A/N: I'm still on a semi hiatus because of my LSAT, which OW, but I promised this fic to the lovely lucyspencer who i've come to consider a friend and pseduo fic beyoncé, as a birthday gift. While her birthday was bout a week ago (week ago) I'm giving it to her now - in parts- because I suck. Part 2 should be up tomorrow. It's basically finished.

Timeline: So, I don't usually write out explicit timelines because I think it takes the fun out of things, but alas, I had no choice for this piece. Of course it is an AU, though some canon events still happened. Here we go.

This takes place in 2015, Olivia's 47th birthday. Everything up until the aftermath of Undercover, i.e. Olivia's relationship with Kurt, happened and for now that's all you need to know! Haha. You'll give more when I publish part two. Promise.

Instead of Kurt, Olivia ended up in a relationship with narcotics cop/one time one-night-stand, Brian Cassidy. They snuck around for roughly 6 months. Meanwhile, Elliot and Kathy's marriage rapidly flamed out, and both parties willingly conceded to divorce. It wasn't until Kathleen became sick and Elliot leaned heavily on Olivia that the two managed to come together. Their relationship started in October 2008, their daughter was born in June of 09. They married in January of 2010. (Maybe if interest peaks i'll write this as a full blown story haha).

Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it ain't mine.

It's My Party

(part I)

It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to, cry if I want to
You would cry too if it happened to you

(December 13th, 2015)

Why didn't I turn off the alarm? It's the first thought that pops into Olivia' mind as she rolls over in bed, the sounds of John Bonham drum solo jolting her out of a much fought for slumber.

The cool December air tickles her toes as she begrudgingly pulls the blanket over her head to block out the blaring drum solo and it leaves her feet exposed.

It's time to rise and shine and she couldn't be more disgruntled.

Waking is the last thing she wants to do today.

Today is B day: her birthday.

She's always detested her birthday; hated it with an almost innate passion. If she could wipe the day off the calendar, pretend it didn't exist, she would.

It wasn't the aging that bothered her, either. Another year lived was another lesson learned. Matter of fact, she felt more comfort, more at peace and at home within herself than she had ever felt in her 20s and 30s.

The real reason she detested when the clock changed from 11:59PM December 12th to 12:00AM December 13th was what it symbolized: the subsequent and immediate unraveling of Serena Benson.

Dead for 17 years, her mother still managed to intermittently occupy Olivia's thoughts, even more so when she examined her own life, the decisions she'd made, who she'd become, and her abilities as a mother.

From a turbulent childhood to a rebellious adolescents came a promiscuous young adulthood. More men had ended up in her bed than she cared to recount - each one taking a piece of her with them.

Atonement and martyrdom then became her fulcrum. Saving those who couldn't save themselves, her passion.

Rarely did she ever do something for herself, yet somehow along the way she fell in love.

He'd been her saving grace. Her oversized white knight with bruised knuckles, a notorious temper, and eyes as blue and as deep as the ocean.

Their road to happiness had been a tumultuous one, at best. Filled with more ups and downs than a tilt-a-whirl. A not so ex-wife, a gun to the head; knife to the throat, undercover, dead father, half brother, IAB investigation, five kids, shredded divorce papers, attempted rape, an old boyfriend, divorce, denial, and finally a relationship.

But they'd weathered it all, together.

Five years later they had a strong marriage and an even stronger five year-old: Grace Magdalena Stabler.

Life was good, and Olivia was hell-bent on keeping it that way. She refused to let her birthday ruin anything.

Especially when Olivia already knew exactly how she wanted to celebrate: banging her husband into oblivion and watching The Princess and the Frog for the billionth time while chewing on sugar free gummy-bears with her daughter.

She wanted to get lost beneath her husband's fingertips as he played her body likely a finely tuned instrument, listen to the melodic laughter of her daughter, and most of all block out the insistently nagging voice inside her that told her she'd ruin this – ruin everything eventually. Just like she'd ruined her mother.

The drumming intensifies as the song reaches it's climax and Olivia growls, wondering why exactly she'd allowed Elliot to set her alarm to a 3-minute drum solo of Moby Dick.

Huffing, she finally sits up and snatches the phone off the nightstand and silences the cymbals and drums. Her brows furrow together in slight confusion as she realizes that her husband is nowhere to be found; the spot next to her cool beneath her slender fingers, and the shower, silent.

