Chapter Text
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Donald Cragen
Don Cragen was worried. He hadn’t been at first. In fact, he’d been looking forward to it in a way. Not the surgery—no one ever anticipates something like that with pleasure. But the aftermath, when his friend and mentee Olivia Benson was slated to come stay with him in the days after he came home. It had been eons since they’d spent any time together, and he was pleased with the notion of having time to catch up with her and her delightful son, Noah, whom he also had not seen for some time.
The plan had come about when he and his partner Eileen had been at an impasse. His surgeon had needed to reschedule his knee replacement surgery, and the only slot available this year was just three days before Eileen’s granddaughter’s high school graduation in Ohio. He knew how much she wanted to attend, so offered to defer the procedure until next year. But she knew how much pain he was in, and insisted instead that she would miss it, since it was compulsory that someone be with him his first few days home from the hospital.
That’s when Eileen decided to call Olivia to see if she could take a few days off to come to Beacon, NY, where Don and Eileen now resided. Olivia readily agreed, provided she could make arrangements for Noah, since it was the middle of the school year. Noah, having embraced dance with a passion, was now attending Fiorello LaGuardia High School, New York’s premier public school specializing in the performing arts. After conferring with Noah’s guidance counselor, the school made arrangements for Noah to sit in and observe a workshop for a potential Broadway musical taking place that week at Vassar College in nearby Poughkeepsie.
And so it was agreed that Olivia and Noah would stay in the Cragen/Switzer cottage just off Main Street in Beacon. Don’s home health aide and his physical therapist were each scheduled to make their daily visits during the times that Olivia would need to drive Noah to and from Poughkeepsie, so that he’d not be left alone. And those two health professionals would attend to Don’s more personal needs, so that Olivia’s primary roles would be to keep him company, keep him fed, and monitor him in case of a negative reaction. Since his history with alcohol addiction meant that he’d be unable to take any opioids for pain, she also would need to keep an eye on his pain levels.
So all was settled to everyone’s satisfaction, or so he thought. Then he and Eileen visited the City to see a show on Broadway and have dinner with Fin Tutuola and his partner Phoebe Baker. Fin had been pleased to hear of Olivia’s planned visit, and suggested that Cragen use the opportunity to get a sense of Olivia’s well-being.
“What do you mean?” asked Cragen. “Is something wrong with her?”
“Probably not,” Fin replied. “But are you aware that she and Stabler are now ‘an item’?”
“No, I didn’t know that. I talked to Elliot recently about something else, and he didn’t mention it,” Cragen said with a frown,
“Why the grim face?” Eileen asked. “I thought you were fond of both of them? Certainly Elliot has been grieving his wife for long enough. I’d think you’d be happy for them.”
“Back in the day, there was a level of codependency to their relationship that was less than healthy,” Cragen replied. “But maybe things have changed. If nothing else, his marital status has. But as for the dynamic….”
“Exactly,” said Fin. “Stabler is one of my closest friends, but Liv is my sister. I’m afraid he might still be seeing the Olivia of fourteen years ago, not the force that she is today. Liv can take care of herself. She won’t let anyone undermine her—not anymore. But I don’t know that she’s happy, or can be happy, with someone who doesn’t see her as she really is.”
With that conversation, Cragen agreed to try to take her temperature. But that meant that the light and friendly visit he’d been anticipating could take on a heavier character. Then the other shoe in the Olivia set dropped.
On the day after his surgery, Don was in a wheelchair at the door of Vassar Brothers Hospital when a familiar face approached.
“Captain? Captain Cragen?”
“Barba! It’s just Don now. What on earth brings you to Poughkeepsie?”
“My aunt just had emergency surgery here. Her kids and grandkids are all out of the country at the moment, so I agreed to take her home and stay with her until one of them can get back. What are you doing out here in the hinterlands?”
“I live here now. Well, in Beacon, but nearby. Just had surgery myself.”
“Ah! My aunt lives just across the bridge in Newburgh,” Rafael observed. He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you hear from Liv at all?”
“Not much. You know how it is. But my partner needs to go out of town, so Liv and Noah are coming this afternoon to stay with me for a few days, so we’ll have a chance to catch up.”
By this time, Eileen had arrived with the car. Cragen introduced her to Barba and explained to her the connection.
“Oh! You should stop by,” Eileen said, handing Rafael a card with their address.
“Thank you,” Barba replied, pocketing the card. “I’m not sure that Liv would welcome that.”
“Oh?” queried Cragen. “I thought you two were friends.”
Don could see Rafael’s eyes mist. “I thought so too,” Barba said with a shrug. He wished Cragen an easy recovery and turned to enter the hospital.
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Rafael Barba
He remembered that time, as many years ago now as the number of years they’d worked together, when he’d told her how she’d colored his stark world. But the truth was, he’d never entirely lost that black and white vision. If, in his mind, he’d been Gary Cooper before he worked with her, he’d been Spencer Tracy while he worked with her. Tracy to her Hepburn. A woman who aggravated the hell out of him, but who also fascinated him. A woman he came to respect and admire, and, eventually, to love. A woman he saw with men who didn’t deserve her. Some shallow, some cold, some bullying, all using her to fill something inside them.
He'd played those Tracy/Hepburn movies in his head through all the years they’d worked together. Just as in the those old films, they maintained a line of professionalism for the world in which they operated. But, instead of coming together in the end, he—with the best of intentions—blew up that world. Twice. She’d stuck with him through the Drew Householder explosion, even when he removed himself out of shame and grief. But the second explosion, in the form of Richard Wheatley, was another matter. She saw color then. Flaming, angry red color. But he was still Spencer Tracy in his mind, there in black and white to protect her and to love her unconditionally. Protection and love that she categorically rejected.
