Family Protection

Olivia woke up in her apartment. It was dark, she couldn't see anything except for the furniture immediately illuminated from the street lamps shining through a gap in the window blinds. She picked up the clock and saw it was 2:30, she didn't even remember falling asleep, nor did she remember what it was that woke her up. Somewhere, she wasn't sure where, she heard a muffled sound like somebody walking around.

"Who's there?" she called as she reached for her gun on the nightstand. She sprang to her feet and crept to the bedroom door, trying to hear anything that would give her an answer.

The footsteps came closer, they were in her apartment. Olivia stepped towards the door, her heart climbing into her throat, she got ready to shoot.

"Who is it?" she called again.

Now it sounded like the footsteps were pounding on the floor above her. The noise got louder, and louder, until Olivia was covering her ears trying to block it out. Then suddenly, the door burst open. Olivia raised her gun and waited, but nobody came in. She inched over to the doorway and looked out into her apartment. Nobody was there.

Olivia felt her heart racing in her chest and she took in a deep breath, trying to calm down.

You're losing it, Benson, she told herself, you're really losing it.

Olivia closed her door, locked it, put her gun back on the nightstand and got back into bed and pulled the covers up. She turned on one side trying to get comfortable, then the other, it didn't work. She opened her eyes to turn over again, and her eyes widened as the light from outside shone in on the disembodied head on the next pillow, and she recognized it as Hank Voight's.

"AH!" Olivia shot up in bed and opened her eyes.

The lights were on, it was just a dream. She flopped back down on her side in a facsimile of the fetal position and hugged the pillow under her head with both arms, and realized that she wasn't in her own bed.

"What's wrong?" a gruff voice behind her asked.

Olivia turned over and saw Hank Voight sitting up on the other side of the bed, a couple pillows propped behind his head, one leg crossed over the other.

Olivia let out a strained breath and answered, "Nothing, just a nightmare." She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror over the dresser, her hair was wild from sleep and she was still wearing the gray T-shirt and black sweatpants she'd worn all day around the house. She almost laughed, Hank was dressed for the night in a black T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants.

"Want to talk about it?" Voight asked.

Olivia laughed bitterly, "No."

"Want a drink?" he offered.

Olivia didn't know what time it was but she shook her head, "Too late."

"Want some coffee?" Hank asked.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Quarter to three."

She shook her head again, "Too early, if I drink that I'll never get back to sleep."

"Sleep's overrated," Voight replied.

Already the dream seemed so far away, so vague, and yet Olivia could still distinctly remember it, and she took in a heavy breath.

"Get over here," Voight told her.

Olivia rose on her knees and crawled over to the other side of the bed and lay down beside him, he put his arm around her and pulled her against him.

"Why're you up?" she suddenly wondered.

"Thinking," he said.

She looked at him. "What about?"

He looked at her and asked, "You starting to regret this arrangement?"

By which Olivia knew Voight was referring to their relationship, which at best could be described as a platonic romance. She still remembered when the issue first came up.

"I'm sorry," he told her, "I love you, Olivia. Probably more than you'll ever be able to realize. But I don't see this working out." He raised his hand to get her attention, he wanted to make sure she understood, "The reason why isn't anything to do with you, it's not your fault, it's mine. I love you, Olivia, but I can't sleep with you. I haven't been with any woman since Camille, even now it would feel like I was being unfaithful to her. Even if I thought I could live with the guilt anyway, I wouldn't be able to do it. If that won't be enough, then we need to just leave this where it is and forget about it."

Olivia reached up, put her arms around Voight and pulled him against her, "It's enough, Hank…it's enough."

"Look, I'm not going to hold you to anything. When you're back in New York…" the words weren't coming easy for him but he made his point all the same, "It's not realistic to expect a woman in the prime of her life to give all that up."

"Hank," Olivia shook her head confusedly, "You really think I'd break up with you because we can't have sex?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," he answered, "Be honest, Olivia, how long do you see this lasting? Long distance relationships are hard enough to pull off as is."

"I don't care about that, Hank," she told him, "I don't care if we never sleep together."

"That's easy to say now," he pointed out, "What about a month from now? Three months? Six? A year? How far do you see a platonic romance lasting?"

Olivia was almost laughing, and she told him, "You couldn't pick a better candidate to say that to."

"I don't know where this is going to go, Olivia," he told her, "But I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."

Three months later and not much had changed. Voight had been out to New York twice to see Olivia, and wound up staying the weekend at her apartment. Twice Olivia had come out to Chicago and stayed with him. In that time, their relationship hadn't taken on a physical aspect though they always wound up in each other's bed, but they'd practically become each other's lifelines. They called each other almost every day, mostly to talk about nothing, just to know the other was there. They both seemed content with the way things were, but Olivia knew Hank still doubted how long she'd be willing to put up with it.

"No," she answered, "Absolutely not."

"Would you tell me if you were?" he asked.

Olivia snorted. "If I wasn't here with you right now, I'd be alone in my own bed in my apartment 1,000 miles away, no thanks."

"A pretty girl like you, you wouldn't have any trouble finding someone to spend the night with," Voight said.

"Sure I would, I have standards," she replied.

"Then what're you doing with me?" he asked.

Olivia smirked and playfully punched him in the shoulder.

"That's not what's got you up," she said, "What is it?"

"Did I tell you Olive's coming to visit, bringing my grandson back for me to see?"

Olivia picked her head up. "No you didn't, when's she coming?"

"Tomorrow night," Hank answered.

"That's great, Hank."

"I hope," he said, his eyes looking to the side, "I haven't seen them in three months, I thought I'd never see them again at all. It's taken this long just for her to feel safe about coming back to visit. Nothing can go wrong tomorrow, I don't want to take the chance of her storming off again and I don't see them."

Olivia rubbed his shoulder and responded, "I'm sure everything will be fine, Hank. Is there anything I can do?"

His eyes looked at her, and he answered simply, "Stay."

"What?"

"Stay here tomorrow night," Voight told her, "I need you here if things go south. If anything happens, and I wind up alone again, I need somebody here."

Olivia remembered what it had been like when she came out there three months ago right after Justin had died and Olive left with the baby. Voight drank until he was in a rage and smashed all the lights, and by the time Olivia got there, he seemed to be keying up for the next round.

"Yes," she said, "I'll be here." She dreaded to think of the alternative if anything would happen the next night.

Voight grabbed her hand with his and squeezed it tight. "Thanks, I sure appreciate it."

Olivia reached over with her free hand and stroked over his short hair and told him, "Everything's going to be fine, Hank, trust me."

"I hope so," he said, and she could see a trace of fear in his eyes as he told her, "I can't lose what's left of my family. Not again."