A/N: Okay, y'all, we've reached the last chapter(s). I want to extend another HUGE thank you to each and every person who took the time to read my fic and/or leave reviews. I didn't get to respond to each one like I planned, but they were so appreciated and a major pick-me-up for the past month+. Tbh I'm a little nervous about posting this after the blowback from chapter 10, but hopefully some of you will find it to your liking. It was never my intention to romanticize or omit anything Olivia went through—so much of her recovery has been portrayed on the show, I didn't focus as much on it for this story. It was a fine line to walk because she can't remember most of this attack and because she's got years of experience burying trauma; perhaps some will think I crossed it. All I can say is, I wanted something good to come of the hell she went through. And just because I didn't deal with it all in this story doesn't mean I don't have plans to deal with it in the future. Including her motivation for certain things ahead. (Also feel like I should warn you, the title of this chapter probably doesn't refer to what you might think. I enjoy a little wordplay now and again.) So. Without further ado...

"Oh, oh, oh
Sweet child o' mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Sweet love of mine"

- GUNS N' ROSES

Chapter 11: Disclosure

Halloween.

The little white mouse scampered past Olivia, its long tail flapping in the wind. "Not so fast," she called, trotting to keep up as it rounded the corner ahead of her. She caught up just as the apartment door opened. Princess Leia was holding an Ewok on the other side.

"Trick or treat!" Noah and Olivia announced in unison. The boy thrust out his open candy bag, while the mother re-situated the black witch hat that stood askew after their jogging session down the hall.

"Ooh, what a handsome little mouse!" cooed the young woman dressed as Princess Leia—flowing white dress, twin cinnamon roll protuberances, and all. The baby on her hip looked about eight or nine months old, its pudgy cheeks framed by a cowl fashioned from an adult-size t-shirt and some artistic snipping. Its compact little body was tucked into a teddy bear onesie, the look completed by a brown dot on its tiny pugged nose.

The cute was strong with this one. Olivia had to resist the urge to pinch those fat, rosy cheeks.

"And what a pretty witch! You must be the good kind."

"Oh, that's just my mom," Noah said, his chin practically resting on the brim of the bowl that Leia held out for him. He surveyed the candy it contained, intent on choosing the perfect piece. It took a moment and several put-backs, but he finally settled on a mini Snickers. "I told her witches don't wear jeans, but she didn't listen."

"Hey, mister, most mice don't wear any clothes at all, you know," Olivia said, plucking at the red sweater he had picked out all by himself to match his tan corduroy pants and white Chucks.

"Stuart Little does." He smiled triumphantly up at her, although everything resembled a smile behind the rubber mask shaped like a rodent's nose and buckteeth. A thatch of soft brown curls had escaped his fluffy white hood, from which two giant mouse ears sprouted on either side.

Olivia would have liked to take credit for the adorableness before her, but Lucy's mom had been the one to save the day when Noah made a last minute decision to dress as his current favorite literary hero, Stuart Little, instead of a baseball player. Possessing not a single ounce of sewing ability, Olivia had mentioned the costume switch to her nanny, who enlisted the retired Mrs. Huston's help to whip up an overnight solution.

The result was a creative hodgepodge of felt, fleece, and yarn: the close-fitting cap Velcroed under the chin, sporting ears the size of softballs; the fingerless mittens were a versatile solution to paws, providing warmth and enough dexterity for candy collection; and the tail, of extravagant length, was literally a snap to attach—it fastened in place via safety pin.

To Olivia's credit, she had scoured the Halloween store top to bottom until she found a bewhiskered rubber nose. It was the perfect addition to an already first-rate costume, and the late night scramble had been worth it to see Noah's delight with the finished product. He'd been strutting around the neighborhood, brazen as any New York City rat, for the past two hours.

"All right, Stuart, tell them thank you," she said, patting him gently on the back. Even a mouse must remember his manners.

"Thank you!" Noah offered up another winning smile, with an extra shot of dimple. "I like your baby," he added, giving the child's outstretched fingers a friendly shake. "Is he a boy or a girl?"

"She's a little girl. Her name is Phoebe. I think she likes your ears."

Noah leaned forward to let the little girl bat at the fuzzy appendages with her chubby hand. He reached up and wiggled the small brown ears that poked out of her Ewok hood. "I like your ears too, Phoebe."

The baby giggled and kicked her legs excitedly at hearing her own name spoken by a four-foot tall mouse. She squealed with utter delight when it did a little dance for her, bopping its head and shuffling its sneakered feet.

"Wow, Stuart's got some moves," Leia said, grinning almost as widely as her daughter. She held out the bowl again. "That deserves some more candy. Take as much as you want, sweetheart."

"Oh God," said the witch.

Noah had at least half a dozen full-sized candy bars worth of minis clutched in his greedy little paws by the time Olivia tried to stop him. She could already picture the cavities as he released a shower of chocolate and nougat into his waiting bag.

"Not on your life," she said, blocking him as he went back for more.

"May the force be with you," Noah sang out, waving goodbye to Leia and Phoebe when he moved on to the next apartment. After the last two doors had been soundly knocked upon, the dregs of two more candy bowls emptied into Noah's bulging sack—next year, they were hitting their apartment building first, before everyone got desperate to throw in the towel—Olivia checked her watch.