But life is not a good guy/bad guy western, nor is it a romance movie. It is populated with real human beings, with real flaws, with good intentions gone sour, with pasts that influence the present, with damage that can’t be undone.
It had all come into focus a few months ago, when they’d encountered each other on the street. They stopped, acknowledged each other, and she’d invited him for coffee. He couldn’t help himself. He had to ask, “So, have you stopped resenting me?”
She looked at him sadly. “No. I don’t think I ever can. But I miss you more than I resent you.”
“What am I supposed to do with that? What are WE supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did.”
He had not seen Olivia since then, and had spent the ensuing months trying to erase her from his memory. He’d thought he was doing a decent job of it, until this morning when he encountered her former boss and mentor, and learned from him that, within hours, Olivia would be just across a bridge from where he was staying.
Yes, they’d been living in the same city all these years, but somehow this was different. Outside their assigned roles, in a place where the titles of Counselor and Captain were irrelevant, that proximity was…what?....disturbing? Cataclysmic? Promising?
He looked at the card with Cragen’s address. He ought to throw it out. He ought to ignore it. He shouldn’t blindside her while she’s visiting to care for the only father figure she’d ever had. It would be bold, rude, ungracious, selfish to insert himself.
It would be all of that. But as he greeted his aunt’s many friends coming to call, he knew that he was going to go.
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Elliot Stabler
He couldn’t complain about his life. It had always been full. A beautiful wife who (mostly) put up with his crap. Five great kids, and now grandkids. A mother with whom he had made peace. Work that was meaningful. A life that any priest would approve, at least on the surface. What else could a man want?
Happiness. A man could want happiness. Actually, he’d had it, but only in bits and spurts. The early years of his marriage, notwithstanding the shotgun nature of the wedding. The births of his children. The years in Italy, with only one child in tow and the chance to rediscover all the things that had brought him and Kathy together in the first place. And, now, the woman he’d sought ever since he’d overcome the guilt he felt for wanting her so soon after his wife’s horrific murder. For wanting her even when his wife was alive; even when he loved his wife.
He was happy, wasn’t he? Why would he not be? He was with a woman who was smart, strong, beautiful, sexual, and loving. Mature love had its benefits. Great sex with someone who knows what she’s doing. No fear of pregnancy. No neediness. Yet…
Until last night, he’d thought all was well. Sure, between his undercover gigs and family situations, and her demanding job and parenting obligations, they didn’t have much time together. But they made the most of the time they did have.
But these past few months, he’d been feeling a distance between them. As if he’d done something she resented. She said it was nothing, but it didn’t feel like nothing. Then, last night. He thought maybe what was needed was a little more adventure in the bedroom. So, he’d hidden some handcuffs—the sex toy type, not police issue—under the pillow. When her climax was building, she’d grasped the headboard of the bed as she often did, and he laughingly clasped her hands into the cuffs.
She did not laugh along. Quite the opposite. Any orgasm that was building was gone, replaced by anger. She demanded he remove the handcuffs, then she gathered up her clothes, re-dressed, and headed to the door.
All the while, he was apologizing, explaining that he’d thought she’d like to spice things up. She turned to him and spat out, “Consent, Elliot. You spent enough years in SVU. You should know what that is.”
“Wait. Are you accusing me of sexual assault,” he asked incredulously.
“No. Well, maybe attempted. You don’t just spring something like bondage on someone like that. You don’t know what you could be triggering.”
“Liv, I’ve known you forever. You’re an experienced woman, not someone who is squeamish about sex.”
“Have you known me forever? Do you know me at all? The years you were gone…”
“That again?”
“That still. We’ve never really talked about it.”
“Come on. We’ve talked it to death!”
“Your end of it. Not mine. I just can’t…I have to leave.”
He tried all evening and the next morning to call and text her, but found himself blocked. Finally, he called Fin. “Is Liv around? She’s not answering her phone,” he queried, not sure of what reception he’d get.
Apparently, Fin knew nothing of the previous night. “Oh, she’s taking a few days off. She and Noah are going up to the Hudson Valley. Cragen just had knee surgery, and his girlfriend has a grandma thing out of town, so Liv is going to look after him.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Stabler did remember her saying something about seeing Cragen. He had the address, so he figured the best bet was to drive up and talk to her there.
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Olivia Benson
The drive to Beacon was a relief in a way. Noah was bubbling with excitement over the opportunity to watch the gestation of a Broadway show. “This is the same place where Hamilton got workshopped. And loads of other shows. Maybe this show will be a big hit like that, and I’ll be able to say I saw it when they were still figuring it out!”
Engaging with her son was the best diversion from a head ready to explode. She knew she bore some responsibility for what had happened with Elliot last night. She’d been standoffish toward him ever since her coffee stop with Rafael, though even she could not say why. She should have guessed that Elliot’s prescription for any such problem would be sexual in nature.
And she never should have gotten involved with Elliot in the first place without him knowing the major events in her life during their years apart. For a long time, she was angry and resentful that he never asked. And she wasn’t going to raise it—any of it—unless he showed some interest in those times, which he never did. As the months and years passed, it started to feel less important and she started to feel that she needed to find out if there really was something there between them other than the bond of their long-ago partnership.
But that was the extent of her responsibility. The rest was on him. Springing those handcuffs on her? Chaining her to the headboard? No, he didn’t know the trauma that that would trigger. But it was still an act that needed her permission. She couldn’t get rid of the traitorous thought that kept entering her head. ‘Rafa would never have done that. Even if he didn’t know what happened with Lewis, he at least would ask before trying something like that.’
Of course, she didn’t know for sure that he would ask first. They’d never been physically intimate. But, somehow, she knew.