Brown eyes roam the bedroom in search of a note to explain his whereabouts, but there's nothing. No note or text message to be found. It was 10AM on a Saturday morning, a Saturday morning he'd been adamant about having off from the 2-4.

Olivia grumbles, burrowing herself back down into the covers and groaning. If he's making today some big deal, I'm going to kill him. If he even thinks about coming in here with breakfast in bed, I'm going to beat him. Today is not a celebration.

Ten or so minutes pass by, but there's no Elliot to be found or breakfast in bed. And the house is quiet, strangely quiet. Silence on a Saturday morning with a five year-old and five step-kids… it was a rare occurrence indeed, unlikely in the highest.

Matter of fact, adjusting to the constant influx of random kids and stepchildren had definitely been a fete for Olivia. Going from a one-bedroom apartment in upper Manhattan to a three-bedroom house in Queens had been a challenge. Finances weren't the issue, though Olivia knew that Elliot – in contrast to his protests – did mind her footing the majority of the bill. His eyes had nearly bulged out of his head when he'd learned just how much money Serena had left her daughter. The problem had been getting used to family life in general, but Olivia had wanted something different for her daughter.

10:23AM.

Standing and stretching, the cool December air bites at Olivia's naked legs and she shuffles over to the thermostat, turning up the heat.

When it finally kicks on, the familiar rumble of the influx of air through the heating ducts floods the house. She waits for the pitter-patter of tiny feet and a knock on the bedroom door. Grace insisted that the sound of the heat turning on was the monster from the basement coming to get her. The house had been built in 1935, and the heating duct system – though not as old as the house – was nearing the age of replacement and Elliot insisted on a DIY project. Sometimes Olivia wondered if life in homicide left Elliot with too much free time.

The soft footfalls never come, however, and neither does the knock, there's no familiar mane of chestnut locks, cherub cheeks, or green eyes begging for mommy or daddy to make 'it' go away. In fact, the silence was alarming.

"Alright, where are you?" Olivia mutters and she shuffles over to her bedroom door, grabbing her fluffy pastel purple robe from the hook and slipping it on over Elliot's oversized t-shirt that she'd been using for a nightgown since she'd confiscated whilst pregnant with Grace.

Slender fingers wrap around the door handle, ready to jerk it open and investigate the radio silence when the door opens.

Elliot.

"And where do you think you're going?" He asks, that devil-may-care, shit eating, 'I'm-definitely-up-to-something' grin on his face. There's no breakfast platter in hand or any other campy birthday gift, which Olivia is extremely grateful for.

"To see why my five year old is so quiet at 10AM on a Saturday morning..."

"Don't worry about it. Just know she's in one piece, healthy, and being taken care of..." He steps into the room, still grinning, and kicks the door closed behind him. His hands immediately fly to her waist and trail up her sides until he's pushing the plush material from her body.

"Really, and by who?"

"I think I left her with Munch and Fin somewhere uptown…" His lips find their way to her neck, and he begins to trail warm, sloppy kisses from her collarbone to her jawline. "Or maybe she's out with one of her many siblings, waiting for us to make another…"

"Another one, huh? Don't you think seven kids might be a bit much? Besides…labor's a bitch…" Olivia rolls her eyes and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, fighting to suppress a moan as his tongue hits her soft spot, right behind her ear. Perhaps my day is on track after all. Banging husband, check.

Elliot murmurs something into her neck, and shivers march down Olivia's spine. As much as she's enjoying the nice and slow, the flirtatious and fun, she really just wants his hands all over her. "El, I love this, I do, but…"

His hands are everywhere before she even has a chance to finish her sentence. He's grabbing and pulling on her nightgown, bunching it up around her waist as his tongue finds its way into her mouth. His body is hard against her soft curves and they stumble backwards for a moment until Elliot's hands run down her ass. Olivia squirms against his touch and he lifts her up, her legs wrap instinctively around his waist and he carries her over to the bed.

"What do you want, birthday girl?" his voice gruff as he settles between her legs, balancing on his elbows. He was like granite sandwiched between her thighs, the years had been good to him, indeed.

"I want you to fuck me, hard and fast." I want you to make me forget my name.

Her answer catches him off-guard, Olivia can tell because although the look is fleeting, she doesn't miss Elliot's brows quirk in question. She knows he's worried about her deviation from her normal coitus choices. She liked soft and slow, visceral and passionate with Elliot. Sure fucking him against the nearest wall was always a thrill, but she much preferred to 'make love' to her husband, not fuck him or vice versa.