"Hey, bub, what do you say we call it a night?" she asked, resting a hand on top of his head to tilt it back and look in his eyes. Her heart fluttered the tiniest bit, but whether it was the overwhelming love she felt for her son, or the nerves she'd been holding at bay all evening, she couldn't say. "It's past trick or treat time. And Mama's got something to talk to you about."

"Am I in trouble?" Noah scrunched up his features, trying to keep his rubber snout in place as he gazed up at her. "I didn't mean what I said about witches not wearing jeans. Girls can wear whatever they want, even if they are witches, right, Mommy?"

Laughing to hide the tears in her eyes, Olivia knelt to his level this time and pulled him into a fierce hug. "That's right, sweet boy. But you're not in trouble, so don't even think that, okay? I just have something important I need to tell you."

"Okay, let's go home." Noah patted her on the back. "And Mama?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can you stop squishing my candy, please?"

. . .

Half an hour later, the sugary haul—unscathed by Olivia's show of affection—covered the living room rug. Boy had shed the trappings of mouse and was Noah Porter Benson once again. He sat in the midst of his candy, eyes alight as they took in the view, curls afrizz from the fleece cap. He looked so happy and innocent, Olivia didn't think she could tell him. Suppose it did psychological damage? And why spoil his evening? One more day wouldn't hurt, would it?

They were the same fears that had stopped her a million times before. But she'd made up her mind the night before, while lying awake in bed—sleep didn't exist anymore, at least not in intervals longer than two or three hours—and thinking about Calvin Arliss. How family secrets had destroyed him. How the truth had come too late and pushed him over the cliff he'd been teetering on. She didn't want that for Noah. Even if it meant he hated her, he deserved to know while he was young enough to adjust—and to be helped if he couldn't.

It had to be now, when life was carefree and filled with magic and candy and little boys who transformed into sweater-wearing mice.

"So, Noah," she said, settling beside him on the rug, "let's have our talk now, okay?"

"'Kay." He paused in the middle of sorting chocolate bars and fruit-flavored candies into separate piles and folded his hands politely in his lap.

Please let this be the right thing.

"Remember when we talked about families and how not all of them are the same? Like how Stuart was different from his parents, but that's why they loved him so much?"

"Uh-huh. And like how Jaden's got two daddies instead of one. Because they all love each other, and that's what a family is."

"That's right. Just like Auntie Amanda and Uncle Fin and Sonny are our family, even though we're not related and none of us look alike—"

"Yeah, especially Uncle Sonny, he's really silly-looking." Noah giggled heartily at the observation. He and Carisi were in constant competition to insult each other the most. The mischievous gibes usually focused on appearance or bodily functions, and ranged from ridiculous to downright smelly. Must be a boy thing.

Olivia couldn't help smiling. "I'll be sure to tell him you said so. But even though we all come from different places and different mommies and daddies, we're still a family, right? Even silly Uncle Sonny?"

"Yep. I know lots of kids who don't have any aunts or uncles like I do. That sounds boring. Some of them don't have grandmas, either." He leaned in, voice lowered as if his unfortunate schoolmates were in the room. "They probably don't get spoiled very much."

"I'm glad you mentioned grandmas," Olivia said, trying not to sound too stilted. The topic was still a touchy one for her. "Because Grandma Sheila is another part of what I want to talk about..."

She took a deep, shaky breath, clueless as to how to proceed now that she'd made it this far. She must have looked as petrified as she felt, because Noah put his hand on her knee and said, "It's okay, Mommy. Don't be scared."

That was all she needed to hear. She would be damned if she'd make this a frightening experience for him by showing fear herself. Clearing her throat, she took his small hand in hers and kissed the palm. "I'm not scared, sweetheart. Not with you by my side. You've made me happier and stronger than I ever was before you were mine. But I want to tell you how I became your mommy."

"I know that! The stork brought me to you."

"Well, not exactly. Do you remember when Jesse was still in Aunt Amanda's tummy? You could feel her kick when you touched the bump."

Noah thought hard for a moment. "Kind of. I was just a little kid, then."

"Right. That's why I didn't tell you this sooner. I didn't think you would understand back then,
(That, and I was afraid you wouldn't love me anymore.)
but now you're a big boy and so smart."

Olivia cupped his cheek, stroking it with her thumb—just one more moment where he was entirely hers. And then: "See, honey, some babies grow in their own mommy's tummy, like Jesse did. But other babies grow in another lady's tummy, until they can come out to be with their real mommy. That's what you did."

The silence was excruciating. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry as he studied her skeptically for what seemed like forever.

"I didn't grow in your tummy?" he finally asked.

"No, baby. Not mine. You remember when Grandma Sheila told you about Ellie and how much she loved you? Well, that's because you came from Ellie's tummy. She was Sheila's daughter, and she was also what's called your birth mom. That means she took care of you in her tummy and for a while after you were born."

"So... I had a different mom when I was a baby?"

At first, she could only nod. It was difficult to breathe. "For a little while, yes. But Ellie got very sick and couldn't take care of you anymore. She wanted to, but she just couldn't. And that's when you came to live with me. I adopted you. Have you heard that word before—adopted?"

"I think so. A boy in my class has a 'dopted sister. What does it mean?"

