, important things and this seemed like a big, important thing. It just felt a little unfair that Olivia would be able to explain her side of the story, her perception of things and Jet was a captive audience, unable to interject or respond or explain her point of view.

So they hadn’t touched the topic at all. But Olivia was starting to doubt this particular parenting decision. She was a little worried that if she didn’t at least begin to address it, Jet would remain so anxious about the occurrence she would just stay nonverbal… indefinitely.

They were nearing Hastings-on-Hudson, so Olivia took a deep breath, and turned down the radio. “Jet,” she said quietly. “We don’t need to cover everything right now. But it’s important to me that you know that you’re safe in the apartment—”

Jet leaned over, reaching for the volume of the car radio, twisting it back up. The bouncy tune of Video Killed the Radio Star was a stark contrast to the general state of the gray-toned world around them. Even both of their outfits today were all black.

Pictures came and broke your heart, put the blame on VCR… now rang out loud enough that Olivia had to speak over it to be heard in the small interior of her Subaru.

Olivia sighed. “Juliet, I’m not— I’m not trying to have a full discussion about… about the events of the other night. I just need to address—”

“Mom,” Jet forced out— and it really did sound like she was forcing the words, her voice faint and scratchy with effort. “Stop.”

Olivia closed her mouth.

In my mind and in my car, Trevor Horn sang on the radio. We can’t rewind, we’ve gone too far—

Olivia hit the button to shut it off completely. For a moment, the only sound was the light patter of rain and the brush of windshield wipers against glass.

“The only people with a key to our apartment are Uncle Fin and Uncle Rafa. That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say,” Olivia said. And the part about the key was true, but the other part— that’s all I wanted to say— that was miles from the truth. A marathon away from the truth. “Okay?”

Jet nodded minutely, eyes trained out of the windshield as they pulled into the school parking lot. The security guard waved them through, but instead of going around the usual drop-off route, Olivia pulled into a parking space. Jet closed her eyes, seemingly in frustration.

“Hey,” Olivia said, voice soft again. “I love you. And if you need anything at all during the day, you text me. Alright? Anything.”

Jet had opened her eyes again just to look fully away, unlocking and opening her car door, and Olivia would have been a little frustrated if she wasn’t partially convinced her daughter was biting back tears of her own.

“Juliet,” Olivia said again, and held out her pinky finger in what was a juvenile way to get the point across. “Promise?”

For a moment, she thought she wouldn’t acknowledge it. But at the last second, Jet reached back, and still without so much as a glance to her mother quickly looped her own pinky around Olivia’s.

And God, wasn’t that a relief.

“Love you,” Olivia called out again, as Jet slid out of the passenger seat and onto the parking lot pavement. Olivia knew she wouldn’t— couldn’t— say it back, but she felt the need to reiterate.

Jet closed the door to the car. Olivia sat and watched her daughter run up onto the side walk, and then disappear through the main doors.

— — — — — —

You have 1 email in your Drafts. Would you like to send this email?

Olivia understood why Google had implemented these features. Emails got lost in her inbox. The Brass ignored her messages for days and needed a little nudge. Most of the time she appreciated the little reminders.

Right now, though, the notification just felt like it was taunting her. Would she like to send? Why did that have to be her decision? Why did she have to make one more goddamn decision about a detective that didn’t work in her unit?

She didn’t even want to think about him. From the moment she’d held Jet, sobbing in her arms in the middle of the night— he hadn’t been a priority anymore. Clearly he wasn’t her top priority, but she was aiming to move him entirely off the list. No use in wasting the pain she was sure would be triggered by a case later.

He was an adult, a grown man, a detective from another bureau. He had no claim to her and she had no obligation to him, and that was the way it should be.

So what the fuck had posessed her into writing that memo? And why the fuck was her inbox so full when the only day she’d taken off was a Sunday?

Olivia was not above throwing hands with whichever secretary had taught 1PP about ‘Schedule Send for Monday Morning.’

There was a knock on her partially opened door, and Amanda poked her head in. “Hey, Liv, you got a minute?”

Olivia waved her in.

Amanda stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Olivia did not like the fact that she shut the door behind her. The door being shut always signaled that the following dialogue would be a ‘Conversation,’ capital ‘C,’ not a ‘chat,’ lower case ‘c.’

“Well,” Amanda said, and Olivia mentally braced herself for whatever bomb to an ongoing case she was about to drop.

Amanda put her hands on her hips, cocking her head to study her. “You look like shit.”

Olivia blinked. Not exactly what she had been expecting. “Good morning to you too, Detective, and I hope your weekend was lovely as well.”

“It was definitely better than yours,” Amanda said, nodding. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were hungover.”

“Thanks,” Olivia said. “I’m not.”

“How many more insults until you tell me whats going on?” Amanda asked.

“Depends. How badly do you want my recommendation for the Sergeant Exam?” Olivia retorted.

Amanda raised her eyebrows. “Wow. Alright. Touché.”

Olivia glanced back at her crowded inbox, though she was really only looking at the little blue reminder of her questionable morality rotting away in her drafts folder. “Do you need something? Or did you just miss me that badly?”

“Oh, always,” Amanda said, and she grabbed a chair from the corner of the office to drag up across the desk.

Great. Strike two. The door was closed and Amanda was getting comfortable.

“First of all, the new guy isn’t late. He got here ridiculously early so I sent him to HR about some bullshit with his retirement paperwork.”

Olivia stared at her for a moment, brain trying to process all that information in a timely manner. Amanda’s blue eyes stared right back, waiting for a reaction she obviously knew was coming.

“Oh, shit,” Olivia said, and the corners of Amanda’s mouth turned up into a pleased smile. “Shit, that was today.”

“There we go. You feeling okay? You really are out of it.”