"You sure? You don't want me to sing happy birthday to you first?" He asks playfully, nipping at her earlobe. One of his hands slips between their bodies and travels south, crawling along her thigh, and then up to the waistband of her panties.

Forever worried about her, Olivia rolls her eyes at Elliot's seemingly innocuous question. "Hard and fast, old man - or you can't do it anymore?"

The words light a fire underneath Elliot and within seconds they're both naked, the quilt pulled back. Olivia's kissing him, hard and needy, her legs wrapped around his waist as her heels dig into his ass, and draw him into her, deeper until she's moaning.

"Fuck me, El." Make me forget.

His thrusts are slow at first, and Olivia finds her annoyance peaking. Her nails dig into his shoulders, encouraging him to move it along and his mouth crashes into hers. Finally getting the message his movements become more hurried, yet deliberate and hard. His strokes are shorter, faster, and they leave Olivia gasping for breath, her back arching off of the bed.

Just a few more thrusts and she'd be set to go. Just a few more and…

"Mommy!"

"Dad!"

Their bedroom door flies open and there's shouting, the sound of little voices arguing. Olivia's heart leaps into her chest and she freezes. Elliot physically jumps back and they're both trying to wrap the heavy, dark blue quilted comforter around them.

Grace and Eli. Shit.

"You didn't lock the door?" Olivia hisses, as the two children come into view. Grace's brown hair is in pigtails and there's powder sugar all over her face.

"They were gone!" defends Elliot.

"Eli told me I was stoopid."

"Gracie won't share her legos."

The comforter is clutched so hard against Olivia's chest that her fingers are pale white from gripping the material so hard. She's trying to find the words to say when the she's cut off by a familiar voice.

Kathleen Stabler.

"What did I tell you two when we came in? Clean up your toys and behave!" Kathleen reprimands her younger siblings, coming into view as she rounds the stairs and comes to stand in the doorway.

Olivia's eyes quickly scan the room for her nightgown and she sees it in a heap, not too far from where her daughter now stands.

Fuck.

"Uh, Kathleen…" Elliot mumbles and he's somehow managed to find and put on his own sweat pants, though his second eldest is paying little attention to him; she's too busy with her siblings.

"I bought you each a coloring book and donuts, and the deal was there'd be no fighting. Dad, Liv, I'm sor –" She starts as she turns towards the two adults for the first time and a look of pure horrification falls across her face, no doubt at the scene before her.

Olivia cringes.

"Oh, you're uhm… you're doing it. Wow, okay. Uhm. Alright… You two, downstairs now." Kathleen growls, and she's grabbing the two children who are locked in a stare-off by the tops of their heads and leading them out of the room.

She makes certain to close the door and avoid all eye contact with both her father and step mother.

Face flushed, and thoroughly embarrassed, Olivia sinks down into the bed. So much for a mind numbingly, much need hard and fast fuck from her husband. so much for forgetting.

Her stepdaughter her stepson and her daughter all just caught her with her legs in the air.

Birthday: 1. Olivia: 0.

/

After showering and avoiding all eye contact with Kathleen, Olivia paddles her way into the kitchen. Grace and Eli sit at the breakfast bar. Eli's coloring, his blonde curls shinning brightly against the sunlight that filters in through the kitchen window. Grace is elbow deep in a stack of McDonald's pancakes; syrup hanging off of her fingers and Olivia kisses the top of her head on the way to the coffee pot.

Happy birfday, mommy!" Grace shouts through handfuls of pancakes, her words hindered by flying bits of food.

"Yeah, happy birthday, Livvie." Eli adds, not even bothering to lift his head from his coloring book.

Olivia breaths a sigh of relief as both children seem to have forgotten the scene (an unfinished performance, sadly) they'd walked in on mere moments ago, and she settles against the counter. Later, they'd finished what they'd started later.

But the silence doesn't last long.

"It's birthday, Gracie." Eli says, and Olivia already knows what's coming next, another argument. Elliot Jr. and Olivia Jr. (as everyone had dawned Grace), lived to argue with each other.

"That's what I said!" insists Grace.

"Uh no. You said birfday. It's birthday. There's not an f. This is why you're supposed to pay attention in school. You're never going to make it to third grade like me."

"Yes I will! I'll make it to this many grade –" she holds up both her hands. "And you'll still be in the third."

"No I won't because I'm older than you. I was born first."

Olivia sighs; well, this is what she wanted, a normal every day birthday. No big shebang, no party, no one going out of their way to make her happy. Grace and Eli arguing was commonplace; normal according to Elliot who told her that his two youngest reminded him of his twins.