"It means that I loved you so much there was nothing in this world I wanted more than to be your mommy. After you lived with me a while, a judge said you could be my son forever. She made me your legal guardian, which means nobody can ever take you away from me."

"What about the judge? Can she make me not your son?" Noah asked with alarm.

"Absolutely not," she said quickly, pecking several kisses to the hand she hadn't let go of. "No one can do that, not even a judge. You're my boy for good."

"Good." He visibly relaxed, but continued to watch her with an expression far too serious for a six-year-old. "Mama, can I sit in your lap?"

"You better believe it." Olivia patted her thighs and helped him get situated on her folded legs. Then she wrapped her arms around him and held him close, conveying every ounce of love she could through the snug embrace. "I want you to know this doesn't change anything between us, okay? All it means is that we became a family in a different way than some people do. But there are lots of little boys and girls out there just like you, whose mommies adopted them, too. And you know what else?"

"What?"

"I love you just as much as if you came from my tummy. More, even. Because I got to choose you. Lots of mommies aren't that lucky. But I saw how special you were from the first time I held you, and I would've picked you over any other kid in the whole wide world. I still would."

Noah reached back, looping his arm behind her neck. He stroked her hair a few times, mimicking the soothing gesture she usually reserved for him. "I'd pick you, too."

She allowed the tears to fall freely, now that his back was turned. They still wet his hair as she rested her cheek there, but she managed to keep a relatively steady voice as she told him:

"And I also want you to know, whatever you're feeling right now—it's okay. If you're happy or sad or mad, there's nothing you can feel that would be wrong. You can talk to me about any of it, okay?"

"Okay, but I'm not sad or mad." The boy sat very still for a moment, as if focusing inward to determine his current emotional state. "I feel the same as before, I think. Should I feel different?"

"Not if you don't want to." Olivia kissed his dampened curls and used the edge of her sleeve to dry her face. She took a deep breath in preparation for the next step. "Were there any other questions you wanted to ask me?"

He fiddled with one of her rings, twisting it around her finger for such a long time without answering, she thought he might be ignoring her. But finally: "Where is Ellie now? Is she still my birth mom?"

And right for the jugular.

"She'll always be your birth mom, sweetie. But Ellie is..." Dead? In a better place? Not with us anymore? They'd had a few vague discussions about death, prompted by comments in movies or one particularly informative Easter sermon, but those involved cartoon characters and two-thousand-year-old Biblical figures. How did you explain it to a child whose mother had been gang-raped and set on fire?

"Ellie is in Heaven," Olivia finished. It was as close to the truth as she could get for now. And hopefully for a very, very long time to come.

"Oh." Noah stopped twisting the ring and turned to look at her. "You mean she died? Like Bambi's mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm so sorry, but she did."

"Because she was sick?"

"That was part of it, yes. She wanted to get better so she could be there for you, but she didn't get the chance. I know she would be so proud of what a wonderful boy you are, though."

"Was she the same sick as Grandma Sheila? The kind you can't see? Is Grandma Sheila going to die, too?"

A callous hand wrenched at Olivia's heart. They were getting to be old friends, she and that invisible, vice-like grip. "No, Grandma Sheila's not going to die. Not for years and years. Ellie was sick in a different way. It made her unable to take care of herself or of you. But you know what? My mommy was sick like that, too. That's something you and I have in common."

"Did another mommy 'dopted you?"

"No, I stayed with the mommy who had me in her tummy."

For better or for worse.

"Did she die from her sick?"

"Yes, but not until I was all grown up."

Noah put his arm around her again and breathed a little sigh. "I'm sad Ellie died."

As viciously as the hand clamped down on her heart, that was how gently she took his face in her own hands and kissed it. "Me too."

"I'm sorry your mommy died," he said, giving her shoulder a sympathetic pat.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Olivia dotted another kiss to his forehead, then rested her forehead against it. They sat like that for several somber moments, but when they both opened their eyes at the same time and caught a cross-eyed glimpse of each other, Noah lightened the mood with a giggle. It turned into a full blown fit of laughter when she spidered her fingers over his ribs. Pitching sideways on the carpet, they engaged in a brief skirmish of tickles and belly laughs that left them panting for breath.

"Mama?" Noah asked, head resting against her chest as they lay sprawled among the scattered Halloween treats. His ear was pressed directly over her heart.

It didn't hurt anymore.

"Hm?"

"Can I have some candy now?"

She gave him a playful clap on the rear and sat them both upright. "Not if I eat it all first."

While he gorged himself on chocolate bars, Olivia pieced her way through a bag of Sour Patch Kids—Noah detested sour candy—and kept the laughter going with various puckered faces. She watched him closely for any signs that he had been negatively impacted by what he'd learned, but so far there were none.

She knew there would be more questions later on. Of course she knew it. One day he would think to ask about a father. And eventually he wouldn't just accept the glossed over explanation of his birth parents' deaths. But that was not today. Today, he was just a boy with chocolate smeared on his face and hands, a mouse tail pinned to the back of his pants, and all his mother's love shining down on him.

When the questions inevitably came, she would meet them head-on, as she met every challenge she faced. Because that's what mothers do.

Thanksgiving.

"Ugghhh," Amanda said to the ceiling. She popped open the button of her jeans and stretched out her entire five foot, seven inches in the dining room chair.