That was fair, actually. Olivia had been begging 1PP for a new detective— preferably two, but God she’d take one, she’d take anything— for months. nobody had indicated any interest in SVU in a while, there was a recruiting shortage overall, and the Brass were absolutely dragging their feet in finding out whose turn it was for the two year cycle-through. SVU had been surviving off of Olivia, Fin, Amanda, and a handful of unenthusiastic substitutes for a while now. But in the most recent cycle— by some blessing— two recruits had indicated interest in the unit. One was a transfer, a second-grade detective from Gangs. The other an officer, one who would be joining the unit after the next detective ceremony where she’d be sworn in as a detective third-grade. Normally SVU required a little bit of experience under a detective’s belt before they joined— but as aforementioned, Olivia was desperate, and the kid volunteered. She hadn’t actually read either profile before sending the okay, just asked Fin to do a brief scan for complaints and Amanda to do a quick run of the gossip mill.

“I thought they both started two weeks from now,” Olivia tried to excuse, running her fingers through her hair before using the heel of her palm to press into her eyes. “God, which one is it?”

“Joe Velasco,” Amanda said. “Seems like a good kid. Very polite. Fantastic voice.”

“Great. Those were the three qualities I listed on the ‘Build-a-Detective’ sheet, so, should be a good match,” Olivia said drily.

Amanda ignored her sarcasm entirely. “Second of all,” she said. “Remember our dear friend Cassie? Got some news about her this weekend.”

Olivia felt a jolt of ice in her veins. “Please don’t tell me she’s dead.”

“Opposite.”

Christ, Olivia did not have time for riddles today. “She’s pregnant?”

Amanda shook her head. “Weirder,” she said. “There’s two of her.”

Olivia looked at her in disbelief, frustration about to bubble over. “Rollins,” she said. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Means her social worker tried to sign her up for some benefits, but there’s another Cassandra Mendoza out there. In Queens, actually.”

“It’s not exactly an unusual name,” Olivia pointed out.

“No,” Rollins agreed. “But I imagine her social security number should be fairly unique.”

Olivia frowned. That did not sound good. “You mean…”

“Yeah,” Amanda said. “Legally, they’re the same Cassandra Mendoza.”

“There had to be a mistake somewhere,” Olivia said. “Cassie’s been on the streets for— how long? Does she even have her original documents?”

Amanda shrugged. “Thought we could call her in and ask.”

Olivia bit her bottom lip. “SVU doesn’t exactly deal with identity theft.”

“Liv,” Amanda said, voice dropping, leaning in a little. “I got a feeling about this one. A really weird feeling about this one.”

“What’s your theory?” Olivia asked. “Hypothetically.”

“I don’t know. I’d have to know a little bit more about Cassandra the Second before I put anything down,” Amanda admitted.

Olivia nodded slowly. “Maybe we should have a chat with Cassie,” she decided. “And later, if we wanna pay Cassandra a visit…”

Amanda grinned. “I like that plan,” she said, standing from her seat. “That’s a good plan.”

“You look like you’re enjoying this a bit too much,” Olivia warned. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Detective.”

“It’s been so miserable around here,” Amanda complained, as if she didn’t work in the Sex Crimes Unit. “This is a weird one. I like the weird ones better.”

Olivia sighed but didn’t argue, as she was distracted by a buzz from her pocket— but her work phone was on her desk, meaning her personal phone was vying for her attention. And her personal phone was on do not disturb, with only a handful of people allowed to bypass that.

“Call up Cassie, and if Joe comes back, tell him to let himself in here,” Olivia called out to Amanda, still distracted. Amanda put up her hand in a half wave of acknowledgement as she opened the door and slipped out, shutting it behind her once again.

Olivia’s phone screen was lit up with two messages, and her heart did a small flip of anxiety as she saw the name Juliet 🚀 Benson pop up on her lock screen.

But anxiety was replaced by a wave of warmth as she opened the messages and saw the contents.

Juliet: i love you too
Juliet sent an image

Olivia tapped open the image to find a picture of Jet’s robotics classroom, complete with the latest project they’d been working on, some sort of robot that could play little games of soccer. Beside the bot was a tiny model of it, presumably constructed in the planning phase.

She was halfway through typing a response along the lines of very impressive! in regards to the robot, when another buzz signaled Jet had sent something else.

Juliet: ^^us if we were robots

Olivia took a shaky breath in, held it, and then let it out in one whoosh. They were alright. They were okay. Or they would be, at least. She opened the little gif section to find something to send in return, and managed to find one of Wall-E hugging Eve, which seemed to get the point across.

Mama sent an image
Mama: 💗💗💗

She put her personal phone down on her desk beside her work phone, wanting easy access to both throughout the day, and took another deep breath, jabbing her keyboard to wake her computer back up.

You have 1 email in your Drafts. Would you like to send this email?

She didn’t know whether she was doing it to punish him, or because it was the right thing to do. She didn’t really know what the right thing to do was anymore, regarding him.

But she knew what the right thing to do for Jet was.

You have 0 emails in your Drafts.

— — — — — —

He looked like shit.

Elliot looked awful, and Ayanna would’ve been more sympathetic if she wasn’t this incredibly pissed at him.

Still, even in all her anger, she’d given him the morning off. Given was generous— she’d made him stay home. She knew he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night she’d dragged him from Captain Benson’s apartment to the emergency room to run tests on his blood and find a nurse to bandage his hands.

The same hands rested on the table in front of her now, both wrapped in gauze. One had bled from the teeth of a little girl, the other from shards of glass.

Stigmata, she thought to herself, bitterly. Wasn’t that the whole point of them, anyways? To get the stigmata you had to want the suffering.

She’d listened in Sunday School, once or twice.

“Your Tox Screen came back positive for GHB,” she informed him. “Your blood alcohol content was only .02%.”

“I told you I only had the one drink,” he muttered, and Ayanna really didn’t think it was fair that he was the one getting defensive right now.

“Do you know why they drugged you?” Ayanna asked, opting to ignore his commentary.

