THE RETURN

Chapter One: On the Line

Olivia

"Shit!" I wake cursing, reaching for my gun and realizing I need to reach instead for the phone. I'm off for a week, and I know Elliot knows better than to call me at 1am during my vacation.

"Benson. And this better be really damn good."

"Liv?" My heart stops. It can't be. It can't be you. It just can't be.

"Liv? Are you there?"

I can only whisper in response, "is—is that really you?"

"Hi."

"Oh my god," I peel off the few covers that haven't already fallen on the floor during my troubled sleep. "It is you isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's me. I need to talk to you."

"But you're… where are you? Wait—never mind. No, not never mind. How can you call me? You can't do this. How can you do this?" I struggle to shake the cobwebs from my brain. 3 days off the job and I'm already slowing down. "Isn't this dangerous?"

"No." You pause, and I can't find any words to fill the silence until you continue… "It's over Liv. He's gone. They killed him. The FEDs found his whole ring. Some random tip led right to him, and most of his associates. It's all over. I'm out of danger."

I still can't respond. I don't bother to wipe the tears from my cheeks. "Are you-- I mean, are you----?"

"---coming back? Yes--BUT--not for good Liv. Just… for a little while to finish up some of this Zapata/Valez business. Liv it won't be for long. But I didn't want you to just have it sprung on you. I didn't want you to find out like that. Hammond called Cragen and found out you were on vacation. He's still being ridiculous about this, Hammond I mean. I practically had to beg him to let me call you."

I can hear it in your voice. I can hear how hard this has been on you. I know because it's been hard on me too. We were finally getting started, really going somewhere, and then you had to play the hero. I told you, you should always leave that role to me. It's my job. No. That's not true. We weren't starting; we were seconds away from ending three years worth of off and on and off again. I shake my head, upset that I'm still lying to myself about you.

I've been quiet too long, the silence becomes pregnant, and awkward as we both think of all the things we wanted to say that night. All the things we wanted to say, but didn't.

"Olivia? Are you still there?"

The use of my full name jolts me from my memories. My eyes are wet, and my hand clenched tight. I hadn't realized how hard I was gripping the phone, overcome with the sound of you. "mmhmm… ahem Yes… I'm still here." I feel stupid, clearing my throat over the phone like some nervous teenager. "Ale—wait, can I? I mean. What do I.. um.. call you?"

It's been almost 2 years, but I can still see that expression on your face. I can see you debating between a serious answer and a smart one. "You can call me whatever you want. But usually in New York I go by Alex."

I almost laugh as you split the difference. You always did that. Not in court. In court you were decisive, confident, adamant. But with us, for the short period there was an us, you always played it safe.

"Alex." The weight of your name on my lips creates a spill of fresh tears, and I can't finish my thought.

"I know. Liv I know. Look, I have an appointment to get to, but I had to let you know. I wanted you to hear it from me first. And not from the guys, or Liz or Branch. I'm sorry Liv, I've really got to go. There's more paperwork coming out of this than there was going in. I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

I'm still speechless, and I struggle to find the right words as you prepare to hang up the phone.

"I'll see you in February Liv." You pause and I'm still trying to unstick my tongue when hear, "I love you."

click

"Alex."

"Alex?"

I can't believe you're gone again. I stare at the phone in my hand, willing you back on the line. I blink tears from my eyes, and sniffle, realizing that I probably look like a complete idiot. The sound of your voice has made me sweat, and I'm going to have to wash the pillow I've been clutching with my free hand. Soaked with sweat and tears I didn't notice until you were off the line, I almost can't stand to let go of it—as though it's you I'm holding, and not some soggy foam-filled substitute.

I sit for a few minutes, gripping the phone in one hand, and my pillow in the other. My gun lies on the bedside table where I left it when I finally fell asleep last night… no—this morning, only a few hours ago in fact. For the last year, almost two—well, ever since you left… I haven't slept well. Not that sleep was ever my thing, as you know, but even when I do sleep these days- it's fitful, full of painful dreams-most of them of my hands trying to push your blood back. Trying to bring you back. Full of flashing reds and blues, black SUV's and ugly Federal Agents. I usually shock awake, to the image of that scarf wrapping around my own neck, closing around me, choking me, catching in my mouth, clogging my tongue so I can't tell you all the things I need to say before they drive you away from me forever.