"Ughh," Olivia groaned in return, leaning back against the headrest, one hand on her belly, the other on her forehead.

An empty pumpkin pie tin sat between them on the table, the crumbs leading towards each of their plates like the small trail of sins that prefaced a larger transgression. Amanda had scraped off the whipped cream, and Olivia had picked apart most of the crust, but the damage was done. They had officially overeaten.

Fin rolled his eyes at their second chorus of gluttonous regret. "Y'all white people can't handle your food. Steal it right out the mouths of Native American babies, then whine about your gastrointestinal distress."

"You had seconds and ate two whole slices of pie," Amanda said, lifting her head with a great deal of effort. It wobbled on her shoulders and dropped backwards again. "You could feed an entire tribe of Native Americans with what you put away."

"And like any self-respecting black man, I'll digest in silence." Fin plucked a toothpick from the container at the center of the table and stuck it between his teeth. "Then I'll take a dump and make room for leftovers."

"Ew," said Amanda.

From behind the hand plastered over her face, Olivia muttered, "Can we please not talk about poop at the dinner table? I have a hard enough time impressing that on my six-year-old. His new favorite word is 'turd.'"

Peter Stone, who was seated across from her, paused with a forkful of pumpkin pie filling halfway to his mouth. He eyed the brownish orange mush, looked around at the Thanksgiving casualties before him, then shrugged and shoveled the bite in. "Wait until he's sixteen," he said around the mouthful. "You'll long for the days of turd again."

"I don't even wanna think about it." Olivia waved the comment away, though she couldn't ward off the image that crept into her brain: a teenaged Noah, tall—Johnny D. had been well over six-foot, and Sheila Porter made Olivia feel short—and fiercely independent, the curls shorn from his unruly mop, his dimples only making rare appearances. When she suddenly envisioned him with small, wire-rimmed spectacles, a camera in his hand, she shook her head to dispel the image.

She hadn't regained her memory of what happened in the abandon warehouse office, at least not fully. Sometimes she caught peripheral glimpses, usually in dreams or when—like now—she let her mind wander, but they faded as quickly as déjà vu. For the most part, she could sleep through the night again. She thought of Calvin and Amelia less and less with each passing day.

That was the answer she gave when asked about her recovery, anyway.

"Speaking of my child," she said, sitting up to gaze around the apartment, which was awfully quiet for its roster of five adults, two children, and one dog. "Where is he?"

Since the Halloween heart-to-heart she'd had with Noah, the two had been keeping close tabs on each other. She did her best not to hover, but she was on constant alert for any behavioral changes. So far there had only been some minor acting out in school, which could just as easily be attributed to normal six-year-old antics. The most disturbing problem was a slight regression at home: one bed-wetting incident in early November, a renewed dependency on Eddie the elephant, and a couple of requests to "camp out" in her bed. Nothing too major, but she had noted his reluctance to let go of her hand in public and sometimes even while seated on their own couch.

Just not today, apparently.

"Where is your child, for that matter?" she asked, using her toe to nudge Amanda's leg.

The blonde raised her arm limply and pointed towards the bedrooms. She let it flop back down to her side like a wet noodle. "I saw them sneaking back there with Sonny after his fifteenth helping of pie. Either that, or I mistook them for food and ate them."

"My money's on the last one," said Fin, eyes drifting to her midsection. "Judging by the size of your food baby."

Stone coughed into his water glass, and Olivia glanced back and forth between her detective and sergeant like she was watching a tennis match—or waiting for two titans to collide. But Amanda just starfished in her chair, too stuffed for anything more strenuous than tossing a wadded napkin in Fin's direction. It fell several inches short, bouncing off the turkey centerpiece with its tissue paper tail that fanned open. Noah had picked out that decoration.

Right on cue, the boy came marching out of his bedroom wearing a striped elf hat with a fluff ball, jingle bells, and pointy ears attached. Jesse followed close at his heels, an identical hat falling down over her eyes. Next came Frannie, reindeer antlers jutting from a headband held in place by an elastic strap under her chin. And last but not least, Carisi emerged wearing a Santa Claus hat and blaring "Christmas Don't Be Late" by the Chipmunks on his cellphone.

"What fresh hell is this?" Fin murmured, but it was his laughter that rang out loudest as kids and dog lined up in front of the dinner table, bumping into each other and forgetting to which chipmunk they were supposed to lip-sync.

As far as the adults could tell, Noah was starring as Simon, Jesse as Theodore, and Frannie, appropriately disobedient and unresponsive, was Alvin. Carisi filled in as Dave. They made it through two versus of the song before Frannie drifted under the table to chew her antlers. By the third, Jesse gave up on the swishy choreography and ran around in circles, shouting the line about wanting a hula hoop. When the song ended, it was just Carisi miming Dave while Noah played all three bickering chipmunks. Grinning, they took their bows as the audience applauded and cheered:

"Bravo!"

"Better than Broadway."

"Jesse, calm down."

"Encore!" Peter offered, getting the stink-eye from everyone over the age of seven.

"Uncle Sonny helped me write my Christmas list," Noah announced, brandishing the sheet of notebook paper he was holding.

"Uncle Sundy helpeded me wite," Jesse echoed, clambering up her mother's body with little regard for the moans of protest. She plopped her entire weight into the lap below and thrust a crumpled sheet of paper at Amanda's slightly gray face.