“My guess is it was to test my behavior and overall trustworthiness,” Elliot said, almost sounding as if he was reciting it as he brought the heel of his palm up to his temple to rub there. He probably still had a headache. “I remember pieces of that conversation. She kept asking me about work and I kept talking about the Marines.”

“‘She’ being…” Ayanna looked down at the paper in front of her. “Destiny.”

“Yeah.”

“Great.” Ayanna flipped the folder shut. “You’re off the case.”

Elliot blinked. “‘Scuse me?”

“I said,” Ayanna repeated, slowly: “You’re off the case.”

“But—” Elliot said, looking genuinely surprised. Ayanna honestly didn’t know how he could be surprised by that. “But I just told you. I didn’t let anything slip.”

“Until you broke protocol and slipped into Captain Benson’s apartment in the middle of the night—”

“Sergeant—”

“—Wreaking havoc and scaring the shit out of a little girl.” Ayanna could not forget the look of devastation on Elliot’s face when she found him on the Captain’s living room floor, desperately trying to pick shards of glass out of a stuffed dragon with his bare hands while a child sobbed somewhere in the distance.

What a goddamned clusterfuck.

She could see the hints of that same devastation now, in his eyes, around the corners of his mouth, as he tried to justify the situation while keeping in mind the traumatized child that he clearly felt some intense guilt over. “Jet… Juliet has been through a lot,” he landed on.

“And thanks to you, she’s been through even more,” Ayanna replied. “Your lack of judgement in this situation was scarily inappropriate. You are so lucky Captain Benson isn’t pushing for any reprimand, do you understand that?”

Ayanna couldn’t even parse through the complicated tangle of emotions painted across his face, Elliot just looked… pained. “Did Captain Benson order me off the case?”

“The only thing that matters here is that I’m the one ordering you off the case,” Ayanna snapped. It would have gone this way whether or not Captain Benson sent her the formal request, she hoped Olivia knew that. “You have a history with substance abuse—”

Elliot’s complicated tangle of emotions suddenly pulled on the thread that unraveled into anger. “What the fuck are you implying—”

“—And I won’t authorize putting you into a situation that could trigger a relapse.”

“You think that I intended to get roofied—?”

“I think that even if you had no intention of drinking at all, one bad night could cause a domino effect.” Ayanna put her hands up. “This is it, Stabler. This is my final decision, and I’ve already put in the paperwork.”

“You already— you didn’t even tell me before you— is this going in my fucking file?”

“The only notice going in your file is that you were temporarily incapacitated after being forced to consume a laced substance by a third party, nothing that will have any impact on trust in future cases. But if you want those future cases, you’ll have to earn my trust—”

“Your— I was dosed! I was out of my mind, I wasn’t thinking—”

“And that’s the problem, Elliot, you weren’t thinking,” Ayanna emphasized. “As soon as you started feeling dizzy, buzzed, off— you call me, you call the station, Hell, you can even call Captain Benson— but there is literally no excuse for showing up at her apartment in the middle of the night, especially not with a child there. If you thought it wasn’t safe to come to me or the bureau because you might’ve been followed, why on God’s Green Earth would you think it okay to read them right to the private residence of an NYPD Captain and her little girl?”

“I wasn’t being followed!” Elliot snapped. “I went to Olivia’s apartment because it was close and safe, that’s all I— in my state, that was all I was—”

“She is not your partner anymore,” Ayanna interrupted him.

For some reason, those were the magic words that shut him up fast.

“Captain Benson is not your partner. She is not even in your bureau. She is your superior officer, and she has no obligation to you beyond the responsibilities she has to oversee every detective of your rank. Do you understand that?”

Stabler was pale. She saw the bob of his throat as he swallowed, but didn’t respond.

“Detective Stabler,” Ayanna repeated. “Do you understan—”

“Yes,” he hissed, cutting her off. “Yes, I understand you.”

“You’re off the case,” Ayanna repeated. “I’ve got a new detective who’s going to try to get in with Destiny. You’ll collect intel and monitor from the office.”

Elliot’s eyes were drifting far away as he nodded, and Ayanna was frustrated knowing he definitely wasn’t listening to her but not frustrated enough to do anything about it because really, she wanted this conversation to be over as quickly as humanly possible.

“There’s some paperwork on your desk to wrap the assignment up, and I noted some stuff you said while you were out of it. If you’re able to actually remember any of the conversations you witnessed, you’re welcome to add context,” Ayanna said. “Any questions?”

“Nope,” Elliot said, obviously mentally checked out.

“Good,” Ayanna said. “Then wrap up and go home to get some sleep. You still look like Hell.”

Stabler pushed himself out of his chair and left her office without another word, plopping himself into the rolling chair at his desk. Ayanna watched him for a moment before looking down at her calendar. She had a meeting with the new officer— soon to be detective— in a half an hour, at a coffee shop by the one-six.

Maria Recinos was the young woman’s name.

I have high hopes for you, Maria, Ayanna thought to herself as she slid the girl’s file into her bag and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, ready to make her way over to their meeting place. Though the bar is honestly in Hell.

Chapter Text

Unknown Number: are you at the precinct

Malachi is typing…

Malachi: who is this?

Unknown Number: jet

Malachi: i don’t remember giving you my number
Malachi: i think i’d remember giving you my number

Maybe: Jet: precinct. yes or no

Malachi: no
Malachi: why?
Malachi: you miss me?

Jet is typing…

Malachi: i can hear you rolling your eyes from brooklyn

Jet: nvm

Malachi: no no don’t leave me hanging here
Malachi: i’m currently baby sitting but you’re welcome to join us
Malachi: save me from the tiny tyrant

Jet: im terrible with kids

Malachi is typing…
Malachi shared his location.

Malachi: mia doesn’t mind
Malachi: she sees the best in everyone
Malachi: :)

— — — — — —

This felt like a bad idea.