"Alright you two, come on. Be nice to each other before I make you both spend the day handcuffed together."

They stick their tongues out at each other and then go on their way. Silence settles in once again and Olivia finds herself starring out the kitchen window, a few snowflakes fall. She thinks back to her thirteenth birthday, way back in 1980. There'd been a bad snowstorm and she'd been trapped, alone in her apartment while her mother drank the night away at the local bar – like she'd done most of her daughter's birthdays. When Serena did finally show up, she'd smacked Olivia for forgetting to put the clean dishes away, called her useless, and then passed out drunk on the sofa.

"What were you and daddy doing?" Grace's innocent voice breaks through the fog, the haze of childhood memory.

The question clearly catches Olivia off guard, causing her to choke on her coffee, sputtering ineloquently.

"What, Gracie..." Shit she knew this question was coming, it was inevitable. "Gracie, why don't you go get the Princess and the Frog out and you and I can—"

But before she can sidestep the conversation in total, Eli chimes in, eyebrow quirked and gaze scrutinizing, appraising. He was definitely Elliot's son. "Yeah Katie said you were doing 'it." What's it?"

Death and birth were supposedly bookends on the spectrum of life, and Olivia was certain this was how she was going to die. Mortified to death (if that was even possible) at the hands of her five-year-old daughter and eight-year-old stepson on her birthday.

"Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other they uh…uhm…we, it is…" she doesn't want to have the sex talk with either of them, ever.

But she doesn't have to; the symbolic bell saves her.

Elliot walks into the kitchen, nonchalant as can be, NYPD t-shirt on, sweat pants sitting low on his waist, hair wet, and barefooted. Olivia watches him, her eyes following his frame and she wonders just how he can be so cavalier about the morning's events. He pours himself a coffee and plants himself in between his two children, who have both gone back to their previous events, grinning as he stares at his wife.

"You okay, Liv?" he asks, a teasing quality to his tone and Olivia narrows her eyes.

"Just peachy. Come on Gracie, let's get you cleaned up, baby."

Birthday: 2. Olivia: 0.

/

Olivia's spread out on the couch, arm slung inelegantly across her face, dressed in a pair of yoga pants, a plain white t-shirt, and a pastel purple cardigan. Much to her dismay, she's alone and the silence deafening; she's quickly come to realize that she's the worst at keeping herself company.

Her lovely husband who had insisted on sending their daughter to spend the day with her siblings so that they could have a peaceful day finishing what they'd started earlier, had been called in to work on an emergency, promising he'd return as soon as it was possible.

She's tried everything to fill the silence, stave off the inevitable boredom; watching television, reading a book, getting ahead on some DD5's, but nothings sufficed. Long dormant demons have come out to play and she can't stop thinking about her mother.

She thinks about her sixteenth birthday and how, while other girls were having lavish 'Sweet Sixteen's,' she was sitting idly in her mother's lecture hall. A boy she'd never seen before approached her and she thought he'd been her saving grace. He was 21 with bright green eyes, shaggy blonde hair, and a stupid grin. Eventually, about two months after her not so sweet sixteen, she'd lost her virginity to him and he'd asked her to marry him. Without thinking, she'd said yes; tired of schlepping an adult to and home from the local bar; tired of taking care of an adult who didn't take care of herself. Her recompense for thinking her mother would ever let her go without a fight had been a scar above her right eye, just below her eyebrow.

Next her 19th birthday comes to mind - Sienna College and freedom. It'd been the week before finals and in a drunken haze she'd called her mother, hysterically crying and doing what she'd yet to have the courage to accomplish sober: give Serena a piece of her mind.

Her thoughts spiral out of control and she finds snippets of memories coming to mind, random memories long forgotten, but somehow find their way into her psyche.

She's twenty-two, arguing with her forty-nine year old boyfriend about her period being a week late; he's shoving money into her hand and telling her to 'abort the bastard.' Her fingers dial her mother's number and just as Serena says 'hello' she slams the phone down.

Then she's twenty-five, and her feet are finally planted firm on the ground. She's a rookie, wet behind the ears and on uniform duty when the radio call comes in: "drunken disorderly, woman demands to speak to an Office Benson."

And the memories go on and on.

She doesn't realize that she's dozed off until she feels tiny hands on her shoulder, shaking her awake.

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

Olivia's eyes fly open at the sound and Grace is in her lap. "Gracie?"