"Did he, now?" Olivia said, making space for Noah as he mimicked his little sidekick and crawled into her lap. She shot Carisi a death glare over the boy's head. "And so soon after Thanksgiving. Mama's barely had time to clear the dishes."

"Or regain use of her extremities," Amanda grumbled, looking like she wanted to strangle Carisi with his own belt as she adjusted Jesse on the knees she had no choice but to bend.

Carisi took off the Santa cap and wrung it between his hands like he was lowly Bob Cratchit humbling himself before not one, but two Ebenezer Scrooges—albeit very attractive ones. "Sorry, guys. It's kind of a family tradition at my house. My sisters and I were always so excited for Christmas, we couldn't even wait for Thanksgiving to be over so we could start planning." He waggled the fuzzball on the tip of his hat at them. "On the plus side, this gives you plenty of time to go sho—"

Olivia, Amanda, and Peter all made various loud shushing noises at the same time, while Fin slashed a finger across his throat in a nixing gesture.

"—sshhow Santa what a good coupla kiddos you got here. Right, kids?"

"Yeah!" was the unanimous reply.

"Read it," Jesse said, when her mother examined the paper dangled in front of her.

"Oh, well..." Amanda accepted the sheet and turned it over for everyone to see the cyclone of squiggles that adorned the front page. She handed it back to the little girl, right-side up. "How about you read it to me, instead?"

Happy to oblige, Jesse announced every item on her list with a proud smile: nine dolls ("A perfectly reasonable amount," said Amanda); a princess dress, which seemed easy enough until she specified that it must be made by mice ("Stuart Little could do it!" Noah exclaimed); a real unicorn, although a plush one would also be acceptable ("Oh my gosh, I asked Santa for the exact same thing," Peter teased); Play-Doh ("Now you're talkin'," said Fin); and a badge and "handtuffs" like her mommy's ("Looks like I found my next recruit," said Olivia).

"Oh boy, Santa's going to have lots of fun making all those presents," Amanda said, feigning enthusiasm. She tucked the list away for safekeeping and folded her arms around Jesse, snuggling the girl close.

"The elves make the presents. Santa just delivers them," Noah said, matter-of-factly. He glanced back at Olivia, paper at the ready. "Can I read mine now?"

"Sure, sweetie."

Noah cleared his throat to begin, but once he had everyone's solemn attention, he turned shy. He mumbled the first two items—Yellies and Flarp!—slowly gaining confidence when he made it to the Super Stadium baseball game. He was back in top form, and top voice, by the time he reached the magic kit, LEGOs, and big kid bike. But he absolutely beamed at each face around the table as he read off the last gift on his wish list:

"A baby sister. Or a brother, I guess. But I think it should be a sister."

Now it was Olivia's turn to stare at her watchful guests like a deer in the headlights. She leaned over Noah's shoulder to study the list, as if she doubted its validity. But sure enough, there it was at the bottom in great big Crayola blue print.

BAYB SISTR

"What do you think, Mommy?"

When Olivia looked to her friends for help, all she found were smirks hidden behind napkins and a sympathetic smile from Amanda that conveyed both pity and relief that she wasn't the one in this particular hot seat.

"I swear, he added that on his own, Lieu," Carisi said, talking from the corner of his mouth as if it would prevent the others from hearing.

"I'll deal with you later." Olivia fixed him with a withering—and mostly playful—glare, before addressing her son: "I thought you didn't like babies. You told me they were smelly and boring."

"Well," Noah drawled, ducking his head and peering up at her with an expression that could charm the socks off the Grinch himself, "maybe I was wrong. I don't know many babies—that's just what Paulie told me. But if I had a sister, I don't think she'd be smelly or boring."

Fin raised his hand. "Okay, I gotta ask. Why a sister?"

"Paulie gots a little brother, and he breaks all of Paulie's toys and rips up his books. That's bad. I don't want my toys and books ruined." Noah put his dimples to work, first turning them on Olivia, then Amanda. "Plus, girls are pretty and smart. And I want a little sister like Jesse. We have lots of fun, right, Jess?"

"Uh-huh!" To prove her point, Jesse wormed free of her mother's arms and expertly scaled Olivia's knee to snuggle in beside the boy. She rested her head against his shoulder, gazing up in adoration.

"Oh, Lord," Amanda said, and facepalmed.

Peter hummed the first few notes of the "Bridal Chorus," then coughed into his hand like it was a throat tickle.

Ignoring the adults, Noah slung his arm around Jesse's shoulders companionably. He glanced around at Olivia with a beseeching look in his big blue eyes. "It doesn't have to be a tummy baby. It could be a 'dopted one."

Olivia didn't often blush from embarrassment, but the comment caught her off guard. She had already informed her friends that Noah was aware of his adoption, in case he should bring it up to one of them—she just hadn't counted on him using it to weasel a sister out of her in front of her squad at Thanksgiving. "I think I'd have to have a serious talk with Mr. Claus about that one. Believe it or not, he doesn't get much say in that department."

"'Cause the judge and the 'doption place has to decide?" Noah asked.

"Mm-hmm. And it can take a long time. Even Santa's magic probably couldn't get a baby here by Christmas."