No. Not forever. Not anymore.

I step under the scalding hot shower and allow myself to think about that night again. For two years I've told myself that I didn't say it because Elliot was there. Because Hammond stood behind me, breathing down my neck—telling me what he expected of us. But the truth is that I didn't say it for the same reason I didn't say it in the days, and weeks before this all went down. Because when it comes to "I love you" I'm just a chickenshit. Before you climbed in… before they took you away from me, you looked at me. You dragged your eyes up to meet mine and you nodded. I know what you meant. I know you were telling me it was ok. That you knew I loved you. That it was all right that I couldn't say it.

But it's not all right. You were always better with words than I was. At least when it came to us.

"I love you." I say it to an empty shower, wishing desperately you were here to hear it, but knowing still that if you were, I wouldn't have the courage to speak the words.

Alex

I hate that my hand is shaking as I hang up the phone. I hate that I had to fight back tears as I talked to you. With all of the changes, new place, new job, new name, new life I guess I just assumed that the sound of you wouldn't affect me this way. I shouldn't have told you I had to beg Hammond to let me call you. Putting my foot in my mouth again. How do you do that to me? In court I'm so sure of myself. But around you I feel like a silly teenager, tripping over my own opinions, wanting desperately to make you happy, to keep the peace. Mostly just wanting to hear you say what I know you can't.

Hammond nearly killed me when I told him I wanted to call you. He couldn't understand why I felt so adamant about telling you myself that I was going to be back. I didn't want to tell him why and I called on all of my court experience to argue my case. We spent an hour arguing about it.

"Look, Elizabeth… this isn't a good idea. We still can't guarantee that Valez or Zapata don't have people out there just waiting. We're waiting until February to give the necessary people an opportunity to finish flushing out the lion's den. On the off chance someone is still listening…"

I hate that he's still using that name. Elizabeth Regis. Even though it's over he won't admit that I'm anything other than his 'ward'

"On the off chance someone is still listening, watching for me, then it makes perfect sense to tell Detective Benson I'm returning. She'll know to be careful, to watch for suspicious behavior. She's the best detective I know, in or out of New York, and it would be wise to give her a head's up." I choked back my tears as I spoke, trying not to let Hammond see how important it was to me.

"Regis—It's not happening. I'm not going to compromise this by letting some fancy New York detective have advance warning."

"Hammond—I'm not asking. I'm telling you. I'm going to call Olivia Benson. I'm going to tell her I'm coming back, and I'm going to do it whether you want me to or not."

"You know it's not that simple. Your phone only works if I let it. And even though you've escaped your detail 3 times in the last 2 years, I assure you that they will be watching even more closely until the last of Valez's offices is cleared out at the end of the month."

He has stood from his perch on my sofa, and I turn away from him to face the large stone fireplace. I tried to gather my wits about me as he continued.

"I know she's you're friend counselor, but I can't take that risk just for a friend. She'll find out when everyone else does."

I laugh quietly at the world "counselor," his idea of empathy for my frustration. His only occasional reference to what I left behind. I give up on decorum, and strength, and calm.

"Detective Hammond, Olivia is more than my friend. And I am begging you to let me tell her. She has to hear it from me."

I don't know if it was the tone of my voice; the resignation, the disgust at begging—or if it was the look in my eyes when I finally turned to face him. I gave up on trying to hide my tears. I'm sure I looked every bit the doe you always accused me of being. You never could resist that look in my eyes.

Evidently neither could he. And although I know he, or some member of his "team" listened to our call, at least he left the room to give me the semblance of privacy. I'm sure they all wondered at my closing. I know how it sounded to me. I hope you heard. I hope you heard… and maybe- maybe you even said it back after I finally killed the line.