She’d had ample time to think about it. The Metro-North train was long enough, and the subway to Brooklyn just added more and more minutes to tick by as Jet mused over what a bad idea this felt like.

And yet she didn’t move from her seat.

She couldn’t go to the precinct. Or— she could, there was nothing stopping her. Usually when she stayed in her mother’s office, as long as she remained under the desk, she was left entirely alone. Olivia didn’t let many people in without warning. Fin, Amanda, Rafa, Sonny. Nobody else.

But two nights ago she had. Two nights ago Olivia had let someone into their home— a man, a man bigger than them both, a man under the influence of drugs. While Jet had been asleep. It didn’t matter if her mother thought Elliot was safe, if she claimed he had never hurt her before. Men on drugs were unpredictable, men on drugs were inherently dangerous.

And Olivia had just… let him in.

So the thought of attempting to rest— or God forbid, nap— at the precinct made Jet’s skin crawl.

But where else could she go? Their apartment was absolutely no longer an option, not after it had been breached so easily just a few nights before. Robotics was over, everyone had gone home, Claire was vaguely busy, whatever that meant, Katie was actively teaching a class, and besides— Jet didn’t know if she’d already spoken to her father about the events of the previous night. Best not to risk it.

Jet was no stranger to wandering around the city, but frankly, she was exhausted. She had faith in her ability to stay awake until the sun went down, but beyond that, she could hardly function. She couldn’t rely on herself to be alert right now— and she always had to be alert in public. So her options were to either go somewhere private and secure, or to stick close to someone she could trust to be on guard for her.

Not that she trusted Adam. Of course she didn’t trust Adam, he was a criminal, for God’s sake— but that meant he had a criminal instinct, he was used to looking over his shoulder. So she could at least trust that he was hyper aware of his surroundings. And he was babysitting his niece, his young niece who he seemed to love a lot, so she was fairly confident he wouldn’t try anything weird with Mia around. Right? Right. Probably. The more she thought about it the more she tried to convince herself it had to be true. She couldn’t exactly deem Adam safe yet, but she was pretty sure he could be classified as not a serious threat.

That was enough, for now. It had to be enough. For now.

Brooklyn wasn’t as easy to navigate as Manhattan, but she figured it out quickly enough— passed Benson Ave and wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that at the given moment— before she made her way through the apartment complex and to the unit listed on the address.

It felt all too intimate.

Sure, Adam had already met her entire family. Not that he knew that. He probably assumed there were more, that there were aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. But there weren’t, and he’d met the single other person she could sincerely call hers. All interaction, though, had been contained to inside the precinct, and while not exactly a “neutral” location for either of them, it wasn’t as personal as a home. And then they’d bumped into each other once, out on the town, as Claire had put it, but only for minutes.

This was Adam’s home. This was a peek into his life, outside of the— what was the Iron Man quote—? Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist facade he tried to personify to the rest of the world. Sub “vigilante” for “philanthropist.” This was meeting the little girl that he adored, the only name Jet had heard so far that caused him to visibly soften, lose a little of the cocky mask. He’d mentioned his sister— was that his niece’s mother, or did he have more siblings? Would there be more inside, organized chaos like Claire’s house? Was this his sister’s apartment? Oh, God, if Jet was showing up to his sister’s apartment and she didn’t know she was there, that would be a whole other can of worms.

Jet stared at the door, and even though she’d had well over an hour to build up the courage, she still felt woefully unprepared for whatever came next.

She didn’t have much more time to dwell on the issue, though, as before she could knock (or run away), the door swung open.

“Hey,” Adam said, with what Jet decided was far too big of a smile considering the last time he’d seen her she’d all but ruined his date. “Most people, upon arriving at their destination—” he reached behind him to rap on the door twice. “You know, to let the host know they’re here.”

Jet crossed her arms over her stomach, suddenly feeling strangely vulnerable. “You figured it out.”

“Camera.” Adam stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. “In here.”

Jet leaned in to look into the peephole, where she found a tiny lens. “Oh.”

“Goes right to my phone.”

Jet waited for Adam to open the door again, but he didn’t.

“Listen,” Adam said quietly, smile fading as he grew a little more serious. “Probably should’ve warned you about this before you got here…”

Jet did not like the sound of that. “Should you be leaving a four year old alone in there…?”

“She’s with my mother, they’re fine,” Adam said, glancing at the door. “Which is, ah— what I should’ve told you.”

“That your mother’s home?” Jet was not understanding the issue here.

It was strange to see Adam search for words, but that was exactly what he was now doing. “My mother’s mind isn’t…” he gestured near his head. “She got a brain injury when I was a kid. She has good days and bad days, and today’s been a better one, so far, but she doesn’t… remember things. She might call you by my sister’s name, or be a little confused about why you’re here… I should’ve told you earlier, but she was napping, and I didn’t even think about it…”

“I can go,” Jet said, already reaching for the easy out. “If it’s gonna upset her…”

But Adam was already shaking his head, grasping the door handle to open it again. “She’ll love you, she’s just gonna need a minute to just adjust.”

Jet was not feeling any more confident about this than she had been five minutes ago.

She followed Adam into the apartment, toeing off her converse when she saw the other shoes lined up beside the door. Adam’s sneakers and a pair of tiny purple sneakers that must have belonged to Mia. She could hear a voice, a low woman’s voice, speaking in a language she didn’t recognize, though the sitting room was empty.

She heard a click from behind her, and turned to see Adam locking the door. There were a few locks. She wasn’t sure if she should be nervous about that or not.

Adam noticed her observing and seemed to sense her mild unease. “Mom wanders,” he offered as way of explanation. “This is really the only one that always needs to be locked—” he flicked a black bar, very different from the other traditional metal deadbolt and chain, open and then shut again. “‘Cause it’s sort of like the camera, it’s linked to my phone. Sends me an alert whenever it’s unlocked.”