"You have to wake up mommy. Please stop drinking mommy. Why don't you love me, mommy? Please love me. Mommy, love me, please!" Grace pleads, and the tears build in Olivia's throat. She opens her mouth in confusion, to rebuke Grace's words, to let her daughter know that she does and she always will love her. But suddenly Gracie's gone and she's not in Queens any more.

She's in a two-bedroom shoebox in uptown Manhattan. A rotting stench hangs in air and a brown haired little girl, probably no older than eight, is huddled in a corner. The little girl's knees are pulled tightly to her chest and she's crying, sobbing and muttering.

Carefully, and with great amounts of caution Olivia approaches the child. "It's okay, honey. It's okay… my name is Olivia. Has someone hurt you? Are you okay? You can talk to me, I'm a policewoman and I can help you… I have a daughter. She's a little younger than you, but she has beautiful brown hair just like you…"

The little girl doesn't say anything; she doesn't lift her head that is buried in her knees.

"Get in here now, Olivia!" Another voice screams and Olivia jumps her head whips around at the sound of the familiar voice, searching for its owner, and the little girl shouts.

"But momma, it's my birthday, I'm a good girl. Please. I'm a good girl! I'll be a good girl."

"Now you useless brat!"

The little girl scurries to her feet and Olivia's eyes widen in horror; she's looking at the younger version of herself, except her eyes aren't her eyes; they're the familiar shade of green that dawn her daughter's face.

"But momma…momma please. It's my birthday."

A vodka bottle sails past adult Olivia and smashes against the wall above little Olivia, who starts screaming.

"Don't, stop!" older Olivia shouts, and she hears footsteps, screaming, cursing. Both she and young Olivia brace themselves for the oncoming footfalls when –

"Olivia! Olivia! LIV, LIV! WAKE UP LIV!"

When Olivia's eyes snap open this time, the room is basked in a warm glow, the overhead lamp is on and she's staring at her husband. Her breathing is shallow and she's clutching the throw blanket to her as if she's holding onto it for dear life.

"Gracie, where's Gracie?" she cries, salty tears running down her face and she's trying to stand. Strong hands keep her in place, seizing the tops of her arms in a tight yet gentle grip. The couch cushions shift beneath the second person's weight and finally Elliot comes into focus.

"Shh, Liv, shh. It was just a bad dream; I've got you, baby. I've got you." He repeats softly, his thumbs moving in circles along her arms. "It's okay. Gracie is with her sisters; she's safe. I just talked to Maureen not too long ago. They're all okay. Okay?"

"Oh god, El." Olivia cries and she's shrugging out of his hold and wrapping her arms around his neck, clearly shaken to the core.

Elliot's hands run up and down her back as he attempts to calm her, still muttering soothing words to her, his breath warm against her neck. "Just calm down, okay. Calm down. It's okay. What ever was happening in that pretty little head of yours: it's over. You're okay…"

Nodding, Olivia's chin sinks into his shoulder and they stay locked together for moments, Elliot's hands oscillating from an up and down patter to small circles.

Deep breaths in, deep breaths out, Olivia finally settles herself, brushing the tears away as she finally lets Elliot go.

"Want to tell me what was going on?"

Olivia shakes her head no. "Not really, at least not right now. Right now I want to go upstairs and just forget…" Her lips smash down hard on his and she's pulling him down on top of her. It is very blatant what she wants.

Quickly her fingers make work of his tie and she's yanking it from around his neck and throwing it to the floor.

But that's as far as she gets. Elliot's sitting up, partially out of breath and grinning, running a hand over his face and shaking his head.

"Babe, I'd love to make love to you right now, but – and I don't want to hear you say how you didn't want this – I made early dinner reservations for us at Meloni's, you know that restaurant that just opened and you've been talking about it…And no the reservations weren't for your birthday. This just happened to be the only time slot free. "

"Can't we just cancel them and go upstairs?"

"Go put on something nice and we'll leave. Our reservations are at six, it's 4:27 right now."

"Why don't you come get ready with me?" she suggests, biting down on her bottom lip and giving him her best Betty Davis eyes.

But Elliot is firm, leveling her with a "Liv" that could rival Desi Arnaz's Lucy.

And that's not the answer she wants.

"Fuck today." she hisses, storm clouds brewing behind her eyes as she untangles herself from the sofa and her husband, then stomps upstairs. Her nightmare is still fresh in her memory and all she wanted was to forget it, forget what today symbolized under the exhilarating rush of an orgasm.