"Oh." With a dejected sigh, Noah let his shoulders slump. "Okay, I guess I'll just ask him for a turtle, then."

Olivia dropped a kiss each atop the two heads in front of her, chestnut curls first, then the towhead. "Don't worry, loves, I'm sure you'll both have great Christmases. You're definitely at the top of the nice list. Best kids in Manhattan right here, huh, guys?"

A murmur of warm agreement from the other guests put a smile back on Noah's face, and a few moments later, he was off laughing and playing with Jesse and Frannie again.

. . .

Half an hour after that, Fin had left for Thanksgiving: Part II at his son's house, and Peter was off attending to ADA duties. The kids and the dog were conked out on the couch with Uncle Sonny, leaving dish duty to the womenfolk—as they referred to themselves with more than a little bite—who stood in the kitchen, sudsing, rinsing, and drying a seemingly endless stream of plates and silverware.

Times like these, Olivia wished for a dishwasher. And a bigger apartment. Soon enough, perhaps...

"I think you got all the gravy off. And a layer or two of porcelain, as well."

"What?" Olivia glanced down at the plate in her hands. It was on its fourth or fifth go-round with the sponge. She had completely zoned out, lost in the monotony of the work and the mesmerizing opalescence of soapy bubbles. "Oh, sorry," she said, passing the plate under the faucet and handing it over to Amanda, who had run out of things to dry.

"You seem kinda distracted," the detective observed, wiping in a slow circle with the dish towel. "Everything okay?"

Olivia folded her lips together and glanced into the next room to be sure her son was still asleep. He hadn't moved from his spot, tucked securely against Carisi's side—Jesse had lodged herself neatly into the other—for the past fifteen minutes. But if she had learned one thing from motherhood, it was to never underestimate a child's ability to overhear a conversation. Especially a private one.

She dropped her sponge into the dishwater, dried her hands on Amanda's towel, then grabbed the blonde by the hand and led her back to the bedroom. When the door was closed behind them, she turned to Amanda, who already looked duly stunned, and blurted, "I filed the paperwork."

Amanda blinked rapidly. "Okay... what paperwork are we talking about?"

"To adopt Matilda."

"Oh my God," Amanda said, hand flying to her mouth in surprise. Her voice had risen a few octaves, but dropped right down to a stage whisper when Olivia made silencing gestures. "Oh my God, are you serious?"

"Yes. I did it right after Halloween. I couldn't stop thinking about her. And about what you said—how she needed a good home, and why shouldn't I be the one to give it to her? Then I saw Noah with this cute little baby during Trick or Treat, and he was so good with her, Amanda. Then I told him about being adopted and what it means to be a family, and the next day I dropped him off at school and went to fill out the paperwork."

Olivia paused to take a breath and realized she was pacing the room like a caged tiger. She flopped down on the edge of her bed, looking to Amanda for confirmation as she concluded, "I think I've lost my goddamned mind. What am I gonna do with another kid?"

Shrugging lightly, Amanda took a seat beside Olivia on the comforter. "Love her? Teach her to be a badass like you?"

"You make it sound so simple," Olivia said, a faint smile on her lips. She gazed around the room, taking in the white oak armoire and matching dresser, the full-length mirror propped in the corner, the upholstered headboard, the ivory rug, the carefully selected artwork interspersed with black and white portraits of Noah. She hadn't moved a single piece of furniture since she and Cassidy first leased the apartment. Granted, it was heavy, but the only things different from five years ago were the photos. "Everything would change. I'll probably have to get a bigger apartment so she'll have her own room..."

She shook her head and sighed. "I'm already talking like she's mine. But for all I know, they'll turn me down. That's why I haven't said anything to Noah yet. I don't want him to get his hopes up."

"Is she being fostered right now?"

"She was, and the couple was planning to adopt her, but then they got pregnant and backed out."

"They couldn't find any relatives that wanted her?"

"Nope. Calvin killed most of them." Olivia grimaced at the bitterness she heard in her own voice. She grabbed a throw pillow from the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed and crushed it against her chest, twisting the decorative chenille fringe around her fingers. "At least the immediate ones. There's a maternal aunt on Amelia's side, and some paternal cousins, but none of them want Matilda because of who her parents were. Amelia they could get past... but not him."

"Well, their loss." Amanda bumped her shoulder into Olivia's, offering an encouraging smile. "Your gain. And Tilly's. You're way more qualified to deal with that situation than they would be."

"You mean, because my dad was a rapist who only quit when he couldn't get it up anymore, and my mom literally drank herself to death? Or because my son's father was a pimp and a murderer, and his mother a junkie whore?" Olivia pretended to weigh the options in either hand, then nudged her friend back to pass off the bit of brutal honesty as a joke.

"Yes, to all of that. You know better than anyone that genetics don't determine your fate."

"I'll be sure to mention that during the home study."

"When is it?"

"Next week. It's all happening a lot faster than I anticipated. I guess because I've adopted before, and they're in a hurry to place her?" Olivia hugged the pillow tight for a moment, then returned it to the bench and plumped it with a karate chop to the middle. "But I'm trying not to get my hopes up, either. After the home study, they still might not match her to me. And even if they do, it'll be a temporary placement for at least a few months. A lot could happen between now and then."

"You afraid you'll change your mind?"