“Smart,” Jet said, to which Adam responded with a pressed smile.

“For the sake of transparency, you should also know that there’s a camera in here,” Adam informed her. “So you don’t think I’m paranoid, or something. It covers the living room, kitchen, and doorway.” He pointed towards the ceiling corner, where Jet saw a little blinking light. “All for safety reasons, just… I promise I’m not creepy.”

She was quiet for maybe a moment too long, because Adam looked at her, almost nervously— was that boy even capable of being nervous? That was news to her— and said, “Jet? We good?”

“We’re good,” she agreed, dropping her eyes from the camera. She hadn’t meant to stare. She was honestly just zoning in and out, at this point.

“You wanna put your stuff in my room?” he offered quietly enough to not interrupt the monologue from wherever it was coming from. “This way.”

He led Jet through the sitting room, past the small kitchen, to two doors across from each other. The woman’s voice was stronger, coming from the room that’s door remained partially ajar. Adam turned instead to the one that was entirely shut, nudging the door open with a shoulder. “Here.”

There was the organized chaos Jet had been expecting. The room wasn’t exactly a mess— especially not by teenage boy standards— but there was definitely a lot happening in most places. Metal bits and bobs were scattered on his desk, surrounding a clearly (and impressively, Jet had to admit) self-built but obviously very loved PC. A shelf above the desk had a stack of comics and magazines, a small succulent, and… a bible. That was a little unexpected. A bible, and balanced on top of it, a similar looking book but with a title in Arabic script. On the bed were various knit— crocheted? Hadn’t he once mentioned knowing how to crochet—? Plushies, of various animals. And a few pokemon scattered in. Even though he claimed to know how to crochet, Jet had the feeling that he wasn’t the one who had made all of those.

“Toss it anywhere,” Adam instructed. “And you can sit anywhere, too—” he grabbed a hoodie and blanket from the desk chair and tossed them onto the bed.

Jet placed her backpack near the foot of the bed and perched on the corner of it. “No cameras in here?”

“Nah, not in the bedrooms. Just in the front.” Adam dropped into the desk chair across from her, swiveling back and forth with a foot. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jet said. “Just—” she shook her head. “Just really tired.”

“So you decided to make the trek from midtown to Brooklyn?” Adam asked, unconvinced.

“Westchester,” Jet mumbled.

“What?”

“I came from school. Westchester to Grand Central to Brooklyn.”

Adam blinked. “Jesus, that’s a hike.”

Jet just shrugged.

“And you didn’t go to the precinct because…”

“They seemed busy,” was her cop out answer. She knew he wouldn’t buy it— and from the look on his face, he did not— but it was enough to get him to stop asking questions she really didn’t want to answer. “I’m sorry for ruining your date.”

She hadn’t exactly meant to blurt it out like that, but she felt the need to address the elephant in the room. At least, it was an elephant to her. He might not have been thinking about it at all. Maybe he’d forgotten, and she’d just reminded him, and he’d get pissed all over again and kick her out.

But Adam just smiled. “Ruining my date?”

“Telling the ACAB girl that you work for the police. It was a dick move. And I’m sorry.”

He looked all too pleased, leaning back in his chair. “So it was on purpose,” he mused aloud. “I wasn’t sure if it was a case of genuine innocence.”

Jet rolled her eyes, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks.

“What was it then?” Adam asked, teasing glint in his eye. “Jealousy?”

“You wish,” Jet responded, almost instinctively.

“Oh, you wound me.” He put his hand to his chest in mock pain. “It’s fine, though. It wasn’t gonna go anywhere. It was fun for a bit, but we had, uh…” he gestured vaguely, gaze breaking away from Jet. “Ideological differences.”

“Ideological differences,” Jet repeated. “Like the fact that she thinks all cops are terrible people—”

“Okay, okay, I have a feeling I shouldn’t get you started on this one,” Adam said, holding up his hands in surrender. “For the record, that’s not the message that ACAB is intended to convey, and— and,” Adam emphasized, when Jet opened her mouth to argue. “And I don’t believe all cops are bad people.” He waited for her to relax a little before adding, “only most of them.”

“If you say anything bad about my mom,” Jet said, and hadn’t really thought her threat all the way through, so she landed on, “I’ll break your nose.”

He only grinned, which Jet did not think was an appropriate response to threats of physical violence. “There you are. Your lack of usual snarky commentary was making me nervous.”

It didn’t really seem like he had a leg to stand on when referring to others as snarky, and Jet did not like that he had so easily predicted and baited her into a reaction. Or that she’d fallen right for it.

“I don’t think your mom’s a bad person. I think she’s doing the best she can within a very broken system, and I have a lot of respect for her and all the work she does for victims,” Adam added.

It was so surprisingly earnest that Jet was a bit too taken aback to respond.

“Have you eaten?” Adam asked, switching the subject to easier ground, apparently not noticing her little internal crisis. “We ate pretty early, on account of the—” he cocked his head towards the door. “Y’know, the four year old, but we have some stuff left over in the fridge I can reheat—”

“I’m fine,” Jet cut him off. “I’m not hungry. But thank you.”

“Okay,” he said. “Not that— not that I’m not thrilled to see you, it’s great, really, so don’t take this the wrong way—”

Great start.

“But why are you here?” Adam asked. “It’s not— it’s a long trek, and you already said you’re exhausted.” He cocked his head, studying her, and sometimes it was easy to forget that under all the dumb jokes and sardonic comments, Adam was very, very smart. Too smart for his own good, maybe. “Did you and your mother have a fight, or something—?”

“No,” Jet cut him off. “My mom and I don’t fight.”

It was true. It was. Olivia was endlessly patient, and the only time she ever really raised her voice at Jet was when she was afraid, when Jet did something that could put herself in danger. She knew some other parents probably thought Olivia was too patient and too lenient— Olivia didn’t have many rules, Jet had more freedom than most of her classmates— but Jet had grown up with far less supervision than most kids and Olivia had been careful to not suddenly restrict her too much.

