19. Epilogue

Olivia wasn't fine the next day, or the next day, or the next. Still, the following week, she kept her appointments for therapy and hospital visits, and when Amaro came by her place to check on her, she opened the door instead of asking him to leave. The intensity of the relief on his face when he saw her filled her with guilt, along with some small amount of pleasure. It gave her hope that maybe some of what she'd built over the past several years was meant to last after all.

Even after surgery, her wrist never healed completely. The joint bent sluggishly with very little strength, and three of her fingers couldn't fully curl. She tried to accept this, put it on the growing list of unpleasant realities that she knew but couldn't change. She was grateful, at least, that it was her left hand and not her right. She could still fire a gun, and after her physical therapy sessions, she went to the firing range and practiced endlessly, trying to get used to controlling the gun with a weakened hand. Eventually, she got better. She never quite reached her old skill level, but it was more than enough to get by, and she thought she could still give most people a run for their money.

Physically, she was cleared for light duty after six months. Brian was waiting for her as she left the exam room.

"You passed?" It wasn't really a question.

"Yeah."

His eyes were warm. "I knew you would."

She nodded. "Thanks for... everything."

"Always."

They stood silently for a moment, watching each other, uncertain.

Finally, Brian took an oddly tremulous breath. "Any chance you want to... try things again?"

She smiled a little, glancing at the ground. "I'd like that."

She hesitated another moment, then tentatively reached out and took his hand. He grinned and squeezed back. They walked outside together into the sunlight, side by side.

She failed the psych evaluation twice, once at six months, once at seven. When the department shrink finally gave the okay at eight months, she, Brian, and her team held a celebratory dinner at a restaurant. Though in reality, she supposed they weren't really her team anymore. They'd replaced her months ago. They'd invited her replacement to the dinner as well, at Olivia's insistence. She was tall, with closely-cropped blonde hair, a transfer from Vice. She seemed professional, albeit a little awed when she introduced herself. Still, it was hard for Olivia not to resent her a little bit, watching her easy banter with Fin and Rollins.

At the end of the night, Amaro stood up and proposed a toast, and Olivia managed to summon up a smile, raise her glass with everyone else. She and Cragen drank water. She hadn't touched alcohol since the spring.

She went home alone that day, demurring when Brian offered to accompany her. She lay awake in bed, going over the psych eval in her head, thinking about the difference between knowing the right answers and really believing them. Lewis's final warning - no, not Lewis, her own subconscious - about hurting innocents out of fear still hung heavy in her heart. Though she knew the NYPD was unlikely to put her in a position nowadays where she'd need to so much as reach for her gun, much less draw it, the risk remained. Ultimately, she tried to put it aside. Perhaps, deep down, she still trusted herself a little. And if someday, she found that she didn't, she would leave. That much hadn't changed.

White Collar Crimes, as it turned out, was all too happy to accept her transfer. Their captain was portly but high energy, his feet never still. He showed her around the bullpen, which was more crowded than SVU's, and had more of a casual air. She got a couple second looks, but not much more than she'd expect as a new transfer. She hoped this meant that what had happened was finally fading from people's minds. White Collar had had a spate of transfers and retirements recently, so both Cragen and her new captain encouraged her to take the Sergeant's exam. She'd passed, so she'd be taking her first supervising position, a strange feeling. She wondered if they'd suggested this to her because they thought she was qualified, or out of some misplaced sense of pity. A politically correct way to keep her out of the field. She supposed she'd never know.

"Of course you're qualified." Elliot Stabler sat across from her in a cafe, looking at her over his coffee cup. "At some point you've got to accept that you deserve good things too. Try it out. It won't hurt you."

She snorted but said nothing, sipping from her own coffee.

"How are you liking White Collar so far, anyway?"

She shrugged. "It's not bad. Hasn't improved my opinion of humanity much. People are still scumbags, just a different kind. Instead of talking to rapists and rape victims all day, I get to talk to high end sociopaths and retirees who just lost their life savings. Still, you never get called out of bed at 2 AM on a Saturday because there's a serial embezzler on the loose. It's such a change, after fourteen years. But it's not bad, I guess. Just different. It's better than I expected"

Elliot nodded. "I know the feeling."

"How's the family?"

"Good. Lizzie made Dean's List again. We're taking her to dinner in a couple days to celebrate."

"You must be proud."

"I am." He paused for a beat. "How are things with Cassidy?"

"Good. Getting serious. We're thinking of moving in together, when my lease expires."

"It is serious, then." He grinned a little. "I remember that look on your face all those years ago, when you were telling me how you made a mistake - "

She grinned back at him. "Shut up, Elliot."

"And look at you guys now."

"Yeah, well, he grew up a little since then. And he was always pretty sweet, in his way. We'll see if it works out."

"He seems like a good guy," he said, looking her in the eyes. "I'm glad things are going well."

"Thanks," she said softly. She hesitated for a moment. "If things stay stable, I was thinking about applying to be a foster parent. My schedule's more regular, at least, and there's not as much overtime. It's at least a possibility now."

Elliot smiled more genuinely this time. "That's great. I always said you'd be a great mom. And God knows there are a lot of kids who need help."

She shrugged. "It's just a thought right now. I need to make sure things are right first. But maybe - if things go well -"

His glance was soft. "Any kid would be lucky to have you."

They smiled at each other, and glanced away, before Elliot looked down at his watch. "Damn it, I gotta run. Same time next week?"

"Of course."

She watched him leave, lost in her thoughts, unconsciously flexing the fingers on her crippled hand. Maybe someday it would no longer hurt to watch him walk away. Maybe with time, whatever they had now could fade back to a simpler love and friendship, the way it had been in the earlier years of their partnership. Or maybe not. All she knew was that watching him leave hurt less than not having him around.

Maybe these lunches, these occasional outings were a compromise, the same way Brian or her new position had started out as compromises. But while people like Lewis could perhaps pursue what they wanted with no thought to the consequences, she never could. And she thought for the first time that it might be all right.

A waiter walked by, glancing at her empty cup. "Do you need anything else?" he asked.

She smiled at him, picking up her bag. "No, I'm fine," she said.

She stood up and went back to work.