It took less than a second for Olivia to respond: "Not even a little bit." She turned to Amanda with a solicitous look, as if the blonde might have the perfect answer to assuage her fears. "I'm worried how it will affect Noah, though. What if they place her with us, but it doesn't work out? He'd be devastated."

In a move that closely mirrored their children's earlier display of camaraderie, Amanda draped an arm around Olivia's shoulders. "It'd be tough. But he'd have you to help him through it. He'd have all of us."

While it might not have been the perfect answer, it was pretty darn close. Olivia felt some of the weight she'd been carrying around since Noah's surprise announcement after dinner—since early November, really—lifting from her shoulders. She laughed extra loud when Amanda added:

"And if all else fails, you can adopt Jesse. Of course, you'll have to adopt me and Frannie, too. We're kind of a package deal."

"See? Just like the Bradys. Three very lovely girls with hair of gold."

Amanda rolled her eyes and got to her feet, dragging Olivia up with her. "What is it with you and the damn Brady Bunch?"

"Oh, come on—hello? They were the quintessential American family." Olivia looped her arm through Amanda's, using it to pivot the blonde around for a question of utmost importance. "You never wanted to be a Brady?"

"Eh. Too white bread. I always preferred The Partridge Family. They were a hot mess, but Shirley Jones was the coolest mom ever and David Cassidy was yummy."

"This from the woman who made fun of my crush on David Duchovny," Olivia said, opening the bedroom door to usher Amanda through.

They made their way back into the kitchen to finish up the dishes, while extolling the virtues of their favorite Davids and ribbing each other about who had the bigger crush on Danny Bonaduce. For the first time, Olivia felt as if she knew what it must be like to have a little sister.

Epilogue

Christmas.

Warm milk wasn't all it was cracked up to be. (Technically, it was room-temperature milk, but that wasn't a thing.) Olivia wrinkled her nose in disgust and set the glass aside, making a mental note to dump it before bed.

Warm cookies, however, were God's gift to mankind. Feet propped on the coffee table, Olivia leaned back on the couch and rested the plate of chocolate chip cookies—still gooey delicious from the oven—on her stomach. In the corner of the living room, the Christmas tree twinkled with its multicolored lights, which Noah had picked out—plain white was too boring. He had a point. She smiled fondly at the tree, eyes drifting up to the newest ornament that hung from a branch near the top: a pink unicorn with rockers on its feet, like a hobbyhorse. Noah had picked that out, as well. It matched his blue rocking horse.

She let her vision blur as she chewed, the individual bulbs on the tree melting into a colorful stained glass pattern, the chocolate chips melting on her tongue. It occurred to her that she hadn't felt so content since before her experience with Calvin and Amelia. No, even longer than that. Since before the Manhattan Mangler. Looking back, she realized she'd been waiting for him since the first dead victim. She'd been waiting for him all along.

There weren't as many flashbacks these days. The nightmares still persisted, but those had plagued her from childhood. She had more or less trained herself to wake up when they became too intense. Going back to sleep was another matter, but she'd also learned to function on fewer hours than most; she was a cop and a mom, after all.

She'd just polished off Santa's second cookie and was contemplating Rudolph's carrot when the sound of her bedroom door creaking open grabbed her attention. Normally she only heard that sound when she entered or exited the room herself.

Setting the decorative dish and carrot stick aside, Olivia got up and tiptoed to the end of the hall, pausing outside the open door. She had set the Slumber Buddies' timer to forty-five minutes, and the little plush hippo still chimed away faithfully on her nightstand. Its current selection was "Brahm's Lullaby," as a starry sky danced across the bedroom walls and ceiling, projected from a plastic shell on the hippo's back. The nightlight had belonged Noah when he was a baby. As did the crib he stood beside now, peeking through the wooden slats at the infant inside.

Matilda, who had been sound asleep when Olivia put her down thirty minutes ago, was wide awake and gazing intently at the simulated galaxy overhead. At five and a half months, she was still the same serene and cheerful baby girl Olivia had met two months ago. As the social worker had put it, the child was "practically zen."

Zen and currently working her magic on Noah as he beamed down at her with brotherly pride. They looked like fairy children, the two of them, eyes agleam in the ambient light, stars playing on their cheeks. Unaware a third party observed from the doorway, they regarded each other with mutual fascination for several silent moments.

When the lullaby ended and the hippo began playing sounds of a babbling brook, Noah spoke in a hushed, reverential tone: "Hi, Tilly. 'Member me? I'm Noah. Can you say Noah? It's easy, just say 'no' and 'uh'... No-uhhh. Noah."

Matilda gurgled and patted the dinosaur footie pajamas she was zipped into. She'd long outgrown the clothes that were her only worldly possession after her parents' death, and though she had a few onesies and some outfits—all cloyingly pink and ruffly—donated by her former foster family, pajamas were in short supply.

Luckily, Olivia had hung onto some of Noah's baby clothes. Carisi's nephew and Fin's grandson had inherited a few of the hand-me-downs, but Olivia couldn't quite part with some of her favorites, dinosaur footies included.

"Well, maybe later, then," Noah said amiably, though he didn't get his intended reply. "Anyway, I couldn't sleep, either. Tomorrow's Christmas. Do you know what that is? It's when Jesus was born, so Santa Claus brings lots of presents. Like a birthday party, but for everybody. I don't know if Santa will know your address yet, since you just got here today. If he doesn't, you can play with some of my toys. I don't have any dolls, but I've got lots of stuffed animals."