In return, Jet tried to make her mother’s life as easy as humanly possible. She didn’t have assigned chores, like most of her peers, because she just… took care of it. Anything around the apartment that needed to be done, Jet did, when she could. She never protested curfew, she never complained when her mother got called into work on weekends or holidays. Neither she nor Olivia were particularly good cooks, but Jet could manage enough to not burn the apartment down in an attempt to have dinner ready when her mother came home late. She got good grades, amazing grades, and she didn’t get in trouble at school— barring her brief suspension, but, in her defense, she had avoided talking to Olivia about it for the same reason she still saw her useless therapist. She just didn’t want her mother to have to worry. About any of it. She owed that much to her. Olivia had saved her life, in a way that could never be repaid. The last thing Jet wanted to do was burden her.

Sometimes Jet felt like she was running on borrowed time. She knew how quickly a life could dramatically change— in her case, she’d been lucky, she’d gone from Hell on Earth to a life of comfort and safety. But that meant she knew how fast she could lose it all, how suddenly her little haven could be destroyed. So Jet tried to be the one thing she’d been conditioned to be for as long as she could remember— a good girl. If she quietly behaved, if enough people loved her, saw her as a Mini-Liv, as Alex liked to put it, then she’d be safe. Protected. Of course she had contingency plans, she always had an emergency contingency plan, but for the most part, the sailing was smooth.

The incident with Elliot didn’t have to change that. Maybe now, maybe that— that nightmare had been what her mother had needed to finally fully understand that he wasn’t a safe person. Jet had tried to scare him off at the very beginning, and when that hadn’t worked, she’d bit her tongue and hoped he’d mess up just enough that the rose colored glasses would slip off Olivia’s eyes. Not a lot— if Jet had found out that Elliot hurt her mother again, she would not have hesitated to cause a full on shit storm. Just enough that Olivia realized.

But oh boy, had he messed up. Worse than Jet could’ve possibly imagined.

Jet did not care what her mother said— there was only one reason a man showed up at a woman’s apartment in the middle of the night, especially when he was that heavily intoxicated. Everybody knew that. It wasn’t Jet’s trauma talking, it was common fucking sense.

But still, her mother had a defense, a reason ready to go. And Jet didn’t know why, anymore— was Olivia just sugarcoating in an attempt to make Jet think they hadn’t been in danger, an attempt to make Jet feel safer? Or was she literally so blinded by this man that for the first time in seven years Jet’s safety hadn’t been her top priority?

“Jet?” Adam said softly, and she snapped out of her thoughts, realizing that at some point he’d sat down next to her and she hadn’t even noticed. “You’re kind of freaking me out. What’s going on?”

Jet looked at him, took in his face, his big brown eyes that would be fitting on a baby calf accounting for size, sweetness and general patheticness.

“Someone broke into our apartment,” she said, looking away, and it was almost the truth, but it wasn’t. Because how could Adam understand that the fact that he was allowed in was so much scarier than the idea of him forcing his way in? “Nobody was hurt. He was just… he was high, out of his mind, the police came and took care of it.”

“Oh my God,” Adam breathed, and he sounded horrified but Jet would not look at his face to confirm. “Are you okay?”

“Nobody was hurt,” Jet repeated.

“That doesn’t mean—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “That’s fucking terrifying. Do you know— was it random, or…?”

Jet shook her head in small, tight, movements. “He was there for my mom. She says that we were never in any danger, that he was just out of it, but I…” She swallowed hard. “I don’t feel safe in the apartment. The precinct is— it’s loud, and crowded, and overwhelming. And I feel like—”

Her voice died out. She’d been about to say way too much. More than Adam needed to know.

“Go on,” Adam prompted.

She shook her head again— she was getting dizzy from all the head shaking she was doing tonight. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he said, and his hand twitched, like he was about to reach for hers, so she quickly brought her hand away from him and into her lap.

“I feel like my mother isn’t taking this as seriously as she should,” she said, and it wasn’t exactly what she had been about to say, but it was the same sentiment. Adam had let her into his home, had told her about his own mother— she supposed she could let him in a little in return. It was only fair. Or maybe that was what he wanted. Exactly like she had thought to herself previously. Underneath the charm and sarcasm, Adam was smart. He was crafty. Information was currency to hackers like Adam— vigilante antiheroes with a gray moral code.

“How could she not take it seriously?” Adam asked, sounding offended on her behalf. “A man broke into her apartment, high, where she and her kid were sleeping—”

“She wasn’t asleep,” Jet mumbled, even though it wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things. “Only I was.”

“What if he was armed?”

Jet flinched, involuntarily, too quickly to be able to prevent it.

“Sorry,” Adam said. “Sorry, I didn’t— but really, I can’t find any logic in brushing this off.”

“They have history. She says he would never hurt either of us, and I— I think she wants to believe that, but I don’t know if she really does.” Jet brought her hands to her face and let out a shaky sigh. She didn’t really like how good it felt to talk to Adam about this. It shouldn’t have been such a relief, not when they still barely knew each other. But she and Claire didn’t talk about things like this, and she couldn’t go to Katie, not when the topic of conversation was her literal father. And every other person in her life had been Olivia’s first. They would either jump straight to defending her, or overly gently imply that all of Jet’s concerns were rooted in previous trauma. Worse, parrot it all right back to her mother. Even Alex was friends with Elliot, for some strange reason Jet couldn’t wrap her head around.