Would she ever get what she wanted today?

Birthday: 3, Olivia: 0.

/

Early dinner was a bust, a catastrophe of epic proportions, if she was being honest with herself. The waiter had been rude, the food cold, the reservations almost nonexistent. Some birthday this was shaping up to be. Not that she had many expectations, either, but still. After the way in which the morning had started out paired with the utter boredom and nightmare that had gripped her midday, she was hoping somewhere along the way that up was the only way to go.

But whom was she kidding? Her birthday had always been a travesty; at its root it was an abomination.

All she wanted now was to finally bang her husband, crawl into her daughter's bed – snuggle, and then sleep.

No more 'happy birthdays' – which she seemed to be severely lacking (counting Kathleen, her husband, daughter, and Eli, only one other person had even wished her a happy birthday so far: TENA) –to be had.

"I'm so sorry, Liv," Elliot says for the thousandth time as they climb the stairs to their humble Queens abode.

Olivia pulls on the hem of her little black dress, wishing she'd gone with full blow tights instead of thigh high hosiery in the cool December air.

"Its fine, babe. Really. I just wish you'd stop trying to make my birthday some grand event to celebrate when it's never really been that. Besides, I said I didn't want any fuss, and I guess no one bothered to try fussing…" she lets her words filter off, feeling no need to explain; he knew why she hated the day. Of all the people she was close to he probably knew why the most.

"I know, but I was just hoping…"

"Yeah, I used to hope to, but I can't change how I came to be, so I just stopped," the dejection in her tone evident as shuffles sideways, allowing Elliot access to the door handle.

"I wish there was a way I could make it up to you, Liv."

"There actually is…" Olivia grins, her hand stilling his as he goes to turn the door handle. "We started something this morning that I tried to initiate this afternoon…" she rolls her eyes "that I'd really like to finish and since Gracie is still with the girls…"

And thank god their porch censor seems to be on the fritz at the moment because Olivia's hands are on Elliot's belt buckle then, and her mouth is trailing warm kisses from his chin to his neck. She wants this so fucking bad that she may die if he doesn't get inside her soon.

"Liv, wait, I really…"

"Your body isn't saying wait." She hisses, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging it into her mouth. She oscillates between biting and sucking the tender flesh until a strong, guttural groan radiates from Elliot's lips and he's pushing her against the door, one hand flying to her waist, the other still on the door handle. One of his thighs is sandwiched between her legs and fuck this feels great. Now if she could just get her dress up over her ass…

"Liv…"

"Please, just fuck me, Elliot…" She grits, his lip still in her mouth, and she pulls down his zipper, caressing his already hard length through his black trousers.

"Fuck, woman, you're going to be the death of me…"

"Hard and fast…" High and numb, please: those are the last words she manages before she hikes up her dress, bunching the material up to mid-thigh and turns the door handle.

"But Liv, wait…"

"Now."

Two officers of the law, having sex on a porch was bad for business, after all.

They fall through the threshold, stumbling backwards as Olivia sheds her jacket, tossing it on the ground. Next she's shimming out of her thong and into Elliot's arms, literally throwing herself at him. Her lips meet his in hard kisses and his fingertips sink into the small of her back, almost like he's trying to halt her motions.

She's so excited to finally be getting what she's wanted all day when…

"SURPRISE!"

The living room lights fly on, and Olivia's head snaps up.

In front of her stands her daughter, four of her five step-children, her husband's ex-wife, her boss and pseudo father, a slew of friends including Munch, Casey, Fin, Alex, and Melinda, a half-brother and sister-in-law, a niece and nephew, one ex-boyfriend, and the two new rookies - Rollins and Amaro, who she didn't know well enough to consider friends just yet; their mouth's are opened, gapping.

Fuck.

Olivia wants to die; scratch that, she IS going to die, tucked into Elliot's arms, underwear at her ankles.

"Are they doing it again?" comes Eli's voice.

Someone's snickering then, and Olivia would bet her last dollar that it was either Rich (as Dickie was now calling himself) Munch, Fin, or hell even Brian because inviting him had clearly been a good idea.

Eli's question is quickly followed up by Grace, who asks, "mommy, why'd you take off your undies? You said big girls keep em' on at all times when in prublic."

That's it. She's running, running far away and the fuck out of dodge.

Her fingers uncurl from Elliot's lapels, and she takes off in a flash, running up the stairs to sanctuary.

Birthday:4, Olivia: 0.