The boy displayed the plush elephant he was holding as proof. "This one's name is Eddie. He's been mine for a real long time, and he keeps me company at night when it's too dark or I have scary dreams." He fiddled with the elephant's trunk for a moment, then hugged the toy tightly and kissed it on the head. Standing on his toes, he dangled Eddie over the side of the crib and let his old friend drop in next to Matilda. "I think you should have him now. I don't need him anymore. But you gotta promise to take good care of him. He'll protect you when I'm not around to do it.

"'Cause don't tell my mom I told you this, but I'm your big brother now. She says it's not fishal yet and we have to wait and see if the courts let us 'dopt you, but I decided you're my sister no matter what. There's all kinds of ways to be a family, not just being born from someone's tummy. I didn't come from my mommy's tummy, but she's still my mommy. And now she's yours too. So that makes us a family, and we love you just the same. Proly more, since we got to choose you. And out of all the sisters in the world, I'd pick you."

Noah kissed his fingertips and slipped his hand through the crib slats to gently stroke the baby's head. "G'night, Tilly. Go to sleep so Santa can come."

Ducking behind the corner, Olivia darted down the hall and into the kitchen before her door creaked open again. She waited until Noah had crept back to his own room before she returned to check on Matilda, who would share a bedroom with her, under the condition that a more suitable arrangement be worked out within the next few months. The idea of moving again, especially with two young children in tow, was daunting, but the moment the social worker had placed the baby in Olivia's arms—only a few hours ago, really—she'd known she would do whatever it took to keep her.

"Hey there, little lovebug," she whispered, leaning over the crib tentatively. Despite the hippo nightlight, the room was still dim, the surroundings still strange to the child who might not immediately recognize an unfamiliar woman hovering above her. But the second Matilda caught a glimpse of her, the baby reached out her chubby little arms in their fuzzy dinosaur-print sleeves, wanting to be picked up.

"You're supposed to be asleep, Miss Tilly," Olivia said, even as she was gathering the child into her arms. A small
(click)
twinge, too indistinct to qualify as pain, passed through her shoulder when she lifted the tiny, warm body to hers. Physical therapy had restored her range of motion, but it seemed she would always have a bit of a trick shoulder. She had learned to ignore it. Even if her body was an ode to the attacks visited upon it, she refused to let her mind become just another verse.

"I gotcha. I gotcha." She supported the diapered bottom with one arm, opposite hand cupped behind the head of downy auburn hair. At nearly six months, Matilda was mostly capable of holding her own head up, but Olivia used the opportunity to guide the baby in for a series of forehead kisses. Matilda returned the affection by nuzzling into the crook of Olivia's neck and resting there as they started for the living room, each step accompanied by a gentle bounce and a pat on the baby's rear.

With no clear idea of where they were going, Olivia wandered down the hall and found herself gravitating towards the Christmas tree. Twinkle lights had always been one of her favorite parts of the holiday, the soft, magical glow evoking some of her fonder childhood memories. Her mother had loved Christmas and worked extra hard to stay sober during that time, despite the free-flowing booze at almost every get-together. (New Year's was a whole other story.)

"Aren't the lights so pretty?" Olivia murmured to the baby, continuing the rhythmic bouncing that used to lull Noah to sleep when he woke up fussy in the middle of the night. She pointed out a few of the ornaments here and there, describing them for Matilda's benefit.

When she reached the pink unicorn, she brought it down from its branch for the little girl to view up-close. "And this one's yours. To celebrate your first Christmas with us. See, here on the back? Matilda Janice Cole, 2018." She ran her thumb across the name she'd printed out in fine point Sharpie the previous day, after a mad dash trip to pick up baby food and diapers when she got off the phone with the social worker. Matilda was hers. Temporary placement until spring or summer of next year, and if all went well, the adoption proceedings would be complete before the 2019 holiday season rolled around.

It still felt like a dream. She had pinched herself multiple times over the past several weeks as each piece fell into place, from the home study—which went as naturally as inviting a stranger to pry into your personal life could go—to the meeting with Judge Linden. At first, the judge had grilled her, wanting to know what made Olivia think she would be the best person to take custody of this particular child.

"Because I know what it's like to be judged by who your parents are. It took me years to figure out that mine didn't define me. If anyone can help that little girl learn the same lesson, and love her no matter where she came from, it's me."

It must have been the right answer, because everything had moved at lightning speed after that. Somehow, though, Olivia had still found time to worry that she'd been wrong. What if she couldn't love Matilda, in spite of it all? What if she saw Calvin or Amelia every time she looked into the baby's face?

As if the child had read her mind, she lifted her head and looked Olivia straight in the eye. A sleepy grin, all gums and not a trace of artifice in sight, spread across Matilda's perfect pink lips.

"Next year we'll add Benson to the end," Olivia said, returning the ornament to its spot below the angel tree topper. Tears turned the heavenly being into a dazzle of white and gold, but for once she was smiling through them. She began to hum "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" as she walked Matilda back to her crib.

The only thing Olivia had seen in her daughter's face was an unblemished future, full of possibilities. And so much love.

. . .

The End