“My mother,” Adam said slowly, like he was still piecing together what he wanted to say. “She’s— um— she’s trusting. Not when it comes to Sara— my sister— she’s very protective of Sara… But when Sara’s not around, she assumes that everybody who says ‘hi’ wants to be her friend. And I think, really, I think it’s because the alternative is a little too scary for her to handle. That some people might have bad intentions. It’s too much for her. So as much as the makeshift security around our front door is to make sure she doesn’t wander out of the apartment, it’s also to make sure she doesn’t let any strangers in.” He glanced at Jet, and then just as quickly looked away. “I know it’s not exactly the same, but I understand, kinda. The frustration of trying to get through to her, this seemingly very basic, common sense concept, while also not wanting to be the one to frighten or upset her.” He shrugged. “And also already being a little frightened or upset yourself, because our parents are supposed to know better. We should be the ones making poor choices and sneaking around with strangers, not them.”

Fuck.

He’d hit the nail straight on the head.

Jet could feel her blood rushing in her veins all of a sudden, could hear her heart beating in her ears. She was feeling a complicated sort of emotion— an excited sort of relief that somebody else understood her, that somebody felt what she was feeling, that her emotions weren’t so fucked up from years of trauma that she was in a league of her own. But on the other hand, she was flooded by a rush of anxiety, because Adam had just perfectly verbalized almost every single feeling she’d been experiencing for months but had no idea how to put into words, and had he been able to read her that easily? Was he just saying what she wanted to hear? And if so, how had he been able to figure out what she wanted to hear with such… precision?

But that wasn’t her biggest problem to contend with, at the moment. Because it was true. It was all true. Adam was right. Jet was frustrated with her mother, because it was so obvious to her that Olivia was disregarding all of the advice she gave victims about “second chances,” and how could her brilliant, intelligent, clever mother be so blind that she was falling into that exact trap? But even when Olivia had given her an out, had allowed Jet to freely express her opinions on the matter— she hadn’t. Because she could tell Olivia wanted so badly to believe the best of Elliot, and if Jet was the one to take that away from her… Jet didn’t want to be the one to yank off the rosy glasses, to upset her mother that badly, because she was so, so scared that Olivia would resent her for it later. And now, after the previous night, Jet was upset and afraid. Her mother always prioritized Jet’s safety, always, and nothing had ever caused her to waver in that regard. Until Elliot. And if Elliot could cause Olivia to waver on that, then what else could he nudge her into reconsidering?

Especially if Jet was the only thing standing between him and Olivia.

Jet put her face in her hands again, leaned her elbows on her knees, and tried to breathe through the wave of dizziness that had just flooded through her.

“Sorry,” Adam said awkwardly, after a long, silent pause. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— uh, to overstep, or make it all about my mother, I was just trying to—”

“You didn’t,” Jet interrupted, and God, did they always sound this painfully awkward? “You didn’t. I needed— I needed to hear that, I needed to know I’m not insane.”

“You’re not,” Adam said emphatically. “And, anyways, even if you were— that would mean I am too, then. So even if you were crazy, at least you wouldn’t be alone in your insanity.”

And once again, he managed to strike the heart of the issue. Because Jet didn’t really care if she was crazy, if she was irrational— she was more scared of being disregarded. Left behind. Dismissed.

Adam wasn’t dismissing her.

“Thanks,” she said, and realized as soon as it left her mouth how sarcastic it sounded. “I mean— I’m serious. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Adam said, rubbing the back of his neck. He appeared to uncertainly not know how to respond. “I’m gonna— I’m gonna go check on them. You’re welcome to crash in here, if you wanna take a nap or something… the door locks from the inside, there’s no key or anything. And I got that whole security set up by the door, so you don’t really have to worry about anyone forcing their way in.”

It was very sweet of him to offer, but despite the security reassurances, Jet did not think that she’d be able to sleep in a new place with a guy she hardly knew just outside the door. Even in her exhausted state, she’d probably drift in and out of dozing and hyper alert phases, and only end up feeling shittier than she did now.

“I’m alright,” Jet said.

“Alright. Okay.” Adam brushed his hands on his jeans as he got up from the bed, and then shook them out as he stood there. His hands were always moving. Jet wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen them still. “I’ll give you a moment, and then you can come meet the circus.”

“The circus,” Jet repeated.

“The baby, the cat, and my mom,” Adam elaborated.

“Great.”

Chapter Text

Elliot: Just wanted to check in.
Elliot: I’m sorry for everything that happened this weekend. Let me know if you have a moment you can talk.
Elliot: I hope Jet is OK.
Read 8 hours ago.

He had left the house in an attempt to stop wallowing and rereading the messages, hovering like an anxious dog waiting for their owner to return home. But still he checked. Almost compulsively.

Olivia was pissed. Elliot knew Olivia was pissed. And she had every right to be.

Ayanna was right, unfortunately, even if he’d argued with her on it. He had been out of line. Wildly out of line. And Captain Benson had no obligation to him. Jet’s mother had no obligation to him. And now that they weren’t partners— hadn’t been, for over a decade, for reasons entirely his own fault— Olivia had no obligation to him. But she’d let him in, anyways, had allowed him into her home. And in return he’d hurt the one person in the world who mattered the most to her.

Yeah. Olivia had every damn right to be pissed.

How many more chances did he have, before he struck out? How much more grace would she afford him? He thought he might be in a grace debt by now. He wasn’t trying to bleed her dry.

And now he found himself in his third toy store of the day— more baby boutique than toy store, really— near Rockefeller Center, searching in vain for a passable dragon.

It wasn’t the same, and he knew it wouldn’t ever be. He had five kids, he was fully aware of how sacred a comfort plush was. He didn’t know if Olivia had gotten Jet that dragon or somebody else in her life, and he knew that the gifter had probably mattered much more to her than the actual dragon itself. A dragon now littered with tiny shards of glass as the result of a tussle he didn’t remember but could sort of visualize if he tried hard enough.

What if her birth mother gave her that dragon?

The thought plagued him. The idea had been burrowing into his brain all day and causing him a not small amount of distress. He wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself if he had ruined a last connection to Jet’s biological parents. Ayanna had told him she’d found him picking shards out of the plush toy, and he could only hope the damage was mostly fixed. She’d told him she’d left it on the counter and quickly swept the glass into a manageable pile, equal parts trying to get Elliot out of there as fast as possible while also minimizing future chances of injury by either the captain or her daughter.

Elliot found the large bin he was looking for, the one full of stuffed creatures of various size and shape. He dug past a smiling purple hippo, a blue bunny with droopy ears.

Since leaving the precinct, taking a breath, he could understand why he was off the case. He could. He wasn’t happy about it, he didn’t agree with the decision, but he could follow the thought process. He was worried, though. Destiny— maybe her boss—? Had tested him with drugs. He’d passed, presumably. But the next UC that OCCB sent— they’d have to go through the process all over again. Even knowing they’d be drugged, there was almost no way they’d be able to escape the hazing. Not under Destiny’s close watch. And if OCCB sent a woman, posed her as a prostitute? Who knew what the hazing would be like for her. Those girls were branded. Painfully. Permanently.

For all of his own mistakes, he couldn’t help but feel like his squad was about to make another.

Underneath a curly-haired pig with a spot around its eye, he found it. Maybe not the dragon, but it was a dragon, and he really wasn’t sure where else to look, so it would have to suffice for now. It seemed to be from the same company— it was posed the same, more sleepy than aggressive, soft to the touch. The only difference was the colors. Where Jet’s had been a midnight blue with gold scales down its back and stars under the wings, this dragon was a grayish kind of blue with dark red wings and scales. It sort of reminded Elliot of a police car.

It obviously wasn’t the same. Maybe that was for the better, honestly. He couldn’t replace her beloved plush, he couldn’t ever replicate the comfort it gave her— but he could apologize. I don’t want to take away any of the bits of childhood you have left.

He made his way to the front of the store to finish buying the plush, where the young, bored looking cashier— slightly out of place with his shaggy, dark hair, though Elliot couldn’t imagine he looked that much more in place— punched in the number of the barcode. The store was mostly quiet. An older woman with an ugly knitted scarf in the aisle full of cards for baby showers and gender reveals. A young couple in puffy jackets examining pairs of tiny shoes.

“Sir?”

Elliot turned back to the cashier, trying to swallow down his sudden grief of everything that had been and could’ve been and that some children never got to have. “Sorry?”

“I asked if you need a gift receipt.”

“Uh— yeah, that’s fine. Gift receipt’s fine.”

“Your total is thirty-seven fifty.”

Elliot handed over his card, making every attempt not to look at the baby shoes in his peripheral vision and send himself spiraling again. He felt a buzz from his pocket and quickly— a little too quickly, maybe— fished out his phone.

No new notifications.

His brow furrowed in confusion, but the cashier was handing back his card, and then the small blue bag with white ribbon handles that proclaimed him a customer of Tiny Treasures Boutique.

“Thanks,” he said to the cashier, shoving his phone into his right pocket.

Now he was imagining things, great. Maybe he did need to lay off the UC work for a while.

Outside wasn’t all that busy not by Rockefeller Center standards— it was still New York City, but it was a Monday evening during the off-peak season, so Elliot didn’t have to search all that hard to find a bench that almost allowed him a view of the face of Prometheus. He wasn’t really sure what to do next. He wasn’t ready to return home, alone with nothing but his thoughts and shitty TV. He wasn’t stupid enough to bring the dragon to the Bensons’ apartment directly— he knew better than to go anywhere near the building for the time being. He planned on giving the dragon to Olivia, or maybe Kathleen, to pass along so that Jet could accept or reject it without any external pressure. But he had a feeling that showing up at the 1-6 right about now would be an even worse idea than going anywhere near their home.

The dragon could wait a few days. Elliot could take his time meandering home.

Another buzz. This time from his left pocket. The one tucked away on the inside of his jacket.

Elliot blinked, confused, before reaching for whatever was causing the noise. And then his eyes widened.

The burner phone.

He hadn’t intentionally taken it. He wasn’t trying to incur Ayanna’s wrath any further, or anything like that. He hadn’t even realized he was wearing the jacket from his undercover op— he had grabbed from his closet at random in his rush to escape the emptiness of his place.

But now the burner phone was in his hand, having buzzed twice. And it was probably a spam call, and the right thing to do would be to leave the phone shut and go right back to OCCB and drop it on Ayanna’s desk while she sighed and rolled her eyes at his return.

But Elliot had not been in the practice of doing the right thing, lately. In fact, he’d gotten pretty good at fucking things up halfway to Tuesday.

So what was one more bad decision in the bucket of shitty choices that had landed him here in the first place?

He clicked on the phone.

Destiny: sleep off the hangover yet?
Destiny: i’ll be in prospect park @ 7

Elliot’s throat went dry. How the hell had she gotten his number? He clicked one of the notifications, opening the messages. He knew the tech had set up his out-put to be automatically deleting, but input was saved for evidentiary purposes. Which meant he wouldn’t have been able to see until Destiny texted him— a text sent on Saturday night, 11:47 PM. Joe Donovan to Destiny. Hey.

He had no memory of getting Destiny’s number. She must have slipped his phone at some point once the drugs had kicked in, texted herself to get into the contacts—

Fuck. Of course she’d taken his phone, of course that was what the drugs were for— Elliot said a silent thank you to TARU for putting the effort into making the phones look realistic, filling them with junk mail and random apps and all that nonsense. All Destiny would have found in his messages… He exited out of the conversation to scroll through the facade of Joe Donovan’s other conversations. Abandoned verification codes. Venmo requests from various women that he didn’t want to think about the implications of too hard. Random male names with half-baked, dry dialogues about sports scores and jobs.

The phone buzzed again, the notification flashing across the top of his screen.

Destiny: could use some company ;)

Elliot let out his breath in one fell swoop. I should text Ayanna. I should really text Ayanna.

Joe: I’ll be there.